Chapter L. The Chief’s Decision

Kai-Koumou had the power to throw over persons or things the superstitious protection of the taboo. The taboo, which is common to all the Polynesian races, has the primary effect of isolating the tabooed person and preventing the use of tabooed things.

It was a taboo which had saved the prisoners from the fury of the tribe. Some of the natives, friends and warriors of Kai-Koumou, desisted at once on hearing their chief’s voice, and protected the captives from the rest.

Glenarvan was fully prepared to pay the penalty for the murder of a chief, but he hoped that the wrath of Kai-Koumou would not extend beyond himself.

What a night he and his companions passed! Who could picture their agonies or measure their sufferings? Where were Robert and Paganel? They were surely the first victims of the frenzied natives. Escape was clearly impossible. Ten warriors, armed to the teeth, kept watch at the door.

The morning of February 13th arrived. No communication had taken place between the natives and the tabooed prisoners. A limited supply of provisions was in the house, which the unhappy inmates scarcely touched.

The day passed without change, and without hope; the funeral ceremonies of the dead chief would doubtless be the signal for their execution.

Although Glenarvan did not conceal from himself the probability that Kai-Koumou had given up all idea of exchange, the Major still cherished a spark of hope.

“Who knows,” said he, as he reminded Glenarvan of the effect produced on the chief by the death of Kara-Tete, “who knows but that Kai-Koumou, in his heart, is very much obliged to you?”

The next day passed without any appearance of preparation for their punishment. The Maories believe that for three days after death the soul inhabits the body, and therefore, for three times twenty-four hours, the corpse remains unburied. This custom was rigorously observed. Till February 15th the pah was deserted.

But on the third day the huts opened; all the savages, men, women, and children, in all several hundred Maories, assembled in the pah, silent and calm.

Kai-Koumou came out of his house, and surrounded by the principal chiefs of his tribe, he took his stand on a mound some feet above the level, in the center of the enclosure. The crowd of natives formed in a half circle some distance off, in dead silence.

“Remember,” said Lady Helena to her husband. Glenarvan pressed her to his heart.

The mat was lifted, and the captives led to Kai-Koumou.

“You killed Kara-Tete,” said the Maori chief to Glenarvan.

“I did,” answered Glenarvan.

“You will die tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Alone?” asked Glenarvan, with a beating heart.

“Oh! If our Tohonga’s life was not more precious than yours!” exclaimed Kai-Koumou, with a ferocious expression of regret.

At this moment there was a commotion among the natives. Glenarvan looked quickly around; a warrior appeared. Kai-Koumou, as soon as he saw him, said in English, evidently for the benefit of the captives:

“You come from the camp?”

“Yes,” answered the Maori.

“You have seen the prisoner, our Tohonga?”

“I have seen him.”

“Alive?”

“Dead! Englishmen have shot him.”

“All!” cried Kai-Koumou. “You all will die tomorrow at daybreak.”

Chapter LI. Freedom

Just as the sun was sinking behind the peaks, the captives were conducted back to their prison. They had one night in which to prepare for death. Overcome as they were with horror and fatigue, they took their last meal together.

“We shall need all our strength,” Glenarvan had said, “to look death in the face. We must show these savages how Europeans can die.”

The meal ended. Lady Helena repeated the evening prayer aloud, her companions repeated it after her. Then Glenarvan, taking his friends aside, said:

“My dear friends, our lives and the lives of these poor women are in God’s hands. If it is decreed that we die tomorrow, let us die bravely, like Christian men, ready to appear without terror before the Supreme Judge. If death awaits us instead of success, it is by His will. But death here, means not death only, it means torture, insult, perhaps, and here are two ladies—”

Glenarvan’s voice, firm till now, faltered. He was silent a moment, and then he said, addressing the young captain:

“John, you have promised Mary what I promised Lady Helena. What is your plan?”

“I believe,” said John, “that I have a right to fulfill that promise.”

“Yes, John; but we are unarmed.”

“No!” replied John, showing him a dagger. “I snatched it from Kara-Tete when he fell at your feet.”

After these words were said, a profound silence ensued. At last the Major said: “My friends, keep that to the last moment. I am not an advocate of irremediable measures.”

At this moment John raised the mat, and counted twenty-five natives keeping guard. A great fire had been lighted. Some of the savages were sitting round the brazier; the others standing motionless.

It was about four o’clock in the morning when the Major’s attention was called to a slight noise which seemed to come from the foundation of the posts in the wall of the hut which abutted on the rock. McNabbs put his ear to the ground; it sounded as if someone was scraping or hollowing out the ground outside.

He crept over to Glenarvan and John Mangles, and led them to the end of the hut.

“Listen,” said he.

The scratching became more and more audible.

“Some animal in his burrow,” said John Mangles.

Glenarvan struck his forehead.

“Who knows?” said he, “it might be a man.”

“Animal or man,” answered the Major, “I will soon find out!”

Wilson and Olbinett joined their companions, and all united to dig through the wall—John with his dagger, the others with stones taken from the ground, or with their nails.

The savages were sitting motionless around the fire.

The soil was light and friable. It soon became evident that a man, or men, clinging to the sides of the pah, were cutting a passage into its exterior wall. The prisoners redoubled their efforts. Their fingers bled, but still they worked on.

Some minutes more passed, and the Major withdrew his hand from the stroke of a sharp blade. He suppressed a cry. John Mangles seized the hand that wielded it. It was the hand of a woman or child, a European!

“Is it Robert?” whispered Glenarvan.

But softly as the name was breathed, Mary Grant, already awakened by the sounds in the hut, slipped over toward Glenarvan, and seizing the hand, she covered it with kisses.

“My darling Robert,” said she, “it is you! It is you!”

“Yes, little sister,” said he, “it is I am here to save you all; but be very silent.”

“Brave lad!” repeated Glenarvan.

“Watch the savages outside,” said Robert.

“It is all right,” said Mulrady. “There are only four awake; the rest are asleep.”

A minute after, the hole was enlarged, and Robert passed from the arms of his sister to those of Lady Helena. Round his body was rolled a long rope.

“My child, my child,” murmured Lady Helena, “the savages did not kill you!”

“No, madam,” said he; “I do not know how it happened, but in the scuffle I got away; I jumped the barrier; for two days I hid in the bushes, to try and see you; while the tribe were busy with the chief’s funeral, I came and reconnoitered this side of the path, and I saw that I could get to you. I stole this knife and rope out of the hut. I found a kind of grotto already hollowed out in the rock under this hut; and here I am.”

Twenty noiseless kisses were his reward.

“Is Paganel below?” asked Glenarvan.

“Monsieur Paganel?” replied the boy, amazed.

“Yes; is he waiting for us?”

“No, my Lord; but is he not here?” inquired Robert.

“No, Robert!” answered Mary Grant.

“Why! Have you not seen him?” asked Glenarvan. “Did you lose each other in the confusion? Did you not get away together?”

“No, my Lord!” said Robert.

“Well, lose no more time,” said the Major. “Wherever Paganel is, he cannot be in worse plight than ourselves. Let us go.”

Truly, the moments were precious. They had to fly. The escape was not very difficult.

The escape was commenced, and every precaution was taken. The captives passed one by one through the narrow passage into the grotto. The next thing was to descend the vertical wall to the slope below, and this would have been impracticable, but that Robert had brought the rope, which was now unrolled and fixed to a projecting point of rock, the end hanging over.

John Mangles tried the rope, it was very strong.

“This rope,” said he, “will only bear the weight of two persons. Lord and Lady Glenarvan first; when they arrive at the bottom, three pulls at the rope will be a signal to us to follow.”

“I will go first,” said Robert. “I discovered a deep hollow at the foot of the slope where those who come down can conceal themselves and wait for the rest.”

“Go, my boy,” said Glenarvan, pressing Robert’s hand.

Robert disappeared through the opening out of the grotto. A minute after, the three pulls at the cord informed them the boy had alighted safely.

Glenarvan and Lady Helena immediately ventured out of the grotto. The darkness was still very great, though some grayish streaks were already visible on the eastern summits.

Soon all the fugitives had safely escaped from their prison. Keeping away from the inhabited shores of the lakes, they plunged by narrow paths into the recesses of the mountains.

They walked quickly, trying to avoid the points where they might be seen from the pah. They were quite silent, and glided among the bushes like shadows.

Toward five o’clock, the day began to dawn. They bore steadily eastward, as much as possible, and faced the gorgeous morning light. Soon they had reached a height of 500 feet above Lake Taupo, and the cold of the morning was very keen. Dim outlines of hills and mountains rose behind one another; but Glenarvan only thought how best to get lost among them.

At last the sun appeared and sent his first rays on their path. Suddenly a terrific yell from a hundred throats rent the air. It came from the pah. The fugitives could not doubt that their escape had been discovered; and now the question was, would they be able to elude pursuit?