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The summit of the mountain was still a hundred feet above them. They hastened up the slope, spurred on by the loud cries that drew nearer and nearer. The avenging crowd had already reached the foot of the mountain.
“Courage! My friends,” cried Glenarvan.
In less than five minutes they were at the top of the mountain. From their elevated position they could see over Lake Taupo, which stretched toward the west. They had no alternative but to descend the opposite slope and enter the narrow gorges.
“Let us go down!” cried Glenarvan.
But just as the ladies had risen, McNabbs stopped them and said:
“Glenarvan, it is useless. Look!”
And then they all perceived the inexplicable change that had taken place in the movements of the Maories.
Their pursuit had suddenly stopped. The ascent of the mountain had ceased by an imperious command. All the crowd, thirsting for blood, stood at the foot of the mountain yelling and gesticulating, brandishing guns and hatchets, but not advancing a foot. Their dogs barked with rage.
What stayed them? What occult power controlled these savages? The fugitives looked without understanding. Suddenly John Mangles uttered an exclamation. He pointed to a little inclosure on the summit of the cone.
“The tomb of Kara-Tete!” said Robert.
“Are you sure, Robert?” said Glenarvan.
“Yes, my Lord, it is the tomb; I recognize it.”
Robert was right. Fifty feet above, at the extreme peak of the mountain, freshly painted posts formed a small inclosure, and Glenarvan too was convinced that it was the chief’s burial place. Glenarvan, followed by the rest, climbed to the foot of the tomb. A large opening, covered with mats, led into it.
“A savage!” said he.
“In the tomb?” inquired the Major.
“Yes, McNabbs.”
“No matter; go in.”
Glenarvan, the Major, Robert and John Mangles entered. There sat a Maori, wrapped in a large flax mat. He was very quiet, and was eating his breakfast quite coolly.
Glenarvan was about to speak to him when the native said in good English:
“Sit down, my Lord; breakfast is ready.”
It was Paganel. Paganel was found again! He was their salvation. They wanted to question him; to know how and why he was here; but Glenarvan stopped this curiosity.
“The savages?” said he.
“The savages,” said Paganel, shrugging his shoulders. “I have a contempt for those people! Come and look at them.”
They all followed Paganel. The Maories were still in the same position round the base of the mountain, uttering fearful cries.
“Shout! Yell! Till your lungs are gone, stupid wretches!” said Paganel. “They can’t come here!”
“But why?” said Glenarvan.
“Because the chief is buried here, and the tomb protects us, because the mountain is tabooed.”
“Tabooed?”
“Yes, my friends! And that is why I took refuge here.”
“God be praised!” said Lady Helena, lifting her hands to heaven.
Glenarvan was too much overcome to speak, and the Major nodded his head with an air of perfect content.
“And now, my friends,” said Paganel, “if these brutes think to exercise their patience on us, they are mistaken. In two days we shall be out of their reach.”
“But how?” said Glenarvan.
“That I do not know,” answered Paganel, “but we shall manage it.”
And now everybody wanted to know about their friend’s adventures. What happened to him? After the murder of Kara-Tete, Paganel, like Robert, got out of the inclosure. But less fortunate than young Grant, he walked straight into a Maori camp, where he met a tall, intelligent-looking chief, evidently of higher rank than all the warriors of his tribe. The chief spoke excellent English, and he saluted the new-comer by rubbing the end of his nose against the end of the geographer’s nose.
Paganel wondered whether he was to consider himself a prisoner or not. This chief, Hihi, or Sunbeam, was not a bad fellow. Paganel’s spectacles and telescope seemed to give him a great idea of Paganel’s importance, and he manifested great attachment to him, not only by kindness, but by a strong rope, especially at night.
One night, however, he managed to break his rope and escape. He had seen from afar the burial of the chief, and knew that he was buried on the top of the mountain, and he was well acquainted with the fact that the mountain would be therefore tabooed. He took refuge there. He succeeded in his dangerous attempt, and had arrived the previous night at the tomb of Kara-Tete.
Such was Paganel’s story. The natives dare not climb the mountain, but they, of course, calculated that hunger and thirst would restore them their prey. It was only a question of time, and patience is one of the virtues of all savages.
Glenarvan made a thorough survey of their present fortress; not for the purpose of defence, but of escape. The Major, John, Robert, Paganel, and himself, made an exact map of the mountain. “And now let us go to the tomb!’” cried Paganel. “It is our castle, our dining-room, our study! None can meddle with us there!”
Lady Helena, Mary Grant, and their companions were quite relieved to find that the Maories were more dominated by superstition than by anger, and they entered the monument.
It was a palisade made of red-painted posts. Strings of amulets, made of shells or cut stones, hung from one part to another. In the interior, the ground was carpeted with green leaves. There lay the chief’s weapons, his guns loaded and capped, his spear, his splendid ax, with a supply of powder and ball.
“Quite an arsenal!” said Paganel, “of which we shall make a better use. What ideas they have! Fancy carrying arms in the other world!”
“Well!” said the Major, “but these are English firearms.”
“No doubt,” replied Glenarvan, “and it is a very unwise practice to give firearms to savages! They turn them against the invaders, naturally enough. But at any rate, they will be very valuable to us.”
“Yes,” said Paganel, “but what is more useful still is the food and water provided for Kara-Tete.”
There was food enough to sustain ten persons for fifteen days, or the dead man forever.
Next day, February 17th, the Maories were coming and going at the foot of the mountain, without leaving their line of observation. Paganel said: “My friends, the superstition of the natives has made this mountain a refuge for us, and we must take advantage of their superstition to escape. If I can persuade Kai-Koumou that the wrath of the Deity has fallen on us: in a word, that we have died a terrible death, do you think he will leave the plateau to return to his village?”
“Not a doubt of it,” said Glenarvan.
“And what is the horrible death you refer to?” asked Lady Helena.
“The death of the sacrilegious, my friends,” replied Paganel. “The avenging flames are under our feet. Let us open a way for them!”
“What! Make a volcano!” cried John Mangles.
“Yes, an impromptu volcano, whose fury we can regulate. There are plenty of subterranean fires ready to issue forth. We can have an eruption ready to order.”
“An excellent idea, Paganel; well conceived,” said the Major.
“You understand,” replied the geographer, “we are to pretend to fall victims to the flames of the Maori Pluto, and to disappear spiritually into the tomb of Kara-Tete. And stay there three, four, even five days if necessary—till the savages are convinced that we have perished, and abandon their watch.”
“But,” said Miss Grant, “if they wish to be sure of our punishment, and climb up here to see?”
“No, my dear Mary,” returned Paganel. “They will not do that. The mountain is tabooed.”
“It is really a very clever plan,” said Glenarvan. “But we must play our game well.”
“And when shall we try this last chance?” asked Lady Helena.
“Tonight,” rejoined Paganel, “when the darkness is the deepest.”
“Agreed,” said McNabbs. “Paganel, you are a genius!”
But the volcano might devour the bold schemers, who offered it a crater. Could they control and direct the eruption, its vapor and flames, and lava streams?
The evening twilight came on. A few flashes of lightning glanced across the horizon and distant thunder pealed through the darkened sky.
The New Zealanders think that thunder is the angry voice of Noui-Atoua, and lightning the fierce gleam of his eyes. Thus their deity was coming personally to chastise the violators of the taboo.
The spot for the crater was chosen thirty paces from Kara-Tete’s tomb. It was important to keep the tomb intact. At the spot mentioned Paganel had noticed an enormous block of stone, round which the vapors played. This block covered a small natural crater hollowed in the cone. If they could move it from its socket, the vapors and the lava would issue by the disencumbered opening.
An effort moved the mass which rolled down and disappeared. Immediately a column of fire rushed to the sky with loud detonations, while streams of boiling water and lava flowed toward the native camp and the lower valleys. All the cone trembled.
All the savages had risen, howling under the pain inflicted by the burning lava, which was bubbling and foaming in the midst of their camp. Now and then, when the roar of the eruption became less violent, their cry was heard:
“Taboo! Taboo! Taboo!”
An enormous quantity of vapors, heated stones and lava was escaping by this crater. An hour after this volcano burst upon the world, broad streams of lava were running down its sides. Legions of rats came out of their holes, and fled from the scene.
Morning came. Glenarvan observed the movements in the native camp. The Maories had fled to the neighboring ledges, out of the reach of the volcano. Some corpses which lay at the foot of the cone, were charred by the fire. Further off toward the pah, the lava had reached a group of twenty huts, which were still smoking. The Maories, forming here and there groups, contemplated the summit with religious awe.
Kai-Koumou approached in the midst of his warriors, and Glenarvan recognized him. The chief advanced to the foot of the hill, on the side untouched by the lava, but he did not ascend the first ledge. Standing there, with his arms stretched out like an exerciser, he made some grimaces, whose meaning was obvious to the prisoners. Soon after the natives left their positions and followed the winding paths that led toward the pah.
“They are going!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “They have left their posts! God be praised! Our stratagem has succeeded! My dear Lady Helena, my brave friends, we are all dead and buried! But this evening when night comes, we shall rise and leave our tomb, and fly these barbarous tribes!”
At nine o’clock, the night being unusually dark, Glenarvan gave the order to start. His companions and he, armed and equipped at the expense of Kara-Tete, began cautiously to descend the slopes, John Mangles and Wilson leading the way. They stopped at the slightest sound, they started at every passing cloud.
Soon they perceived the shadowy outline of the wood showing faintly through the darkness. A few steps more and they were hid from sight in the thick foliage of the trees.
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