CHAPTER XVIII.

TE MAKAWAWA IS STARTLED.

It was a fortnight later, when after various stoppages on the way north, we sailed down across Golden Bay towards Wakatu. Mindful of my conclusion that Tiki had unknowingly divulged our plans to Cazotl, I kept it to myself, but argued with Grey that it would be better to land on the western side of Tasman Bay, proceed to Te Makawawa’s _pa_, and thence to the Table Land. Grey fell in with this proposal, and accordingly we passed down the coast, round Separation Point, and were landed at the mouth of the river above which the _pa_ stood.

It was a clear, quiet morning when the boat took us in from the ship. Dreamer Grey, the brim of his buff bush hat drawn over his eyes to keep off the glare of the early sun, sat in the stern dreaming, not of a forgotten past, but of the possibilities of the near future. He flicked the ash quietly from his cigar; it fell with a hiss into the smooth water and drifted astern.

“There is the _pa_, look,” said Crystal, touching his arm with one hand, while with the other she pointed to the ridge of the cliff a mile away on the coast.

I followed the direction of her finger and saw, standing against a thin fleecy white cloud with a strip of summer blue beneath it, the palisading of Te Makawawa’s _pa_.

“It is a good omen,” I said merrily, turning towards them; “there is the _pa_; there is the fleecy cloud beyond it, and there in the further distance is the clear blue sky.”

Grey turned up the brim of his hat and let the sun shine on his happy face as he gazed up at the _pa_.

“And what is it you see in the clear blue sky, Miss Grey?” I asked, catching the now well-known look of longing in Crystal’s eyes beneath the shadow of her sun bonnet.

She looked across to me and smiled, while her hand slid down her father’s coat sleeve and pressed his own on the gunwale of the boat. Then her lips moved, and, though she said nothing, the movement could have been only the two words, “My mother!”

“A good omen let it be,” said Grey, and threw his cigar away.

“With all my heart!” I replied, knocking the dottle from my pipe and standing up, for the nose of the boat was running on to the sandy shore in a convenient place to land.

With what buoyant steps we followed Tiki along the way he knew beneath the fern palms and overhanging trees that skirted the beach! It was one of those clear, bright mornings which, on a shelving shore between the glistening bush and the sparkling sea, are only to be interpreted by the liquid song of the korimako, sipping dew and honey as he sings in the flowering trees, or by the merry fantail’s laugh, as with tail outspread she chases the gnat, which twists and turns in the sunlight.

“Tiki,” I said presently, “you go on ahead and tell Te Makawawa we are coming. We can find the way all right.”

On board the ship the sailors had fitted the Maori out with a civilised costume, and he looked supremely ridiculous, for neither had he been made for the clothes nor the clothes for him. As he vanished ahead of us I smiled, wondering what sort of a reception he would get from the old chief, whose ideas were of a most conservative nature.

“I should like to be present when Tiki stands before Te Makawawa in those clothes,” I said. “The old chief’s a gentleman of the old school: he will be scandalised.”

Hardly were the words out of my mouth when sounds of someone talking fell upon our ears, and presently we turned a bend of the path and came full upon Tiki face to face with the old chief. The latter had so warmed up to his subject that he did not see us, and partly shielded by the trees we stood and watched them in the open space before us. Te Makawawa’s attitude and picturesque garb, from the feathers in his white hair to the flowing fringe of his kaitaka, were in themselves a rebuke to Tiki; but his words added a sting to the rebuke, which made my poor faithful Maori look even more ridiculous than I had thought possible.

“Eta! you have not the dignity that belongs to our race. What have you done with it? Exchanged it for that pair of trousers, and they are put on wrong way now. What have you done with the _mana_ of your ancestors? Given it away for that old coat, and it’s splitting under the arm. What have you done with the bravery and prowess of your tribe? Traded it for that shirt without any buttons, that collar fastened with a piece of flax, that hat which makes you look so beautiful. What have you done with the blood of the Rangitane which runs in your veins--of Toi our ancestor, and of Kupakupa, who made us Maori? I expect you have bartered it all for a bottle of _waipiro_. Eta! did our ancestors make scarecrows of themselves like this? Did they go to such foolishness to frighten the birds? Tiki, you’re a big fool. You’re like the stupid ones, trying to bring about the time when the Maori cannot hold up his head at all. You’re weak in the knees, and you put those trousers on to hide it. I think your whole backbone would scarcely make one good fishhook.”

“What a contrast,” whispered Crystal, who had understood the chief’s words perfectly. “I like the old fellow, even if he did steal my father and mother and myself. But don’t you think Tiki has had enough?” The poor Maori was trembling beneath the scorn of the aged one.

“I think so, yes,” I replied. “You stay here till I call you.” And I stepped out into the open space.

“Te Makawawa!”

He turned on the instant and came towards me. “_He Pakeha!_” he said, “the Friend of the Forest Tree. I saw the canoe coming in and came down to meet it. You have found the little maiden, Keritahi Kerei--good! Where is she?”

“O Chief! I have found the little maiden, and I have also brought the man who has forgotten the faces that he knew.”

I called to them, and they came from behind the trees.

Crystal stood before him looking like a mountain lily in her white dress. As soon as Te Makawawa’s bright eyes rested upon her he started, and, drawing back the step he was taking, remained in an attitude of astonishment. His eyes wandered from her face and form to me, and there was a question, a perplexity, almost a doubt written on the lines of his rugged visage.

“Friend of the Forest Tree! is this wild white swan, such as a man sees once in a lifetime, the little maiden?--or have you deceived me?”

“The Friend of the Forest Tree does not deceive,” said Crystal, before I could speak. “If you are Te Makawawa I am the little maiden of many moons ago whom you carried on your shoulder. Do you not remember the _heitiki_ round my neck, and the little _kaitaka_ of kiwi feathers I wore? See! my black eyes and hair! do you not remember them?”

She threw off her sun bonnet as she spoke, and stood facing him, as if half conscious of her sculpturesque loveliness.

The question, the perplexity, the almost-doubt deepened upon his face.

“_Eta!_” he said, turning to Grey; “is this your daughter with the eyes and hair of ancient night? Speak, O Man-who-has-forgotten; does Te Makawawa dream in the daytime?”

Grey, knowing nothing of the language, turned to me and we spoke together, while the chief gazed long at Crystal.

“O Chief,” I said at length, “the Man-who-has-forgotten says this is the little maiden left by Tiki in his hut while he slept. But why do you doubt my word, O Tohunga? Do you think the little white Children of the Mist have changed the child? Kahikatea and his friend have ever spoken the truth to you.”

“I do not doubt,” he replied quietly, showing me his palm. “These last days are full of dreams to me. My eyes are growing dim, and I see strange things against the setting sun. O people of the Great Tribe, take no heed of an old man’s dreams. Tiki!”--he turned to the be-trousered one with a return of his indignation--“hasten to the _pa_ and bid them prepare a feast, and tell my maidens that a mountain lily will take root among them. Go, O Tiki, and tell them not to waste their time in laughing at a man who was once a warrior, with the blood of the Tane-nui-a-Rangi in his veins, but is now a thing that has been hatched from an egg like a bird.”

Tiki did not wait for the point of this piece of satire. He and his trousers vanished in all haste, and Te Makawawa, bidding us follow, strode before in silence.

“What a lordly savage,” said Grey, as we followed on; “but why did he seem so startled at the sight of my daughter?”

“He seemed to doubt my identity,” said Crystal.

“Perhaps it was his way of demanding proof,” I suggested, but I could not conceal from myself that there was something to be cleared up in his strange behaviour.

When we reached the _pa_ on the high cliff Grey and I were allotted a house to ourselves, while Crystal was handed over by Te Makawawa to the charge of the maidens of highest rank, who were forcible in their expressions of joy when they found she could speak their own tongue. I caught sight of her standing among a little group, like a fair white queen among her dusky maidens. I saw by the gestures of the Maori girls that they were asking her to let down her hair. She hesitated a moment, then, withdrawing the pins, let it fall and shook the long, heavy masses out over her shoulders, till they rippled down almost to her knees. Loud cries of admiration came from the girls as they took up the loosened tresses in their hands and stroked and patted them tenderly, likening them to the undulating seaweed called _rimu rehia_, long, shining, glistening; and again to the darkness of the furthest caves, where the winds were bound by Maui. Thus they lifted it up and stroked and talked to it, while it awoke their simple hearts to poetry. Then, as Crystal gathered it all together again and fastened it up, they stood wide-eyed, with many expressions of wonder that pakeha women should do this strange thing.

As a result of a private talk with the old chief, I learnt that Ngaraki had paid him a visit some days before, and had told him strange things. The Great Tohungas of the Earth had spoken to him, saying that the return of Hinauri was near, and that he must lay the foundations of a new priesthood in the temple, and gather the tribes upon the Table Land. Messages had been sent to many tribes, and some had already settled upon the high plain under the rule of Ngaraki. Te Makawawa assured me they were gathered for peace, and not for war. Within the space of a few days his own tribe would journey on to the Great Tapu.

“And what is your plan for restoring Keritahi Kerei to her mother?” I asked.

“Listen, Pakeha!” he replied, lowering his voice. “The Great Tohungas do not speak to Ngaraki only. I too have heard their words--when all the world was dark and still. I will guide you and the maiden, and the Man-who-has-forgotten to the white cave where the woman still lives. But I would not meet the eye of Ngaraki, for he is fierce and terrible, and I could not explain this thing to him. Because of these things, friend, we must wait until Ngaraki goes into the islands of the south to gather together the men to whom he will teach the ancient wisdom. That will be on the morning after the full moon, for you must know, O son, that an ancient rite of the temple requires the presence of the priest on the night when the moon is full. We shall set out then on the third day from this, so that we shall reach the Table Land as Ngaraki leaves it.”

I agreed to this plan, and it was settled. In the meantime it occurred to me that, unknown to Crystal, I might take a journey to the hut of Kahikatea. Accordingly, early on the following day, I set out and arrived at the hut just as my friend was preparing for a journey.

“Have you found her?” were his first words as he came down the slope in front of his hut to meet me.

“Yes,” I replied; “she is at the _pa_, and I want you to come and see her. Then we could all journey together to the mountain--with Te Makawawa as a guide.”

“When are you going to start?” he asked.

“The day after to-morrow.”

“That’s too late,” he said; “I’m going to start now, as soon as I can. I’ve almost worked my way through the rock, but ran out of powder, and had to go across the bay for more.” The look in his eyes was far away and abstracted as he added: “It’s a strange undertaking, Warnock, and it is a strange madness that has laid hold of me; but there’s method in it, and I mean to see that perfect face and form again.”

I saw that the desire of the poet for the symbol of his dreams was still strong within him, but nevertheless, I fulfilled the object of my visit.

“If you wish to see a perfect face and form,” I said, “come back to the _pa_ with me. I cannot imagine anyone more perfect than Crystal Grey. Come back and let us all go together. The ‘way of the fish’ is easier than the ‘way of the spider.’ My dear Kahikatea, long solitude has made dreams and visions too real to you.”

“I know it, Warnock, I know it,” he said fiercely. “I am as mad as a mystic in this one thing--and yet there’s a meaning in it--a grand meaning!”

He paused in a contemplative way, then, recalling himself, continued, “No; there is no woman of flesh and blood for me--only Hinauri, the Daughter of the Dawn, and she is not flesh and blood--at least, not yet.”

He was tying up a great coil of rope as he spoke. Now he raised it on his shoulders, and I saw that he was ready to start.

“You’ll excuse my being in a hurry,” he said, and added with a smile, “such old friends as we are need not stand upon ceremony, need we? I seem to have known you for years, Warnock. Let me see--I come your way for a little and then branch off. Come along, I want to reach a certain camping-ground before dark.”

We parted where a fallen tree spanned a branch of the river. With one foot on this bridge he extended his hand to me.

“Good-bye, Warnock,” he said, wringing my hand and giving me a lingering farewell look. “If I succeed by the ‘way of the spider’ and you by the ‘way of the fish,’ we shall meet up there”--he pointed towards the mountains--“if not, then up there!” And with a movement of his head he indicated the clear blue sky.

I stood and watched him as he entered the bush on the other side of the stream, and then turned with a sigh to make my way back to the _pa_.

“My perfect man and my perfect woman may never even meet, much less mingle,” I said to myself. “Perhaps he will find the marble Hinauri, and then come down to earth again wedded for ever to this ideal and clothe its sublime meaning in a poem which will raise the level of the world.… and perhaps I--who can tell?----”

I dared not conclude my sentence, for beside my perfect man I felt too poor a thing to deserve the love of my perfect woman.