Chapter 39 | War | The Adventures of Don Lavington

Tomati soon showed the reason for his elevation to the position of chief among the Maoris, for, in addition to being a man of commanding presence and great strength, his adventurous life had given him quickness and decision in his actions, which told with a savage race none too ready to discriminate.

He rushed out of the pah, and caught the man by the shoulder, questioned him, turned him over to a couple of his friends to be doctored, and then in a loud voice informed the excited crowd that the danger was not imminent, following up this announcement with orders to go on strengthening the stockade.

He was instantly obeyed, his cool manner giving his followers confidence; and they went on working hard at securing certain spots and strengthening the entrance, but always with their spears close at hand.

There was another shout from a sentry, and again the whole tribe was electrified, women and children huddling under shelter, and the warriors seizing their weapons.

This time a scout came running in uninjured and with his spear to announce the nearer approach of the enemy.

Tomati received his news coolly enough, and then, after a word or two with Ngati, signed to the man to join the defenders, while two fresh scouts were sent out to spy the neighbourhood, and keep the chiefs well informed of the coming danger.

Ngati’s eyes seemed to flash, and there was a savage rigidity in his countenance that suggested hard times for the man who attacked him; but he seemed to place the most implicit confidence in Tomati, obeying his slightest suggestion, and evidently settling himself into the place of lieutenant to the white captain.

After the first wailing and tears, the women and children settled down in their shelter quite as a matter of course, and as if such an event as this were no novelty in their social history. Once within the pah, and surrounded by stout fighting men on whom they could depend, they seemed quite satisfied, and full of confidence in the result of an attack, and this took Jem’s notice.

“Can’t be much danger,” he said, half contemptuously, “or these here wouldn’t take it so coolly.”

“But it looks as if there was going to be a desperate fight.”

“Tchah! Not that, Mas’ Don.”

“But look at that scout who ran in. He was hurt.”

“So is a boy who has had his head punched, and whose nose bleeds. There won’t be no real fighting, my lad. I mean men being killed, and that sort o’ thing.”

“Think not, Jem?”

“Sure of it, my lad. T’other side ’ll come up and dance a war-dance, and shake their spears at our lot. Then our lot ’ll dance up and down like jack-jumpers, and make faces, and put out their tongues at ’em, and call ’em names. I know their ways; and then they’ll all yell out, and shout; and then the others ’ll dance another war-dance, and shout in Noo Zealandee that they’ll kill and eat us all, and our lot’ll say they’d like to see ’em do it, and that’ll be all.”

Don shook his head. The preparations looked too genuine.

“Ah, you’ll see,” continued Jem. “Then one lot ’ll laugh, and say you’re obliged to go, and t’other lot ’ll come back again, and they’ll call one another more names, and finish off with killing pigs, and eating till they can’t eat no more.”

“You seem to know all about it, Jem.”

“Well, anybody could know as much as that,” said Jem, going to the side and taking up a bundle formed with one of the native blankets, which he began to undo.

“What have you got there?”

“You just wait a minute,” said Jem, with a dry look. “There! Didn’t know that was the arm chest, did you?”

He unrolled and took out a cutlass and two pistols, with the ammunition, and looked up smilingly at Don.

“There!” he said, “what do you think o’ them?”

“I’d forgotten all about them, Jem.”

“I hadn’t, my lad. There you are. Buckle on that cutlash.”

“No; you had better have that, Jem. I should never use it.”

“Oh, yes, you would, my lad, if it was wanted. On with it.”

Don reluctantly buckled on the weapon, and Jem solemnly charged the pistols, giving Don one, and taking the other to stick in his own waistbelt.

“There,” he said, retaking the spear given to him. “Don’t you feel like fighting now?”

“No, Jem; not a bit.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Do you?”

“Well, if you put it in that way,” said Jem, rubbing his ear, “I can’t say as I do. You can’t feel to want to do much in that way till some one hurts you. Then it’s different.”

“It’s horrible, Jem!”

“Well, I suppose it is; but don’t you get looking like that. There’ll be no fighting here. I say, Mas’ Don, it would be a bit of a game, though, to stick the pynte of this here spear a little way into one of the savages. Wonder what he’d say.”

“Ah! My pakeha!” cried a voice just behind them; and they turned sharply, to find themselves face to face with Ngati, who patted Don on the shoulder, and then pointed to his cutlass and pistol.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, with a deep breath; and then, without warning, snatched Don’s spear from his hand, threw himself into a series of wild attitudes, and went through the action of one engaged in an encounter with an enemy, stabbing, parrying, dodging, and darting here and there in a way that suggested instant immolation for the unfortunate he encountered.

“Look at him, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “Look at him pretending. That’s the way they fight. By-an’-by, you’ll see lots o’ that, but you mark my words, none on ’em won’t go nigh enough to hurt one another.”

Ngati ceased as suddenly as he had begun, returned the spear to Don, and seemed to intimate that he should go through the same performance.

“You wait a bit, old chap!” cried Jem. “We don’t fight that way.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Ngati, and he ran across to a portion of the pah where several of his warriors were busily binding some of the posts more securely.

“It do make me laugh,” said Jem; “but I s’pose all that bouncing helps ’em. Poor things. Mas’ Don, you and I ought to be werry thankful as we was born in Bristol, and that Bristol’s in old England. Say, shall you give any one a chop if it does come to a fight?”

Don shook his head.

Jem laughed.

“If it warn’t for wasting the powder, I tell you what we’d do. Get up a-top yonder where we could lean over the palings, wait till the other chaps comes up, and then shoot over their heads with the pistols. That’d make some of ’em run.”

There was another shout here, for two of the scouts came running in, and every man seized his spear, and darted to the spot he was expected to defend.

“Why, Mas’ Don, how they can run! Look at ’em. An Englishman wouldn’t run like that from a dozen men. Here, let’s chuck these spears away. We sha’n’t want ’em. An Englishman as has got fists don’t want no spears. Look! Look!”

The two scouts had come running in very swiftly till they were about a hundred yards from the gateway of the pah, when they stopped short and faced about as two of the enemy, who were in chase, dashed at them, spear in hand.

Then, to Jem’s astonishment, a sharp passage of arms occurred; the spears clashed together, there was a wonderful display of thrusting and parrying, and the two enemies fell back, and the scouts continued their retreat to the shelter of the fort.

“What do you think of that, Jem?” said Don excitedly. “That was real fighting.”

“Real?” cried Jem; “it was wonderful!” and he spoke huskily. “Why, both those chaps was wounded, and these here’s got it, too.”

The two scouts were both gashed about the arms by their enemies’ spears, but they came bravely in, without making any display, and were received by cheers, Tomati going up to each in turn, and gripping his hand.

Just then the Englishman caught sight of his compatriots, and came across to them quickly.

“Hullo!” he said, with a grim smile, “cleared for action, and guns run out?”

“Yes, we’re ready,” said Jem.

“Going to fight on our side?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Jem, in a dubious kind of way. “Fighting arn’t much in my line.”

“Not in yours neither, youngster. There, I daresay we shall soon beat them off. You two keep under shelter, and if things go against us, you both get away, and make for the mountain. Go right into that cave, and wait till I join you.”

“But there will not be much fighting, will there—I mean real fighting?” said Jem.

“I don’t know what you mean by real fighting, squire; but I suppose we shall keep on till half of us on both sides are killed and wounded.”

“So bad as that?”

“P’r’aps worse,” said the man grimly. “Here, shake hands young un, in case we don’t have another chance. If you have to run for it, keep along the east coast for about a hundred miles; there’s white men settled down yonder. Good-bye.”

Tomati shook hands heartily, and went off to his righting men, who were excitedly watching the level below the pah, to which part it was expected the enemy would first come.

Don joined them, eager to see how matters were going, and hopeful still, in spite of Tomati’s words, that matters would not assume so serious an aspect; but just then a hand was laid upon his arm.

“I was out of it, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “They do bounce a deal. But there’s going to be real fighting on. One of those poor fellows who came running in, and stood up as if nothing was wrong, is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, my lad. Spear went right through his chest. Hark at ’em!”

There was a low wailing noise from the corner of the pah, where the two men were sheltered, and Don felt a chill of horror run through him.

“Then it is going to be quite a savage battle, Jem?”

“’Fraid so, my lad—no, I don’t mean ’fraid—think so. Now, look here, Mas’ Don, it won’t be long first, so you’d better go and lie down behind them high palings, where you’ll be safe.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Stop here and see what there is to see.”

“But you may be hurt.”

“Well, Mas’ Don,” said Jem bitterly; “it don’t much matter if I am. Run along, my lad.”

“I’m going to stop with you, Jem.”

“And suppose you’re hurt; what am I to say to your mother? Why, she’d never forgive me.”

“Nor me either, Jem, if I were to go and hide, while you stood out here.”

“But it’s going to be real dangerous, Mas’ Don.”

“It will be just as dangerous for you, Jem. What should I say to your wife if you were hurt?”

“Don’t know, Mas’ Don,” said Jem sadly. “I don’t think she’d mind a deal.”

“You don’t mean it, Jem!” cried Don sharply. “Now, are you coming into shelter?”

“No,” said Jem, with a peculiarly hard, stern look in his face. “I’m going to fight.”

“Then I shall stay too, Jem.”

“Won’t you feel frightened, Mas’ Don?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It seems very horrible.”

“Yes, so it is, but it’s them others as makes it horrible. I’m going to give one on ’em something for spearing that poor chap. Look out, Mas’ Don; here they come!”

There was a fierce shout of defiance as the scouts came running in now as hard as they could, followed by a body of about two hundred naked warriors, whose bronzed bodies glistened in the sunshine. They came on in a regular body, running swiftly, and not keeping step, but with wonderful regularity, till they were about fifty yards from the pah, when, after opening out into a solid oblong mass to show a broader front, they stopped suddenly as one man, dropped into a half-kneeling position, and remained perfectly motionless, every savage with his head bent round, as if he were looking over his left shoulder, and then turning his eyes to the ground, and holding his weapon diagonally across his body.

The whole business was as correctly gone through as if it was a manoeuvre of some well-drilled European regiment, and then there was an utter silence for a few minutes.

Not a sound arose from either side; enemies and friends resembled statues, and it was as if the earth had some great attraction for them, for every eye looked down instead of at a foe. Don’s heart beat heavily. As the band of heavy warriors came on, the air seemed to throb, and the earth resound. It was exciting enough then; but this was, in its utter stillness, horribly intense, and with breathless interest the two adventurers scanned the fierce-looking band.

All at once Jem placed his lips close to Don’s ear, and whispered,—

“Dunno what to say to it all, Mas’ Don. P’r’aps it’s flam after all.”

“No, Jem; they look too fierce,” whispered back Don.

“Ay, my lad, that’s it; they look so fierce. If they didn’t look so precious ugly, I should believe in ’em a bit more. Looks to me as if they were going to pretend to bite, and then run off.”

A sudden yell rose from the attacking party just then, and three of the enemy rushed forward to the front, armed with short-handled stone tomahawks. They seemed to be chiefs, and were men of great height and bulk, but none the less active; and as they advanced, a low murmur of dismay was started by such of the women as could command a view of what was going on outside. This seemed to be communicated to all the rest, women and children taking up the murmur, which rose to a piteous wail. This started the pigs and dogs which had been driven into the protection of the pah, and the discord was terrible.

But meanwhile, partly to encourage their followers, partly to dismay those they had come to attack, the three leaders rushed wildly to and fro before the opening to the fort, brandishing their stone axes, grimacing horribly, putting out their tongues, and turning up their eyes, till only the whites were visible.

“It’s that ’ere which makes me think they won’t fight,” said Jem, as he and Don watched the scene intently.

“Don’t talk, Jem. See what they are going to do. Are we to shoot if they do attack?”

“If you don’t they’ll give it to us,” replied Jem. “Oh, what a row!”

For at that moment there was a terrible and peculiar cry given from somewhere behind the little army, and the three men gave place to one who rushed from behind. The cry was given out three times as the man indulged in a similar set of wild evolutions to those which had been displayed by the three leaders, and with his eyes showing only the whites, he too thrust out his tongue derisively.

“If I was only near enough to give you a chop under the chin!” grumbled Jem.

Then he grasped and cocked the pistol he held, for the chief in front suddenly began to stamp on the ground, and shouted forth the beginning of his war-song.

Up leaped the whole of the enemy, to shake their spears as they yelled out the chorus, leaping and stamping with regular movement, till the earth seemed to quiver. The acts of the chief were imitated, every man seeming to strive to outdo his fellows in the contortions of their countenances, the protrusion of their tongues, and the way in which they rolled and displayed the whites of their eyes.

There was quite a military precision in the stamping and bounding, while the rhythm of the wild war-song was kept with wonderful accuracy.

“Feel scared, Mas’ Don?” whispered Jem.

“I did at first, Jem,” replied Don; “but they seem such a set of ridiculous idiots, that I am more disposed to laugh at them.”

“That’s just how I feel, my lad, only aggrawated like, too. I should like to go among ’em with a big stick. I never see such faces as they make. It is all flam; they won’t fight.”

The war-song went on as if the enemy were exciting themselves for the affray, and all the time the men of Tomati and Ngati stood firm, and as watchful as could be of their foes, who leaped, and stamped, and sang till Jem turned to Don, and said in a low voice,—

“Look here, Mas’ Don, it’s my opinion that these here chaps never grew inside their heads after they was six or seven. They’ve got bodies big enough, but no more brains than a little child. Look at that six-foot-four chap making faces at us; why, it’s like a little boy. They won’t fight.”

It seemed so to Don, and that it was all going to be an attempt to frighten the tribe he was with. But all the same, the enemy came by degrees nearer and nearer, as they yelled and leaped; and a suspicion suddenly crossed Don’s mind that there might be a motive in all this.

“Jem, they mean to make a rush.”

“Think so, Mas’ Don?”

“Yes, and our people know it. Look out!”

The followers of Tomati had thoroughly grasped the meaning of the indirect approach, just as a man who has practised a certain manoeuvre is prepared for the same on the part of his enemy, and they had gradually edged towards the entrance to the pah, which was closed, but which naturally presented the most accessible way to the interior.

The howling chorus and the dancing continued, till, at a signal, the rush was made, and the fight began.

Jem Wimble’s doubts disappeared in an instant; for, childish as the actions of the enemy had been previously, they were now those of desperate savage men, who made no account of their lives in carrying out the attack upon the weaker tribe.

With a daring that would have done credit to the best disciplined forces, they darted up to the stout fence, some of them attacking the defenders, by thrusting through their spears, while others strove to climb up and cut the lashings of the toro-toro, the stout fibrous creeper with which the palings were bound together.

One minute the enemy were dancing and singing, the next wildly engaged in the fight; while hard above the din, in a mournful booming bleat, rang out the notes of a long wooden horn.

The tumult increased, and was made more terrible by the screaming of the women and the crying of the children, which were increased as some unfortunate defender of the pah went down before the spear-thrusts of the enemy.

The attack was as daring and brave as could be; but the defence was no less gallant, and was supplemented by a desperate valour, which seemed to be roused to the pitch of madness as the women’s cries arose over some fallen warrior. A spear was thrust through at the defenders; answering thrusts were given, but with the disadvantage that the enemy were about two to one. Tomati fought with the solid energy of his race, always on the look-out to lead half-a-dozen men to points which were most fiercely assailed; and his efforts in this way were so successful that over and over again the enemy were driven back in spots where they had made the most energetic efforts to break through.

As Don and Jem looked on they saw Tomati’s spear darted through the great fence at some savage who had climbed up, and was hacking the lashings; and so sure as that thrust was made, the stone tomahawk ceased to hack, and its user fell back with a yell of pain or despair.

Ngati, too, made no grotesque contortions of his face; there was no lolling out of the tongue, or turning up of the eyes, for his countenance was set in one fixed stare, and his white teeth clenched as he fought with the valour of some knight of old.

“I would not ha’ thought it, Mas’ Don,” said Jem excitedly. “Look at him; and I say—oh, poor chap!”

This last was as Jem saw a fine-looking young Maori, who was defending a rather open portion of the stockade, deliver a thrust, and then draw back, drop his spear, throw up his arms, and then reel and stagger forward, to fall upon his face—dead.

“They’ll be through there directly, Mas’ Don!” cried Jem, hoarsely, as Don stooped upon one knee to raise the poor fellow’s head, and lay it gently down again, for there was a look upon it that even he could understand.

“Through there, Jem?” said Don, rising slowly, and looking half stunned with horror.

“Yes, my lad; and Tomati’s busy over the other side, and can’t come. Arn’t it time us two did something?”

“Yes,” said Don, with his face flushing, as he gave a final look at the dead Maori. “Ah!”

Both he and Jem stopped short then, for there was a yell of dismay as Ngati was seen now to stagger away from the fence, and fall headlong, bleeding from half-a-dozen wounds.

An answering yell came from outside, and the clatter of spear and tomahawk seemed to increase, while the posts were beginning to yield in the weak spot near where the two companions stood.

“Come on, Jem!” cried Don, who seemed to be moved by a spirit of excitement, which made him forget to feel afraid; and together they ran to where two men, supported by their companions outside, were hacking at the toro-toro, while others were fiercely thrusting their spears through whenever the defenders tried to force the axe-men down.

“Pistols, Jem, and together, before those two fellows cut the lashings.”

“That’s your sort!” cried Jem; and there was a sharp click, click, as they cocked their pistols.

“Now, Jem, we mustn’t miss,” said Don. “Do as I do.”

He walked to within three or four yards of the great fence, and rested the butt of the spear he carried on the ground. Then, holding the pistol-barrel against the spear-shaft with his left hand, thus turning the spear into a support, he took a long and careful aim at a great bulky savage, holding on the top of the fence.

Jem followed his example, and covered the other; while the enemy yelled, and thrust at them with their spears, yelling the more excitedly as it was found impossible to reach them.

“Let me give the word, Mas’ Don!” cried Jem, whose voice shook with excitement. “Mind and don’t miss, dear lad, or they’ll be down upon us. Ready?”

“Yes,” said Don.

“Here goes, then,” cried Jem. “Fire! Stop your vents.”

The two pistols went off simultaneously, and for a few moments the smoke concealed the results. Then there was a tremendous yelling outside, one that was answered from within by the defenders, who seemed to have become inspirited by the shots; for either from fright, or from the effects of the bullets, the two great Maoris who were cutting the lashings were down, and the defenders were once more at the fence, keeping the enemy back.

“Load quickly, Jem,” said Don.

“That’s just what I was a-going to say to you, Mas’ Don.”

“Well done, my lads! That’s good!” cried a hoarse voice; and Tomati was close to them. “Keep that up; but hold your fire till you see them trying to get over, and wherever you see that, run there and give ’em a couple of shots. Ha, ha! Ha, ha!” he roared, as he rushed away to encourage his followers, just as Jem had rammed home his charge, and examined the priming in the pistol pan.

“That’s just what we will do,” said Jem; “only I should like to keep at it while my blood’s warm. If I cool down I can’t fight. Say, Mas’ Don, I hope we didn’t kill those two chaps.”

“I hope they’re wounded, Jem, so that they can’t fight,” replied Don, as he finished his priming. “Quick! They’re getting up yonder.”

They ran across to the other side of the pah, and repeated their previous act of defence with equally good result; while the defenders, who had seemed to be flagging, yelled with delight at the two young Englishmen, and began fighting with renewed vigour.

“Load away, Mas’ Don!” cried Jem; “make your ramrod hop. Never mind the pistol kicking; it kicks much harder with the other end. Four men down. What would my Sally say?”

“Hi! Quick, my lads!” shouted Tomati; and as Don looked up he saw the tattooed Englishman, who looked a very savage now, pointing with his spear at one corner of the place.

Don nodded, and ran with Jem in the required direction, finishing the loading as they went.

It was none too soon, for three of the enemy were on the top of the fence, and, spear in hand, were about to drop down among the defenders.

Bang! Went Jem’s pistol, and one of the savages fell back.

Bang! Don’s shot followed, and the man at whom he aimed fell too, but right among the spears of the defenders; while the third leaped into the pah, and the next moment lay transfixed by half-a-dozen weapons.

“I don’t like this, Jem,” muttered Don, as he loaded again.

“More don’t I, my lad; but it’s shoot them or spear us; so load away.”

Jem words were so much to the point, that they swept away Don’s compunction, and they hastily reloaded.

All around were the yelling and clashing of spears; and how many of the attacking party fell could not be seen, but there was constantly the depressing sight of some brave defender of the women and children staggering away from the fence, to fall dead, or to creep away out of the struggle to where the weeping women eagerly sought to staunch his wounds and give him water.

“That’s splendid, my lads! That’s splendid! Ten times better than using a spear,” cried Tomati, coming up to them again. “Plenty of powder and ball?”

“Not a very great deal,” said Don.

“Be careful, then, and don’t waste a shot. They can’t stand that.”

“Shall we beat them off?” said Don, after seeing that his pistol was charged.

“Beat them off? Why, of course. There you are again. Look sharp!”

Once more the two pistols cleared the attacking Maoris from the top of the fence, where they were vainly trying to cut through the lashings; and, cheered on by these successes, the defenders yelled with delight, and used their spears with terrible effect. But the attacking party, after a recoil, came on again as stubbornly as ever, and it was plain enough to those who handled the firearms that it was only a question of time before the besieged would be beaten by numbers; and Don shuddered as he thought of the massacre that must ensue.

He had been looking round, and then found that Jem was eyeing him fixedly.

“Just what I was a-thinking, Mas’ Don. We’ve fought like men; but we can’t do impossibles, as I says to your uncle, when he wanted me to move a molasses barrel. Sooner we cuts and runs, the better.”

“I was not thinking of running, Jem.”

“Then you ought to have been, my lad; for there’s them at home as wouldn’t like us two to be killed.”

“Don’t! Don’t! Jem!” cried Don. “Come on. There’s a man over! Two—three—four! Look!”

He ran toward the side, where a desperate attack was being made, and, as he said, four men were over, and others following, when once more the pistols sent down a couple who had mounted the fence, one of them being shot through the chest, the other dropping on seeing his companion fall, but with no further hurt than the fright caused by a bullet whistling by his ear.

The four who were over made a desperate stand, but Tomati joined in the attack, and the daring fellows soon lay weltering in their blood; while, as Don rapidly loaded once more, he saw that Tomati was leaning on his spear, and rocking himself slowly to and fro.

“Are you hurt?” said Don, running up, and loading as he went.

“Hurt, my lad? Yes: got it horrid. Look here, if you and him see a chance make for the mountain, and then go south’ard.”

“But shall we be beaten?”

“We are beaten, my lad, only we can’t show it. I’m about done.”

“Oh!”

“Hush! Don’t show the white feather, boy. Keep on firing, and the beggars outside may get tired first. If not— There, fire away!”

He made a brave effort to seem unhurt, and went to assist his men; while once more Don and Jem ran to the side, and fired just in time to save the lashings of the fence; but Jem’s pistol went off with quite a roar, and he flung the stock away, and stood shaking his bleeding fingers.

“Are you hurt, Jem?”

“Hurt! He says, ‘Am I hurt?’ Why, the precious thing bursted all to shivers; and, oh, crumpets, don’t it sting!”

“Let me bind it up.”

“You go on and load; never mind me. Pretty sort o’ soldier you’d make. D’yer hear? Load, I say; load!”

“Can’t, Jem,” said Don sadly; “that was my last charge.”

“So it was mine, and I rammed in half-a-dozen stones as well to give ’em an extra dose. Think that’s what made her burst?”

“Of course it was, Jem.”

“Bad job; but it’s done, and we’ve got the cutlash and spears. Which are you going to use?”

“The spear. No; the cutlass, Jem.”

“Bravo, my lad! Phew! How my hand bleeds.”

“I’m afraid we shall be beaten, Jem.”

“I’m sure of it, my lad. My right hand, too; I can’t hit with it. Wish we was all going to run away now.”

“Do you, Jem?”

“Ay, that I do; only we couldn’t run away and leave the women and children, even if they are beaten.”

A terrible yelling and shrieking arose at that moment from behind where they stood, and as they turned, it was to see the whole of the defenders, headed by Tomati, making a rush for one portion of the fence where some of the stout poles had given way. A breach had been made, and yelling like furies, the enemy were pouring through in a crowd.