THE SUMMIT of the mountain was a hundred feet higher. It was important for the fugitives to reach it, that they might conceal themselves from the sight of the Maoris, on the opposite slope. They hoped that some practicable ridge would then enable them to gain the neighboring peaks. The ascent was, therefore, hastened, as the threatening cries came nearer and nearer. The pursuers had reached the foot of the mountain.
“Courage, courage, my friends!” cried Glenarvan, urging his companions with word and gesture.
In less than five minutes they reached the top of the mountain. Here they turned around to consider their situation, and take some route by which they might evade the Maoris.
From this height the prospect commanded Lake Taupo, which extended towards the west in its picturesque frame of hills. To the north rose the peaks of Pirongia; to the south the flaming crater of Tongariro. But towards the east the view was limited by a barrier of peaks and ridges.
Glenarvan cast an anxious glance around him. The mist had dissolved under the rays of the sun, and his eye could clearly distinguish the least depressions of the earth. No movement of the Maoris could escape his sight.
The natives were not five hundred feet distant, when they reached the plateau upon which the solitary peak rested. Glenarvan could not, for ever so short a time, delay longer. At all hazards they must fly, at the risk of being hemmed in on all sides.
“Let us go down,” cried he, “before our only way of escape is blocked up.”
But just as the ladies rose by a final effort, MacNabb stopped them, and said:
“It is useless, Glenarvan. Look!”
And all saw, indeed, that an inexplicable change had taken place in the movements of the Maoris. Their pursuit had been suddenly interrupted. Their ascent of the mountain had ceased, as if by an imperious interdict. The crowd of natives had checked their swiftness, and halted, like the waves of the sea before an impassable rock.
All the savages, thirsting for blood, were now ranged along the foot of the mountain, yelling, gesticulating, and brandishing guns and hatchets; but they did not advance a single foot. Their dogs, like themselves, as though chained to earth, howled with rage.
What was the difficulty? What invisible power restrained the natives? The fugitives gazed without comprehending, fearing that the charm that enchained Kai-Koumou’s tribe would dissolve.
Suddenly Captain Mangles uttered a cry that caused his companions to turn. He pointed to a little fortress at the summit of the peak.
“The tomb of the chief Kara-Tété!” cried Robert.
“Are you in earnest?” asked Glenarvan.
“Yes, my lord, it is the tomb; I recognize it.”
Robert was right. Fifty feet above, at the extreme point of the mountain, stood a small palisaded inclosure of freshly-painted stakes. Glenarvan, likewise, recognized the sepulchre of the Maori chief. In their wanderings they had come to the top of the Maunganamu, where Kara-Tété had been buried.
Followed by his companions, he climbed the sides of the peak, to the very foot of the tomb. A large opening, covered with mats, formed the entrance. Glenarvan was about to enter, when, all at once, he started back suddenly.
“A savage!” said he.
“A savage in this tomb?” inquired the major.
“Yes, MacNabb.”
“What matter? Let us enter.”
Glenarvan, the major, Robert, and Captain Mangles passed into the inclosure. A Maori was there, clad in a great flax mantle. The darkness of the sepulchre did not permit them to distinguish his features. He appeared very calm, and was eating his breakfast with the most perfect indifference.
Glenarvan was about to address him, when the native, anticipating him, said, in an amiable tone, and in excellent English:
“Be seated, my dear lord; breakfast is awaiting you.”
It was Paganel. At his voice all rushed into the tomb, and gazed with wonder at the worthy geographer. Paganel was found! The common safety was represented in him. They were going to question him: they wished to know how and why he was on the top of the mountain; but Glenarvan checked this unseasonable curiosity.
“The savages!” said he.
“The savages,” replied Paganel, shrugging his shoulders, “are individuals whom I supremely despise.”
“But can they not——?”
“They! the imbeciles! Come and see them.”
Each followed Paganel, who issued from the tomb. The Maoris were in the same place, surrounding the foot of the peak, and uttering terrible cries.
“Cry and howl till you are tired, miserable creatures!” said Paganel. “I defy you to climb this mountain!”
“And why?” asked Glenarvan.
“Because the chief is buried here; this tomb protects us, and the mountain is tabooed.”
“Tabooed?”
“Yes, my friends; and that is why I took refuge here, as in one of those asylums of the Middle Ages, open to unfortunates.”
Indeed, the mountain was tabooed, and by this consecration had become inaccessible by the superstitious savages.
The safety of the fugitives was not yet certain, but there was a salutary respite, of which they strove to take advantage. Glenarvan, a prey to unspeakable emotion, did not venture a word; while the major nodded his head with an air of genuine satisfaction.
“And now, my friends,” said Paganel, “if these brutes expect us to test their patience they are mistaken. In two days we shall be beyond the reach of these rascals.”
“We will escape!” said Glenarvan; “but how?”
“I do not know,” replied Paganel, “but we will do so all the same.”
All now wished to hear the geographer’s adventures. Strangely enough, in the case of a man loquacious usually, it was necessary to draw, as it were, the words from his mouth. He, who was so fond of telling stories, replied only in an evasive way to the questions of his friends.
“Paganel has changed,” thought MacNabb.
Indeed, the countenance of the geographer was no longer the same. He wrapped himself gloomily in his great flaxen mantle, and seemed to shun too inquisitive looks. However, when they were all seated around him at the foot of the tomb, he related his experiences.
After the death of Kara-Tété, Paganel had taken advantage, like Robert, of the confusion of the natives, and escaped from the pah. But less fortunate than young Grant, he had fallen upon an encampment of Maoris, who were commanded by a chief of fine form and intelligent appearance, who was evidently superior to all the warriors of his tribe. This chief spoke English accurately, and bade him welcome by rubbing his nose against that of the geographer. Paganel wondered whether he should consider himself a prisoner; but seeing that he could not take a step without being graciously accompanied by the chief, he soon knew how matters stood on this point.
The chief, whose name was “Hihy” (sunbeam), was not a bad man. The spectacles and telescope gave him a high opinion of Paganel, whom he attached carefully to his person, not only by his benefits, but by strong flaxen ropes, especially at night.
This novel situation lasted three long days. Was he well or badly treated? Both, as he stated without further explanation. In short, he was a prisoner, and, except for the prospect of immediate torture, his condition did not seem more enviable than that of his unfortunate friends.
Fortunately, last night he succeeded in biting asunder his ropes and escaping. He had witnessed at a distance the burial of the chief, knew that he had been interred on the summit of Maunganamu mountain, and that it was tabooed in consequence. He therefore resolved to take refuge there, not wishing to leave the place where his companions were held captives. He succeeded in his undertaking, arrived at Kara-Tété’s tomb, and waited in hope that Providence would in some way deliver his friends.
Such was Paganel’s story. Did he omit designedly any circumstance of his stay among the natives? More than once his embarrassment led them to suspect so. However that might be, he received unanimous congratulations; and as the past was now known, they returned to the present.
Their situation was still exceedingly critical. The natives, if they did not venture to climb the mountain, expected that hunger and thirst would force their prisoners to surrender. It was only a matter of time, and the savages had great patience. Glenarvan did not disregard the difficulties of his position, but waited for the favorable issue which Providence seemed to promise.
And first he wished to examine this improvised fortress; not to defend it, for an attack was not to be feared, but that he might find a way of escaping. The major and the captain, Robert, Paganel, and himself, took the exact bearings of the mountain. They observed the direction of the paths, their branches and declivities. A ridge a mile in length united the Maunganamu to the Wahiti range, and then declined to the plain. Its narrow and winding summit presented the only practicable route, in case escape should become possible. If the fugitives could pass this point unperceived, under cover of the night, perhaps they might succeed in reaching the deep valleys and outwitting the Maoris.
But this course offered more than one danger, as they would have to pass below within gun-shot. The bullets of the natives on the lower ramparts of the pah might intercept them, and form a barrier that no one could safely cross.
Glenarvan and his friends, as soon as they ventured on the dangerous part of the ridge, were saluted with a volley of shots; but only a few wads, borne by the wind, reached them. They were made of printed paper. Paganel picked them up out of curiosity, but it was difficult to decipher them.
“Why!” said he, “do you know, my friends, what these creatures use for wads in their guns?”
“No,” replied Glenarvan.
“Leaves of the Bible! If this is the use they make of the sacred writings, I pity the missionaries. They will have difficulty in founding Maori libraries.”
“And what passage of the Scriptures have these natives fired at us?” asked Glenarvan.
“A mighty promise of God,” replied Captain Mangles, who had also read the paper. “It bids us hope in Him,” added the young captain, with the unshaken conviction of his Scottish faith.
“Read, John,” said Glenarvan.
He read this line, which had so strangely reached them:
“Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him:” Psalm xci. I.
“My friends,” said Glenarvan, “we must make known the words of hope to our brave and dear ladies. Here is something to reanimate their hearts.”
Glenarvan and his companions ascended the steep paths of the peak, and proceeded towards the tomb, which they wished to examine. On the way they were astonished to feel, at short intervals, a certain trembling of the ground. It was not an irregular agitation, but that continued vibration which the sides of a boiler undergo when it is fully charged. Steam, in large quantities, generated by the action of subterranean fires, seemed to be working beneath the crust of the mountain.
This peculiarity could not astonish people who had passed between the warm springs of the Waikato. They knew that this region of Ika-Na-Maoui is volcanic. It is like a sieve, from the holes of which ever issue the vapors of subterranean laboratories.
Paganel, who had already observed this, called the attention of his friends to the circumstance. The Maunganamu is only one of those numerous cones that cover the central portion of the island. The least mechanical action could provoke the formation of a crater in the clayey soil.
“And yet,” said Glenarvan, “we seem to be in no more danger here than beside the boiler of the Duncan. This crust is firm.”
“Certainly,” replied the major; “but a boiler, however strong it may be, will always burst at last after too long use.”
“MacNabb,” said Paganel, “I do not desire to remain on this peak. Let Heaven show me a way of escape, and I will leave it instantly.”
Lady Helena, who perceived Lord Glenarvan, now approached.
“My dear Edward,” said she, “you have considered our position! Are we to hope or fear?”
“Hope, my dear Helena,” replied Glenarvan. “The natives will never come to the top of the mountain, and we shall have abundant time to form a plan of escape.”
“Moreover, madam,” said Captain Mangles, “God himself encourages us to hope.”
So saying, he gave her the text of the Bible which had been sent to them. She and Mary Grant, whose confiding soul was always open to the ministrations of Heaven, saw, in the words of the Holy Book, an infallible pledge of safety.
“Now to the tomb!” cried Paganel, gayly. “This is our fortress, our castle, our dining-room, and our workshop. No one is to disarrange it. Ladies, permit me to do the honors of this charming dwelling.”
All followed the good-natured Paganel. When the savages saw the fugitives desecrate anew this tabooed sepulchre, they fired numerous volleys, and uttered yells no less terrible. But fortunately their bullets could not reach as far as their cries, for they only came half-way, while their vociferations were lost in empty air.
Lady Helena, Mary Grant, and their companions, quite reassured at seeing that the superstition of the Maoris was still stronger than their rage, entered the tomb. It was a palisade of red painted stakes. Symbolical faces, a real tattooing on wood, described the nobleness and exploits of the deceased. Strings of pipes, shells, and carved stones extended from one stake to another. Inside, the earth was hidden beneath a carpet of green leaves. In the centre a slight protuberance marked the freshly-made grave. Here reposed the weapons of the chief, his guns loaded and primed, his lance, his splendid hatchet of green jade, with a supply of powder and balls sufficient for the hunts of the other world.
“Here is a whole arsenal,” said Paganel, “of which we will make a better use than the deceased. It is a good idea of these savages to carry their weapons to heaven with them.”
“But these are English guns!” said the major.
“Doubtless,” replied Glenarvan; “it is a very foolish custom to make presents of fire-arms to the savages, who then use them against the invaders, and with reason. At all events, these guns will be useful to us.”
“But still more useful,” said Paganel, “will be the provisions and water intended for Kara-Tété.”
The parents and friends of the dead had, indeed, faithfully fulfilled their duties. The amount of food testified their esteem for the virtues of the chief. There were provisions enough to last ten persons fifteen days, or rather the deceased for eternity. They consisted of ferns, sweet yams, and potatoes, which were introduced some time before by the Europeans. Tall vases of fresh water stood near, and a dozen baskets, artistically woven, contained numerous tablets of green gum.
The fugitives were, therefore, fortified for several days against hunger and thirst, and they needed no urging to take their first meal at the chief’s expense. Glenarvan directed Mr. Olbinett’s attention to the food necessary for his companions; but he, with his usual exactness, even in critical situations, thought the bill of fare rather scanty. Moreover, he did not know how to prepare the roots, and there was no fire.
But Paganel solved the difficulty, and advised him to simply bury his ferns and potatoes in the ground itself, for the heat of the upper strata was very great. Olbinett, however, narrowly escaped a serious scalding, for, just as he had dug a hole to put his roots in, a stream of watery vapor burst forth, and rose to the height of several feet. The steward started back in terror.
“Close the hole!” cried the major, who, with the aid of the two sailors, covered the orifice with fragments of pumice-stone, while Paganel murmured these words:
“Well! well! ha! ha! very natural!”
“You are not scalded?” inquired MacNabb of Olbinett.
“No, Mr. MacNabb,” replied the steward; “but I scarcely expected——”
“So many blessings,” added Paganel, in a mirthful tone. “Consider Kara-Tété’s water and provisions, and the fire of the earth! This mountain is a paradise! I propose that we found a colony here, cultivate the soil, and settle for the rest of our days. We will be Robinson Crusoes of Maunganamu. Indeed, I look in vain for any deficiency on this comfortable peak.”
“Nothing is wanting if the earth is firm,” replied Captain Mangles.
“Well, it was not created yesterday,” said Paganel. “It has long resisted the action of internal fires, and will easily hold out till our departure.”
“Breakfast is ready,” announced Mr. Olbinett, as gravely as if he had been performing his duties at Malcolm Castle.
The fugitives at once sat down near the palisade, and enjoyed the repast that Providence had so opportunely furnished to them in this critical situation. No one appeared particular about the choice of food, but there was a diversity of opinion concerning the edible ferns. Some found them sweet and pleasant, and others mucilaginous, insipid, and acrid. The sweet potatoes, cooked in the hot earth, were excellent.
Their hunger being satiated, Glenarvan proposed that they should, without delay, arrange a plan of escape.
“So soon!” said Paganel, in a truly piteous tone. “What! are you thinking already of leaving this delightful place?”
“I think, first of all,” replied Glenarvan, “that we ought to attempt an escape before we are forced to it by hunger. We have strength enough yet, and must take advantage of it. To-night let us try to gain the eastern valleys, and cross the circle of natives under cover of the darkness.”
“Exactly,” answered Paganel; “if the Maoris will let us pass.”
“And if they prevent us?” asked Captain Mangles.
“Then we will employ the great expedients,” said Paganel.
“You have great expedients, then?” inquired the major.
“More than I know what to do with,” rejoined Paganel, without further explanation.
They could now do nothing but wait for night to attempt crossing the line of savages, who had not left their position. Their ranks even seemed increased by stragglers from the tribe. Here and there freshly-kindled fires formed a flaming girdle around the base of the peak. When darkness had invaded the surrounding valleys, the Maunganamu seemed to rise from a vast conflagration, while its summit was lost in a dense shade. Six hundred feet below were heard the tumult and cries of the enemy’s camp.
At nine o’clock it was very dark, and Glenarvan and Captain Mangles resolved to make an exploration before taking their companions on this perilous journey. They noiselessly descended the declivity some distance, and reached the narrow ridge that crossed the line of natives fifty feet above the encampment.
All went well so far. The Maoris, stretched beside their fires, did not seem to perceive the two fugitives, who advanced a few paces farther. But suddenly, to the left and right of the ridge, a double volley resounded.
“Back!” cried Glenarvan; “these bandits have eyes like a cat, and the guns of riflemen!”
Captain Mangles and he reascended at once the precipitous slopes of the mountain, and speedily assured their terrified friends of their safety. Glenarvan’s hat had been pierced by two bullets. It was, therefore, dangerous to venture on the ridge between these two lines of marksmen.
“Wait till to-morrow,” said Paganel; “and since we cannot deceive the vigilance of these natives, permit me to give them a dose in my own way.”
The temperature was quite cold. Fortunately, Kara-Tété wore in the tomb his best night-robes, warm, flaxen coverings, in which each one wrapped himself without hesitation; and soon the fugitives, protected by the native superstition, slept peacefully in the shelter of the palisades, on the earth that seemed to quake with the internal commotion.