Around him were assembled the principal warriors of his tribe, among whom was seen the chief whose canoe had first joined Kai-Koumou on the river. He was a man of about forty, robust, and of fierce and cruel aspect. His name was Kara-Tété, which means in the native language “The Irascible.” Kai-Koumou treated him with some respect, and from the delicacy of his tattooing it was evident that he occupied a high rank in his tribe. An observer, however, would have detected a rivalry between the two chiefs. The major, indeed, perceived that Kara-Tété’s influence surpassed that of Kai-Koumou. They both ruled the powerful tribes of the Waikato with equal rank; and, during this interview, although Kai-Koumou smiled, his eyes betrayed a deep hostility.
He now questioned Glenarvan.
“You are English?” said he.
“Yes,” replied Glenarvan, without hesitation, for this nationality would probably facilitate an exchange.
“And your companions?” asked Kai-Koumou.
“My companions are also English. We are shipwrecked travelers, and, if you care to know, we have taken no part in the war.”
“No matter,” replied Kara-Tété, brutally. “Every Englishman is our enemy. Your people have invaded our island. They have stolen away our fields; they have burned our villages.”
“They have done wrong,” said Glenarvan, in a grave tone. “I say so because I think so, and not because I am in your power.”
“Listen,” continued Kai-Koumou. “Tohonga, the high-priest of Nouï-Atoua, has fallen into the hands of your brothers. He is prisoner of the Pakekas (Europeans). Our god commands us to ransom his life. I would have torn out your heart, I would have hung your companions’ heads and yours forever to the stakes of this palisade. But Nouï-Atoua has spoken.”
So saying, Kai-Koumou, who had hitherto controlled himself, trembled with rage, and his countenance was flushed with a fierce exultation. Then, after a few moments, he resumed, more coolly:
“Do you think the English will give us our Tohonga in exchange for you?”
Glenarvan hesitated, and watched the Maori chief very attentively.
“I do not know,” said he, after a moment’s silence.
“Speak,” continued Kai-Koumou. “Is your life worth that of our Tohonga?”
“No,” answered Glenarvan. “I am neither a chief nor a priest among my people.”
Paganel was astounded at this reply, and gazed at Glenarvan in profound wonder. Kai-Koumou seemed equally surprised.
“Then you doubt it?” said he.
“I do not know,” repeated Glenarvan.
“Will not your people accept you in exchange for our Tohonga?”
“Not me alone,” replied Glenarvan; “but perhaps all of us.”
“Among the Maoris,” said Kai-Koumou, “it is one for one.”
“Offer these ladies first in exchange for your priest,” answered Glenarvan, pointing to Lady Helena and Mary Grant. Lady Helena would have rushed towards her husband, but the major restrained her.
“These two ladies,” continued Glenarvan, turning respectfully towards them, “hold a high rank in their country.”
The warrior glanced coldly at his prisoner. A malicious smile passed over his face; but he almost instantly repressed it, and replied, in a voice which he could scarcely control:
“Do you hope, then, to deceive Kai-Koumou by false words, cursed European? Do you think that Kai-Koumou’s eyes cannot read your heart?”
Then, pointing to Lady Helena, he said:
“That is your wife!”
“No, mine!” cried Kara-Tété.
Then, pushing back the prisoners, the chief laid his hand on Lady Helena’s shoulder, who grew pale at the touch.
“Edward!” cried the unfortunate woman, in terror.
Glenarvan, without uttering a word, raised his arm. A report resounded. Kara-Tété fell dead.
At this sound a crowd of natives issued from the huts. The pah was filled in an instant. A hundred arms were raised against the captives. Glenarvan’s revolver was snatched from his hand.
Kai-Koumou cast a strange look at Glenarvan, and then, guarding with one hand the person of him who had fired, he controlled with the other the throng that was rushing upon the Europeans.
At last his voice rose above the tumult.
“Taboo! taboo!” cried he.
At this word the crowd fell back before Glenarvan and his companions, thus temporarily preserved by a supernatural power. A few moments after they were led back to the temple that served as their prison; but Robert Grant and Paganel were no longer with them.
L
The Chief’s Funeral
Kai-Koumou, according to a custom quite ordinary in New Zealand, joined the rank of priest to that of chief, and could, therefore, extend to persons or objects the superstitious protection of the taboo.
The taboo, which is common to the tribes of Polynesia, has the power to prohibit at once all connection with the object or person tabooed. According to the Maori religion, whoever should lay his sacrilegious hand on what is declared taboo would be punished with death by the offended god; and in case the divinity should delay to avenge his own insult, the priests would not fail to excite his anger.
As for the prisoners confined in the temple, the taboo had rescued them from the fury of the tribe. Some of the natives, the friends and partisans of Kai-Koumou, had stopped suddenly at the command of their chief, and had protected the captives.
Glenarvan, however, was not blind to the fate that was reserved for him. Only his death could atone for the murder of a chief. Among savage races death is always preceded by a protracted torture. He therefore expected to cruelly expiate the righteous indignation that had nerved his arm, but hoped that Kai-Koumou’s rage would fall only on himself.
What a night he and his companions passed! Who could depict their anguish, or measure their sufferings? Neither poor Robert nor brave Paganel had reappeared. But how could they doubt their fate? Were they not the first victims of the natives’ vengeance? All hope had vanished even from the heart of the major, who did not easily despair. John Mangles felt himself growing mad at sight of the sad dejection of Mary Grant, thus separated from her brother. Glenarvan thought of that terrible request of Lady Helena, who, rather than yield to torture or slavery, preferred to die by
