Robert was right. Fifty feet above, at the extreme point of the mountain, stood a small palisaded enclosure 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 enclosure. 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
