But this course offered more than one danger, as they would have to pass below within gunshot. 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 91:1
“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 halfway, 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 firearms 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
