The scene is a Maori kainga on the east coast of New Zealand, date 1869, time of day about 9 A.M. The village, composed of some twenty huts, stands in a clearing surrounded by dense bush, and in the foreground stands the Niu, the sacred pole round which the fanatics perform their mad dances and mystic incantations. I said it was a Maori kainga; so it had been, though the only Maoris at present inside it are perhaps a score, and these lie about very dead indeed. The remainder of its whilom inhabitants have fled away into the depths of the bush and are safe from the pursuit of the strong party of Colonial Irregulars, who, having, after a long, wearying night's march, surprised and rushed the place at daybreak, are now in occupation of it. These men, having eaten their frugal meal, and worn out by their overnight's march, with the exception of the guard lie around booted and belted and with their carbines by their sides, trying to get what sleep they can, as at any moment they may again be called upon for active service. On the low fence surrounding the Niu ring, which is about thirty feet in diameter, the ground within the magic circle being trampled as hard and smooth as stone pavement by the feet of its former worshippers, lounge some half-dozen officers smoking and dozing. The day is a fine one, the sun shines hot, the white men rest, the Hau Haus, far away in the recesses of the bush, bind up their wounds and talk of utu (revenge). No, not all of them, for the undergrowth parts and out into the clearing strides a big, stark-naked Maori, who, without paying the slightest attention to any of the astonished and by now wideawake men, passes through them and, without apparently seeing the group of officers, enters the Niu ring, where, after saluting the pole, he prances slowly round it, chanting in a minor key the words: "Hau Hau, Pai Marire" (Wind, wind, good, peaceful), over and over again. Gradually he gets up steam and, paying no attention to the throng of armed enemies who now surround the mystic circle, he cavorts higher and faster, while his monotonous chant is raised to the full gamut of his deep, bass voice. Presently he foams at the mouth, his features become distorted, sweat pours through his skin like water, on his hands held rigid his fingers quiver, while with leaps and bounds his stamping feet beat time to the chant of "Hau Hau, Pai Marire."