In the grip of the Hawk: A story of the Maori warsHorsley, Reginald
History
In the grip of the Hawk: A story of the Maori wars
Horsley, Reginald
Māori (New Zealand people) -- Fiction; New Zealand -- Fiction; New Zealand -- History -- New Zealand Wars, 1860-1872 -- Fiction
'I am sure you would, dear old fellow!' said George affectionately;
'but we will stick together as long as possible. Only, if the chief
does not parole you, then----' He broke off short, staring up at Te
Karearea, who had, as usual, approached unobserved.
'It looks as if the rascal possesses the power to render himself
invisible at will,' said George disgustedly, when the chief had
withdrawn after informing them that the march was about to be
resumed. 'We shall have to go warily, Terence; for there is no
knowing how much he may have heard.'
'Much good may it do him,' remarked Terence airily. 'And if it comes
to knocking on the head----' He bent his arm. The great biceps
contracted, bulging out the red sleeve. Let that enormous mass of
muscle be extended with the weight of the body behind it, and the
fist in front of it would surely trouble somebody's weak nerves.
George smiled. 'Oh, I know what you can do; but a couple of hundred
to one is long odds. Meantime, you must not run the risk of
offending him; for, remember, he is utterly unscrupulous. In some
mysterious way I appear to be necessary to him; but were it
otherwise, he would kill me without the slightest compunction. Of
that I feel sure. Come! it is time we joined him.'
Four days later, towards sunset, they debouched from the forest
through which for the last sixty hours they had toiled wearily along
a narrow, difficult track. It had been a terrible journey for the
Maoris, but far more so for the white men, and all alike rejoiced
when at last the dreadful bush lay behind them, and they beheld the
river which alone divided them from the _pah_ which was their goal.
As was usual with the Maori fortresses, the position was one of
immense strength. The island plain, at the back of which rose a
considerable hill, was a swampy area overgrown with flax, and
extended for nearly a mile on every side of the eminence but one,
being itself enclosed by a forked ravine, at the bottom of which the
river roared and swirled among giant boulders. No doubt, at some
far-off day this roughly level plain had itself been covered with
forest; but dead and gone generations of Maoris had cleared away the
offending wood, so that no one could now approach the _pah_
unobserved. The single side of the hill unflanked by the plain was
simply a vast, precipitous rock-face, having for its _vis-à-vis_ the
equally precipitous opposing wall of the ravine, into whose depths it
dropped a sheer two hundred feet, the twin cliffs forming a cañon
through which the river raced on its way to unite again with the main
stream.
The place was, indeed, almost inaccessible when once the only
approach from the forest was barred. This was merely a rough bridge
across the river on the side furthest from the hill, and when the
tree-trunks forming this were withdrawn, a handful of men could
easily hold the island against an army.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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