The high chief was splendidly arrayed. His fine, Roman face, scarred with records of his daring, was set and stern; his dark hair, combed and oiled, supported a coronet of _huia_ plumes, and from the lobe of each ear dangled a gleaming tooth of the tiger-shark. Around his loins he wore the customary _katika_, or kilt, while a vest of closely woven flax covered as with mail the upper part of his body. A collar of sharks' teeth, or of the teeth of slain foes, encircled the massive column of his neck, and from the former was suspended his household _heitiki_,[48] which lay like a locket upon his broad chest. In his hand he held a long spear, elaborately carved, like the rest of his wooden weapons, and from his right wrist dangled his favourite _mere_, or war-club, of purest greenstone. Upon his shoulders, fastened so as to leave the right arm free, he wore the _kaitaka_, the valuable robe of flax already referred to. But no matter how sumptuously garbed before the fight began, every particle of clothing was usually discarded at the moment of onset, and the Maori rushed into the fray naked and unashamed. The war-dance usually followed a favourable augury, and was heralded by a terrific commotion, which drew every inhabitant of the village to the _marae_, in the midst of which a cleared space was occupied by a hundred or more lusty warriors. Stripped to the skin, their brown, muscular bodies gleaming, their scarred faces aglow with excitement, the warriors stand in two long lines awaiting the signal. Suddenly the long-drawn wail of a _tetere_[49] sounds, and a hush falls upon the crowd. A moment, and with a wild yell a magnificent savage rushes from the rear of the column to the front, brandishing his spear and hideously contorting his face. For a short minute he leaps and capers at the head of the column; then, abruptly coming to rest, sings in a rich bass the first words of the war-song. Another short pause and the warriors behind him leap from the ground with a pealing shout, flourish their weapons and set off at the double round the court, while from their open throats comes the roaring chorus of the chant. Twice they circle the _marae_; then, forming once more in column, with, or without, the soloist for fugleman, they dance in perfect time, but with furious energy, gesticulating, rolling their eyes and protruding their tongues, while the ground trembles under the heavy tread of so many strong men. At last, with a shout so horrible and menacing that the hearts of the watchers beat faster as they hear it, the dance comes to an end as abruptly as it began, and on all sides are heard prophecies of success, since no one among the dancers has fallen under the exhausting strain.