[Footnote 49: A wooden trumpet, six feet in length.] [Footnote 50: The first man to be killed in a fight was called the _mataika_. "I have the _mataika_!" was the cry of the successful slayer, and duels often arose after a battle, owing to disputes among the claimants to the honour.] PART II THE COMING OF THE PAKEHA CHAPTER VII THE DUTCHMAN'S LOSS I It wanted a couple of hours to sunset. All the way from the rim of the world the blue Pacific waves heaved slumberously towards the shore, thundered against the iron rocks, and rolled lazily eastwards into the gathering night. The long cloud-shadows chased one another across the fern, the silver-winged gulls circled the blue bay, ready to chorus a harsh "good-night," and the sinking sun, flinging a challenge to the coming darkness, set the sky ablaze. Night, swift, inexorable, was not far away; there would be no moon, and the _Patupaiarehe_, imps of evil, wander in the dark in search of mischief. Luckless the Maori who walks through forest glade or over fern-clad hill when they flit on their wicked way. So, lest they should be caught by the tricksy sprites, the Maori, who were chatting in the _marae_, rose to disperse. Suddenly, one who had been looking carelessly about him, uttered a loud yell. "_He! He!_" he cried. "_Titira! Titira!_" (Look! Look!). The clamour which followed brought the chief--a splendid figure in his _kaitaka_ and coronet of _huia_ plumes. Hurried question and excited answer gave him the reason of the commotion, and he, too, looked out to sea. A cry escaped him. Amazement, incredulity, fear were in the tone. "A whale with white wings![51] What can it mean? It is magic or----" He broke off, staring at his men. His lips were trembling, his eyes round. Great chief though he was, fear wrapped him as a garment. None answered. Some looked under their lids at the oncoming Thing; some fastened their gaze upon the chief, and every man there muttered a _karakia_, if so he might avert impending doom. On came the marvel, growing ever more distinct, and upon the polished decks the astounded Maori could see beings who looked like men, though their outward seeming was strangely different from any men whom the Sons of Maui had ever encountered. Then a voice was heard, calling something in a strange, harsh tongue. A whistle shrilled; a score or so of the odd forms raced from end to end of what the bewildered Maori now decided must be a canoe of some sort, and with magical swiftness the "white wings" collapsed and lay folded upon the long spars. Another call, a loud, rattling noise, something fell with a mighty splash into the sea, and the mysterious vessel came to rest. One minute of tense silence. Then a scream went up from the watching Maori. The strangely garbed forms were human. But their faces! _Their faces were white!_