From the earliest period of Maori history Tokanu has been an important place of native settlement, and it is still one of the principal strongholds of the Ngatituwharetoa. It is likewise, at the present time, one of the most jealously-guarded entrances to the King Country. Situated, as it is, in the very centre of the island, it formed in former years the point at which the chief war-tracks converged. During the early days, when tribal wars were frequent, there were three main tracks (existing to this day) which were principally used for conveying intelligence throughout the island. One came from Whanganui, in the south, across the Rangipo table-land to Tokanu, while two others diverged from the latter place, one striking west, through that portion of the island now known as the King Country, and thence to the north. The other passed along the eastern shores of Lake Taupo, and thence to Maketu. The natives told us that in war-time men belonging to the various tribes through whose territory the tracks passed, were stationed at different points, and they, by moving rapidly from place to place when in receipt of information, conveyed it thus from one end of the island to the other in an incredibly short space of time. Besides its many other historic associations, Te Rapa, an old _pa_ near Tokanu, was the scene of the terrible catastrophe by which Te Heuheu, the great warrior chief of the Ngatituwharetoa, met his death, with sixty of his followers, by a land-slip, which overwhelmed his _pa_ during the night, in the month of May, 1846. The site of this terrific fall of earth may still be traced, while the name and fame of Te Heuheu still resounds from Tokanu even unto the lofty peaks of Tongariro, where the Maori hero, armed even in death with his spear and _mere_, awaits the sound of the last trumpet. It was in memory of Te Heuheu's untimely end that his brother, Iwikau, composed the following lament, which for poetic diction and pathos has no equal in the Maori language:[43]-- See o'er the heights of dark Tauhara's mount The infant morning wakes. Perhaps my friend Returns to me, clothed in that lightsome cloud!-- Alas! I toil alone in this lone world. Yes, thou art gone! Go, thou mighty! go, thou dignified! Go, thou who wert a spreading tree to shade Thy people when evil hover'd round! And what strange god has caused so dread a death To thee and thy companions? Sleep on, O Sire, in that dark, damp abode! And hold within thy grasp that weapon rare, Bequeath'd to thee by thy renown'd ancestor, Ngahuia, when he left the world. Turn yet this once thy bold, athletic frame! And let me see thy skin carved o'er with lines Of blue; and let me see thy face so Beautifully chisell'd into varied forms;-- Ah! the people now are comfortless and sad!