"War to the Knife;" or, Tangata MaoriBoldrewood, Rolf
General
"War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori
Boldrewood, Rolf
Māori (New Zealand people) -- Fiction; New Zealand -- Fiction
"She wished to know who you were, and when I said a pakeha rangatira,
her reply was, 'Oh, quite true; he looks like one.' They are keen
observers, you see, and very conservative. It would astonish you to see
how quickly they find out the different rank and standing of the white
people they meet."
"They have no modern craze for equality or socialistic rule?"
"None whatever. A chief is born to his exalted rank, which is
undisputed. At the same time, he must keep up to a certain standard
in war or peace, otherwise his _mana_, his general reputation and
influence, would suffer."
"And a slave?" inquired he.
"Oh, a slave is forced to work at the pleasure of his owner, and may
be killed for any reason or none at all. So also the common people of
the tribe must obey the chiefs, more particularly in war, though, like
those of other nations, they can make their voices heard at critical
times."
"And the women?" queried Massinger.
"Oh, the women!" said Erena, while a graver expression overspread
her face. "I am afraid that they have to work hard, and are not so
much considered as they might be. They do most of the cultivation,
mat-making, cooking, and general household duties, particularly when
grown old. The younger ones have a better time of it."
"So they have everywhere. It is the prerogative of the sex. It only
shows that human nature is much the same everywhere, and that all
societies differ less in the essentials of life than is generally
supposed."
Having skirted the river-shore, a part of which was of the nature
of quicksand, and so needed a guide to the manner born, they began
to ascend the slope of the volcanic hill, which, as throughout the
North Island, had been selected for the tribal castrum. After a
lengthened climb, which would have tested the powers of less practised
pedestrians, they stood upon the wind-swept summit, artificially
levelled, and through the heavy sliding gates entered the ancient
fortress. Before doing so they had to cross trenches, to scale
embankments, and had time to note the various strategic preparations
which, though crumbling or partially dismantled, exhibited the skill
with which they had been constructed. The water-supply, as in most of
the "castles" of the period, was the weak point, the besieged having
to steal out in the night at the peril of their lives to procure the
indispensable element.
"What a glorious view!" exclaimed he, as, side by side, they looked on
the wide expanse of land and sea which lay beneath and around them--the
broad estuary, the broken and fantastic outlines of the mountain range
beyond the river-bank.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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