"When the tribe retired there, as usual, they did not reckon on an unexpected move of the fiercest and most crafty chief of his day, and that is saying a good deal if all tales be true." "How did he get over without boats; for I take it they didn't leave any canoes on the hither side?" "Of course not. But he had plenty of man-power; so, after sacking the Arawa stronghold (in 1823) on the east coast, he dragged his fleet of canoes across by a road which he made to Lake Rotoiti, and, entering Rotorua, appeared with his fleet before the astonished lake tribes. He made straight for Mokoia, fell upon them with his customary ferocity, and, carrying all before him, put to death all who escaped the first assault. Of the whole seven hundred of the Arawa, not one is said to have escaped." "What a tragedy! But, of course, such stratagems belonged to the accepted method of warfare of the period?" "Yes," assented Warwick. "Almost where we stand now a chief's widow killed in cold blood (with the tribe and the mission school children looking on) a woman taken in war, as an offering to the memory of her husband. The missionary in vain attempted to prevent the sacrifice, the poor victim appealing piteously to some relative to help her. But the good man only endangered his own life, and did not succeed in saving hers. At Matamata, Te Waharoa's great fortress, when he was besieged by the Ngapuhi under Tareha, he made an unexpected sortie, and, capturing several prisoners, _crucified them_ on the tall posts of the _pah_--just like those you see there--in the very sight of their friends, who retired in confusion. But I see Erena coming this way, so I must stop these bloodcurdling stories; she has a strong dislike to them." While their appointed camp was being made ready, they were taken by Warwick to the site of the Lost Village, the scene of the extinction of a _hapu_ of the tribe as sudden and complete as the destruction of that of Te Heu Heu. They stood on a point of land running into the lake. It was floored with masses of pumice-stone, which the waves had worn into strange and fantastic shapes. Here had been the encampment. The sites of the dwellings, by no means unsubstantial, were marked by walls, of which the lower stones only remained. The apertures showed where the entrances had been. On one fatal night the whole promontory sank downwards, drowning the sleepers, and submerging for ever the homes where generations had lived and died. Arrived at the camp, all things wore a most cheerful aspect. The chief, according to Maori custom with distinguished visitors, had sent down cooked food, mats, and other gifts, intimating through a messenger that he would be pleased to receive a visit from the pakeha rangatira at his convenience on the morrow.