This booklet isn't a piece of fiction. it's a undeniable narrative of actual lifestyles within the New Zealand bush, a real tale of experience in an afternoon now not but distant, while event in abundance used to be nonetheless available within the land of the Maori. each identify used is a true one, each personality who seems in those pages had lifestyles in these battle days of 40 years in the past. each incident defined here's a trustworthy checklist of tangible happenings ;some of them may perhaps persuade the reader that fact could be stranger than fiction. a variety of situations are recorded of white deserters from civilisation who've allied themselves with savages, adopting barbarous practices, and forgetting even their mother-tongue. within the previous convict days of recent South Wales escapees from the fetters of a greater than rigorous method every so often solid of their lot with the blacks.
(Typographical blunders above are because of OCR software program and do not ensue within the book.)

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Simply because the unsuspecting settler got here to the paddock gate, the Maori leaped out from at the back of the fence, with a livid grasp tore the rifle from the man's snatch, and shot him lifeless with it. He bring to an end one of many pakeha's legs along with his tomahawk, and taken it domestic as facts of his luck at the war-path as proudly as any Indian ever flourished his take of scalps. Up and down the marae of the pa he bounded, showing the captured rifle and severed limb, yelling his war-song, and loudly boasting that he may that evening prepare dinner the pakeha's leg and devour all of it himself. however the warrior's braggadocio got a pointy money from Titokowaru. The war-chief disapproved of this kind of factor at the a part of irresponsible younger free-lances. "No guy needs to deliver white man's flesh into this pa," he stated, "unless he's one of many Tekau-ma-rua, the war-party despatched out through me. Take that pakeha leg again back immediately and position it along the physique. " and shortly thereafter the disgusted scout, his passion for "long-pig" so suddenly damped by means of Titoko's code of cannibal etiquette, was once to be visible trudging again alongside the music to the pakeha farm, with sulky visage and reluctant gait, and a white foot and leg—raw—protruding from a flax basket strapped to his shoulders. by way of day the scouting events of the Hauhau "Twelve Apostles" scoured the rustic; by way of night[Pg 231] the folk collected around the fires at the marae or within the titanic sound asleep wharés, and talked and sang and danced the hakas of which they by no means wearied. Wild night-scenes these at the stockaded marae, with the crowds of included or flax-cloaked women and men, their wild faces illumined by means of the jumping flames, squatting in nice circles around the camp fires, whereas greater than part nude figures leaped and stamped and slapped their limbs and chests with resounding slaps, and expelled the air from their lungs in wolfish "Ooh's! " and "Hau's! " as they trod the meeting floor in the entire fury of the war-dance. A warrior orator could upward push, weapon in hand, and throwing off his blanket for freedom of motion, move bounding alongside the marae in entrance of the assemblage, shouting brief, sharp sentences as he taki'd from side to side, his athletic determine untrammelled aside from a waist-shawl or brief dangling mat, hearth in his events, and ferocity in each gesture and in each cry—the embodiment of belligerent Maoridom in its savage top. Like defiant replying shouts from a few hidden foe within the blackness of the wooded area that rose in a superior wall above the rear stockade got here the transparent echoes of the roaring haka choruses. And so the wild evening handed, until eventually the camp fires died down, and the tribespeople sought sleep of their packed wharepunis and their rush-strewn burrows; and the depression "Kou-kou! " of the[Pg 232] "hundred-eyed" ruru, the bush-owl, used to be heard, because the bird-sentry of the evening hours cried his watchword from the woodland or a perch on a few tall palisade-post. but no longer all eyes have been closed within the pa, for the Hauhaus, grown clever through a lot demanding adventure, didn't overlook the posting of sentries, and a sentinel watched from the platform within the angle-tower.

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