"I had at this time," continues the deserter, recounting his wild days in Otapawa, "no boots, no trousers, no shirt--just Maori flax mats to cover me, and a mat and blanket for my bed. I had managed to procure some needles and thread, together with paper and pencil (I kept up a sort of diary now and then), and one or two other little things which I kept in a kit, thinking that, though I had nothing to sew with the needles and thread, and very little to do with the other belongings, they might come in useful before very long. One of my greatest troubles was the want of salt; as for bread, I had not tasted any for many months."
British forces attack the stockade--The bayonet charge--Flight of the Hauhaus--Through the forest by torchlight--Doctoring the wounded--The _Tangi_ by the river.
Summer was on the forest. The beautiful midsummer of Maori Land, with its soft airs and brilliant sunshine, its blaze of crimson blossom on the grand old _rata_-trees, and its showering of scented, white, peach-like flowers on the thickets of ribbon-wood. Birds flooded the outskirts of the bush with song; the early morning chantings and pipings and chimings of the _tui_ and the _korimako_ made a feast of melody to which the brown forest men were in no way deaf, for they delighted as much as any _pakeha_ in the sights and sounds of the free, wild places, and the call of the creatures of the bush. "_Te Waha-o-Tané_," literally "The Voice of the Tree-God"--the Song of Nature--they called these morning concerts of the birds; it was their poetic expression in the classic tongue of old Polynesia for the sounds that betokened the daily awakening to light and life of the deep and solemn forests of Tane-Mahuta. Pigeons, _ku-ku_-ing to each other, with blue necks and white breasts gleaming in the sun, went sweeping across the clearing on softly winnowing wings, and flapped from tree to tree and shrub to shrub in search of the tenderest leaves, for it was not yet the season of the choicest bush fruits, the big blue _tawa_ berry, the sweet yellow _koroi_, and the aromatic _miro_.
Life went easily in the _pa_ when the early harvesting was over. There was little to do but eat and sleep and lie about in the sun, or join in the daily prayers and the procession round the _Niu_ pole, where the brightly coloured war-flags hung.[1] There was abundance of food in the camp--potatoes, maize, potted birds, pork, and dried fish sent as presents from the coast tribes. Early morning, and again in the warm, golden evenings, long, straight columns of pale blue smoke arose from the cooking-ovens of the village, and mingled with the thin vapours that crept about the tree-tops; then little clouds of steam curled up as the women, with lively chatter, uncovered the _hangis_ and arranged the well-cooked food in little round flax baskets, which they presently carried off, women and girls in a double line, keeping time with a merry old dance-song--the lilt of the "_tuku-kai_" the "food-bringing"--as they marched on to the green _marae_ and laid the steaming meal before their lounging lords.