THE BOYS' CORNER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20235, 20 April 1929, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE BOYS' CORNER.

BV STEPHEN NIBLOCK.

JACK'S ITEM. /

Jack Logan, a quiet, dreamy boy of seventeen, had como to stay with hia uncle and aunt in Auckland: his people were farming a great run near Rotorua so that Jack was more used to Maori boys and girls than his own white cousins. About a week after his arrival his cousins, who had recently completed a course in elocution, had decided to give a concert to their parents as a sort of celebration of the fact. They were a merry crew and Jack wished that ho could join in somehow, and yet ho could neither dance nor recite, nor, as ho thought, in any way entertain. " Well, Jack," said his aunt kindly, " can you not give us an item just to finish off the evening?" " I'm afraid," began Jack hesitatingly, but then his thoughts turned to his home at Rotorua and tho nights with the Maori maidens singing under the gleaming moon and tho pines—yes he would give thorn an item.

"Has anyone a guitar?" lie called, and instantly several were pressed upon him. " Will you go out to the verandah and look to the sea and the pines out there," ho said; " I want you to imagine you are in a pa, near the shore 3 of Lake Taupo, the moon is clear and full upon the lake; thero is a soft breeze rippling the waters, and a few dusky forms half seen are walking upon - the shore." Silently, as they sat there, from the inner room came the soft sounds of the guitar played in a minor key and then clear and strong as if from the lips of a Maori warrior came this tale, " Oh, ahaie, oh, ah aiee, long have the paddles flashed and dipped and risen again, long has been the journey and great the sorrow! How have our warriors perished under the redcoats' swords. Now, now comes our canoe, filled with the wounded and dead!" Jack was living the scene, his hearers could feel it and see the cance 1. saring the pa upon the beach, his voice carried out to them in a deep, throbbing key, as he accompanied it. Thus sadly and with wailing they landed—moving in file to the pa. The old chief, stern in his sorrow, gazed upon the forms of his young men, who never would fight again. " Shall we thus ever allow the redcoat to prevail," he cried. " Shall theso onr kindred die here unavenged ?" " Aie never," came back the answer and fierce and determined were the faces in the firelight. " Aie never while Maori man and maiden breathe." Then spoke one of the wounded: " Three days' march to the south lies a camp of redcoats, proud in their strength and might, and the power of their pa and guns. I, a wounded one, will lead ye to them for never is a Maori beaten till he die." Quick and silent was the preparation in the pa beside the lake, soon was the kumara prepared and stacked in kits in tho canoe, soon the spears and tomahawks and meres. Fierce and silent were the men and women. But most fierce of all was Ngaire Te Bore, wile of the now dead chieftain's son. She it was who ceaselessly crooned the song of the paddle and exhorted onward the rowers. At length was the journey made and the pa viewed from the shelter of the bush. " Now straightway shall wo avenge, even in tho light of day while yet the redcoats sle?p and no guard keeps his watch." There was hardly a stir on the verandah now. Jack's voice had taken on a tirnhro and quality ringing with the thrill of battle sweeping onward to victory. " Arise and fight, now shall the mere strike and the tomahawk cut down." So spake Ngaire as she led her warriors on. Con fusion now, and war. strong was the downward thrust of the dusky arm, strong the blow of the mere. Now and again did a redcoat stand, but never could be withstand the rush as the wave of dark figures swept ever onward. One last flourish and the pa was theirs!. Chanting arcl laden with spoils the warriors returned. Now cheerily swung (he paddles, now over the waters came the victors' chant and those of the pa rushed to the beach to welcome their waiviers homo." For a minute there was silence, in a voice, thnlling with emotion, Jack broke into tho beautiful, plaintive strains of " Waiata Maori." When after a while he stepped on to tho verandah, he was greeted by the silence of true appreciation. Taking a chair diffidently in the background, ha said: " Such are the (ales and songs the Maoris tell me when the pines murmur in. the breeze and the moonlight on the lake is sad." " Yes." said his aunt. " They have truly told you what the Maoris onc9 were, and to-night we have seen them in the moonlight on the sea."