"Oh, here and there, there are older trees; but half a century ago all this land was under Maori cultivation."
Then he showed me the old ramparts that had defended the crest of the hill. A double bank of earth, now all overgrown with trees and shrubs, not unlike the outlines of ancient British and Roman encampments. On every point around us similar traces could be found, showing that the district had been thickly inhabited. As the Maoris had no grazing stock in those days, and no grass in these parts, their lands were solely spade-cultivations. Some thousands of acres between the Pahi and the Wairau had once grown their taro and kumera and hue, together with potatoes and other things introduced by Captain Cook.
Marahemo Pa was the capital of the district. Its position, occupying the crest of a sugar-loaf hill, defended by earthworks and stockades, must have made it seem impregnable to people unacquainted with artillery. The space enclosed was considerable; and the immense quantities of shells thrown down the sides of the hill attested the numbers of its population--for all the shell-fish would have to be brought up here on the backs of women and slaves from the beach, which is over three miles distant; and shell-fish was by no means the principal item of the Maori commissariat.
"That must have been the way they went," said Old Colonial, looking in a direction where a strip of the Arapaoa was visible through a gap made in the ranges by a narrow gully.
"Who went?" I asked, for I did not follow his thought.
"Hoosh!" cried he. "Do you mean to say you've never heard the story of the battle and capture of Marahemo, the tale of Te Puke Tapu?"
No, I had not heard it. At least, I remembered only some confused account of a conflict having taken place at the latter spot, which, being our show-place, I had often seen and knew well.
"Well," said Old Colonial, "there's no time now; but we've got to get some schnapper for supper to-night, so you and I will go and fish down the Arapaoa yonder; then I'll tell you."
In the evening we were sitting in the boat, anchored in the river nearly opposite our much venerated show-place. We were fishing with line and bait, diligently securing a supper and breakfast for ourselves and the rest of the company who make our shanty their home. Every now and then either of us would pull up a great pink slab-sided schnapper, a glistening silvery mullet, or a white-bellied whapuka; we were in a good pitch, and the fish were biting freely. Our minds were relieved from the anxiety of a possible shortness of provisions. The scenery around us is truly magnificent, if only it were possible to describe it. I must, however, try to convey an idea of its outlines.