felt, in addition to the big shock, no less than seven other tremors, or distinct quakes, during the night. Nothing more forcibly or vividly brought home to us the nature of the country we were now in. The eerie feeling produced by the shock does not readily pass away. One lies in a state of intense expectancy, waiting for the next development. I was not frightened; but I, as well as others, got a severe headache. This must have come, I think, from nervous tension. We were glad when sunrise awoke us from a troubled sleep; and you may be sure there was an animated interchange of what we thought and how we felt, while we discussed our morning meal.
A terrific row now, outside! Is it another earthquake?—a murder?—a rising of the natives? What can it be? We rush to the verandah, and there, in front of the assembled clan, a stalwart female paces to and fro, literally foaming with rage and bristling with electric energy, as she denunciates some one in voluble Maori commination. What an Amazon! How she gesticulates! She clenches her fist, and strikes it with a whack into the palm of her other hand. She walks to and fro with short angry steps, like a savage treading a war measure;—she stamps her foot like an angry charger chafing at restraint. What a torrent of words!—what a shrill clamour! Can this be the gentle Kate, our débonnaire and soft-voiced guide, with whom we were so favourably impressed yesternight?
It was indeed Kate; and when we learned the
