A SECRET OF ANCIENT NIGHT.

For some minutes the aged chief sat silent, looking out far away over the sea, where the white-winged taniwhas of the Pakeha pass through Raukawa, to gain the great ocean of Kiwa. His thoughts were as far away as the blue Isle of Rangitoto, marked vaguely in the horizon. What thing was he pursuing over the dim trail of the past? Of a truth he seemed to see those who were not present, to hear those who did not speak. Would he begin his story at the time when those fierce old history-makers of yore—the Waitahi and the Ngaitahu—dwelt in the valley of the “Pensive Water,” and held their land against the fierce invaders coming down from the land of Tara? No, he turned towards us, and the words from his breast were of things long, long before the Waitahi fought their frays upon the sounding shore.

He spoke in a hushed voice; for our ears alone were the secret things he was about to unfold.

“O men of the great land beyond the mountains and the sea, why should I tell to you those things which none but our priesthood of ancient night have known? It is because I have heard the voices of the Great Tohungas of the Earth speaking to me in sleep, and I have had no rest. Therefore I will obey the words that have come to me in the whistling winds of heaven, and reveal a secret of the ancient tohungas of my race. Yet in doing this I know full well that, by the occult law of the ages, I shall incur my death.

“Know then, O children of another world, that the blood of the Great River of Heaven has run through the veins of an unbroken hereditary priesthood from the further shore of Time to this day that we see beneath the shining sun. Men who do not know speak of Te Kahui Tipua; a band of man-eating demons, they say, who dwelt here in Aopawa. Sons! these are no demons, but the powerful priesthood of which I speak to you, extending back into the far night of the world. The Rangitane and the Ngaitahu have nursed our priests in their wahine’s laps; the Ngatimamoe also, and before them the Waitahi, skilled in spells—all these came and passed away like the leaves of the kohutukutu, but the father blood of the ancient Kahui Tipua is of the Great River of Heaven flowing down the ages from times when this land of the Maori was without a shore from the rising to the setting sun.

“What the west wind has whispered in the branches of the Kahikatea, what his friend has spoken with his tongue about the woman, and my own word to you about a lost child, are the head, the back, and the tail of one story. Hearken to me then, O men from over the sea, while I show to you a hidden thing which has never been shown to a pakeha before, nor revealed to any but our own priesthood. Then, when Te Makawawa has trodden the Highway of Tane, and you see his eye set as a star in the sky, you will tell this sacred thing to your brethren of the other side, for it is a word of power to the Maori and Pakeha alike. But know that whoever reveals this hidden thing to the outside world must die.

“Not three days’ journey towards the setting sun is a high plain rolling like a yellow sea beneath a great mountain wall. On that sacred plain waves now the golden toi-toi, and it is desolate; but there was a time when a great city stood there in which dwelt a mighty race of long ago. And within that mountain wall is the vast temple of Ruatapu, cut out of the ancient rock by the giant tohungas of old. This, O children of the sun that rose to-day, was long before the wharekura of our lesser tohungas, many ages before the Maori set sail from Hawaiki to find these shores. In that temple of the ages are strange things preserved from the wreck of the ancient world—things which one day you shall see, but I now shorten my words to tell of a sacred stone under the protection of the Good Tohungas of the Brow of Ruatapu, and yet again of another, an accursed stone, the plaything of the Vile Tohungas of the Pit.

“In that far time, when this land of the Maori was but a small part of a vast land now eaten by the sea, the people who dwelt in the city of the high plain were powerful giants, and they were ruled by a priesthood of tohungas, among whom two kinds of magic were practised: the Good and the Vile. The Good Tohungas derived their spells, like Tawhaki, from the heavens above, where the Great Spider sits weaving his web around him, and they dwelt in the forehead of the mountain wall. The Vile Tohungas obtained their spells, like Tangaroa, from the depths of the sea, and from the gloom of Porawa; they inhabited the foundations of the mountain. But although both dwelt in the same temple, there was a deadly hatred between them, and, when they met in battle, fierce lightnings were seen to issue from the rocks.

“I am not now the hereditary priest of that temple, but many moons ago, before the snows fell on my hair, I was called by the Great Tohungas, whose eyes look down from the northern sky, to enter the mountain and take the place of my father, who was growing old. My father, worn with doing the will of the tohungas in the temple, came out to die, and I took his place, even as I, after many years, have come out to die, while my son, Ngaraki the Fierce, has taken my place. When I entered the mountain by a path any brave man might find and follow, and further, when I ascended to the upper part of the mountain, by a way that no man could find unless he were guided as I was, I found there the sacred white stone, before which it was the work of the priest to sing the magic karakia, which have been handed down from the time of the ancient city. For the tradition given to me by my father, O Pakehas, told that in this stone stood the form of a woman, beauteous as the dawn; and the prophecy attached to her was that one day the stone which enclosed her would be broken, and she would stand free.

“Sons of Kiwa, hear the sacred story of the woman of the ancient city, and listen well, that my words do not pass by like the empty wind, for, in revealing this for the good of my race and yours, I give myself over to the Woman of Death and Darkness—such is the law by which I, a sometime priest of the mountain temple, will abide. In the times of which the rocks of that temple alone keep a record, the bright goddess Hia, or, as we call her, Hinauri, the Daughter of the Dawn, came down from the skies to restore the divine magic which the Vile Tohungas had almost driven from the world. She became queen of the city on the plain, and tried to rule the people by the love-magic she brought with her. But she failed: the people were being led down to death by the vile brethren of Huo, or, as we know her, Hine-nui-te-Po, the Daughter of the Darkness. They would not look upon the dazzling beauty of Hia’s face, nor would they hear her words. E tama! none can sin against the Great Spider and live. Lo! Mariki, the Woman of Pestilence, slid down a silky thread of the vast web and breathed death on the city. Tu-of-the-Whirlwind came also and smote the great land.

“But the Tohungas of the Brow of Ruatapu had been taught in dreams when the great fire of Io throbbed through them and lighted their heads. They foresaw the destruction of the city, and took the Queen Hinauri to a white cave in the forehead of the mountain, where she showed them the last strange wonder of her magic. Standing on the floor of the cave, with her giant priests around her, she gazed through the opening towards the western sky above the hills. A ray of golden light pierced the air and shone into the place. It fell upon her face and form. It lingered in her eyes and on her dark flowing hair. The priests fell back dazzled by her glory. Then she raised her arms towards the western sky and spoke strange words: ‘Lo! in the distance it is shown to me—the land of my people as it will be in the far future. I see them living in happiness, ruled by my love-magic. Ages will pass away before that time will be, but behold, I will leave my body here waiting and watching for that future when my people shall come back; and, at the dawn of that bright age, I too will return as a sign to the world. And you, my priests, will watch my sacred body till that day. Then, when I return, Huo, the false image of myself, which will be fashioned in this temple below, shall be hurled down upon the heads of the Vile Tohungas, her worshippers.’

“She ceased, and the golden ray seemed to be fading from her, while she stood as if listening to some mellow music from the sunlit slopes of the far-off future land of peace and love. A light leapt into her eyes, and a smile broke over her face. Lo! even while she stood there leaning forward, with her arms outstretched as if to some lovely vision of the dawn, the sun ray faded quite away, and left her spellbound, immovable—a radiant statue of expectancy.

“Then, as the Tohungas chanted their mystic song they saw that her spirit had fled, leaving her body standing like stone. Like stone, I said, O Kahikatea; but her spirit had not taken away the smile from her lips nor the joy from her eyes. The lovelight would still dwell there, and her arms would still remain outstretched in longing until the ages should have rolled by—in constant yearning until some distant day should bring her people back to repeat their history with a happier close. O Pakehas, it was a thing to see: Hinauri the Radiant One, who rivals the dawn in her beauty, stood there waiting, waiting, waiting till the far future of the world should come with Ihi Ihi, the sun ray, to call her back to life.

“O Sons of the Shining Sea, hear how my tale runs on. Summer and winter came and went for hundreds of years, while in the cave high up in the silence of the mountains stood for ever the Daughter of the Dawn, holding out her arms to the unborn future of the South. Far below upon the plain lay the City of the Southern Cross, deserted, silent, and crumbling to ruin. A pestilence had fallen upon the land, slaying the people as one man, and now through the silent streets wandered the dragons of the desert. By night the moonlight glinted upon the palaces and domes, showing here gigantic columns, and there a patch of open square, while sometimes from the shadowy streets arose a ghostly murmur, as of a phantom race that is dead and gone, whose spirits linger by night around the desolation of their former homes. But the Bright One’s gaze was fixed, not upon the city below, but on the limits of future time.

“How can I show you the wonder of Hinauri’s waiting for the dawn? O Pakehas, on calm moonlight nights the children of the misty moonbeam looked in at the opening of the cave and wondered to see her standing there, a figure of beauty, all shining with moisture, in the clear, pale ray. The drops that drip so slowly in limestone caves had begun to deposit their treasures upon her form. Her robes shone with a thousand crystalline gems. Her hair rippled down like wavy stalactites laden with sparkling clusters of precious stones. They had gathered like the dust of diamonds upon her arms, and neck, and brow, while from the roof of the cave the ever-dripping, crystal-laden water had tried to place a crown upon her stately head.

“O men of a later day, how can I picture to you the wonder of Hinauri in that high solitude? The spirits of the wind would pause in their wanderings round the mountain sides to look in at the silent inhabitant of the cave. Then they would sigh along upon their way down the ridges to whisper among the shadows of the deserted city. And on dark nights, when the anger of Tawhirimatea smote the feet of Tane-holding-up-the-Sky, that storm-god loved to linger at the opening of the cave and watch her mysterious beauty, as Taki’s lightning lit the place; and, while he watched, his fierce heart would melt, and his wild breath soften into sighs of love.

“On and on sped the years. Ages rolled over this land, and the City of the Southern Cross crumbled to dust. Other ages came and went, and the sea lapped about the crags beneath the opening of the cave and rolled its huge billows over the buried city. And lo! as the moons, gliding by on the floor of the crystal heaven, chased each other for ever across the sky, the sea sank back, and there, where once had surged the hurrying throng of a mighty people, stood the gigantic moa in the dense fern, and on the rocks crept the three-eyed lizards of old time. But in the mountain cave the ancient spell had endured. Hear the tale of the Great Tohungas, who watched one by one in the temple. Slowly, through the ages, the limestone covered the form of the goddess, but not to hide her from the eyes of the matakite. The expectant look upon her face had deepened, and her whole body seemed ready to spring to life at a word.

To the eyes of the seer her face shone glorious from within a crystal stone, but some who saw less clearly passed down the word that her features were chased as if with the dust of stars, through which the pink in her cheeks and lips showed like rata through a glistening mist. But to me, when my father took me to the cave, there was naught but a large block of pure white marble, roughly hewn, such as the mighty fingers of the ages fashion from the limestone. Yet I could see, though my sight was dim, that within the dull, hard stone stood the wondrous form of Hinauri, waiting to be released from her age-long prison. My father said that the time was near when Hinauri should return, and the Great Tohungas had told him in dreams that it was by the ‘magic of a woman’ that her spirit should come back into her body. He then instructed me in the ways and duties of the temple, showing me many things which I cannot speak of now.

“But I said my words to you were also of the accursed stone. When the spirit of the Bright One had fled, the Good Tohungas withdrew into the sky, leaving one of their number to protect the sacred stone. Even the name of this mighty one has come down to us as surely as his blood runs in my veins. ‘Zun the Terrible’ he was called, and it was he who concealed once and for ever the secret of the sacred stone. The Vile Tohungas of the Pit were searching for Hinauri to destroy her, but Zun tricked them. He cast himself down into the foundations of the temple and dwelt among them to learn their vile magic. Then, when he had mastered their secrets, he fashioned a false image of Hinauri as a great spar, and bound it down to the rock with a round stone. The Vile Tohungas, believing that this spar, stranded on the shores of Time, contained the sacredness of Hinauri, cursed it for ever, so that woman should never rise to the skies, but remain bound down to do their will. Zun the Terrible then drew a phantom spirit from the spar and delivered it over to them, saying it was Hinauri, the Daughter of the Dawn. The Vile Ones took it and bound it to the moon-face, where for all time they have paid it a sneering worship of disdain. Thus did Zun the Terrible give them the false for the true, and tricked them with their own magic. Then he turned his back upon these Vile Ones and set himself to climb up out of the darkness into which he had fallen. But, O my sons! the Vile Ones still live upon the earth. The giant sorcerers of old stand for ever on the floor of the mighty abyss in the temple, waiting the day when they shall return. Their red fire was removed by one of their slaves, whom Zun drove from the temple into the north, and we say it is burning even now, though we know not where.

“So the sacred stone in the white cave has been preserved to this day, and to this day the magic of the sun ray may be seen. It is true it now strikes into the cave at certain times of the year through a crevice in some outstanding crags, but, O children of a later sun, it is a ray of the same light that shone there ages since, and bore Hinauri’s spirit away. E tama! there is a prophecy that one day, when this ray of Ihi Ihi is upon the sacred stone, her ancient spirit will return upon it, and she will live. Already is the stone that bound her broken away; already she stands free, as she stood long, long ago, with her arms outstretched to the future, and the dawn of a new age upon her radiant face. This, O Kahikatea, is the truth which lies behind your dream. This, O Pakehas, was the legend given me by my father, who had received it from his father in like fashion as it had been told by father to son from the beginning of the world.

“Now, Friend of the Forest Tree, I will answer your words to me about the woman Miriami Kerei.

“Many moons of fasting and singing of karakias passed over my head before the Great Tohungas

began to speak to me in dreams. One night the spirit of my father stood before me and told me that the woman upon whom the tohungas had set their true mark was travelling southwards with her husband, inland, towards Hokitika. She was the woman by whose magic the age-long fetters of Hinauri should be broken; therefore he bade me find her and take her to the white cave, where she must dwell as sacred as Hinauri’s self until the object of her coming was accomplished. Therefore, I summoned the warriors of my tribe and sent them to guard all the mountain ways to the south of the ‘Pensive Water,’ and to take the man and the woman without injury and bring them to me at the boundary of the Great Tapu, which enclosed the plain and the sacred mountain.

“At the end of half a moon they returned with the pakeha and his wife. She was a comely wahine, with eyes like those of a Maori chieftainess, but they held more of the ‘magic of a woman.’ O Pakehas, have you looked into a dark lake among the mountains and seen the star Tawera shining there all alone? Like that was the light of Miriami’s eyes; like that was the spirit far within them. I do not remember the pakeha’s name, but I remember learning by the signs he made to me, that he had journeyed from Hokitika to Wakatu to meet his wife, who had come in a great canoe from the land beyond the sea, and that now they were on their way back to Hokitika. I was sorry, and my heart went out to the pakeha, but the word of the tohungas was to be obeyed. I could not let him go his way, lest he should bring a great army against the mountain for revenge, so I ordered the tongueless men of the temple to bear both man and woman to the mountain, for there I meant to deal with the man according to the customs of our ancient magic.

By a secret entrance at the back of the mountain, which no man might find—the ‘way of the lizard’—then by the secret ‘way of the fish with wings,’ which no man can travel without guidance, I had them taken to the white cave, where I showed them the stone and explained as much of the ancient story as I could by signs. The woman understood me, for a clear light came in her eyes as she gazed at the stone. At that moment the sun ray, coming through a rift in the crags outside, fell through the opening like a shaft of gold, and shone upon the white fetters of the Bright One. Then I saw that the Tohungas’ real mark was on the woman, for her eyes became fixed. She held out her arms to the stone with a cry, and the pakeha caught her as she fell. I knew now that she was matakite, and had seen Hinauri within the stone.

“When she came out of darkness she spoke to the pakeha with many words, and I judged her meaning to be this: that she would stay in the cave and release Hinauri from the stone, and he would stay with her; but when they made me understand this I replied by signs that the man must go, but the woman must stay. He grew angry, and showed me with his hands that he would go and call the pakehas together and bring them with guns against the mountain, and take the woman away by force.

“At this I ordered the tongueless men to bind the pakeha again. Then I signed to the woman that he should be taken down and set free, and that if she would watch from the opening of the cave she should see him go. This quieted her, and I conducted the pakeha down through the secret ways; but before setting him free I tatooed upon his breast one of the magic signs of the temple—the sign of silence and forgetting, and rubbed into it an ointment which has power to make a man forget the events of his life while the tohunga lives who cast the spell over him. There is another ointment, O Kahikatea, which will cause a man to forget only the events of a single moon, or at least to recall them dimly as dreams. But it was necessary that the pakeha should forget everything, and he went forth from the mountain as one in a trance, from which at sunset he would awake in his right mind, but as a man who can speak the words that he always spoke, and do the things which he always did, yet can remember neither his own name nor the face of his friend. This, O men of to-day, is a word of the ancient magic for which our lower tohungas seek in vain.

“Then I did many things for the comfort of the woman Miriami—that is the name by which she bade me call her, O Wanaki. I placed mats within a recess of the white cave and brought her food and water and firewood, and in it all I made her understand that she was tapu, and she grew to trust me. At her bidding I procured through my tribe some sharp instruments for her with which to break the bonds of the Radiant One, and also some books, that she might learn to speak the Maori tongue. When this was done she showed me the ‘magic of the woman’ by which Hinauri should return. She would break and cut the stone away from the divine form within, so that it should stand free.

“When I knew this I fell at her feet and worshipped her. For many moons she laboured, and though I heard the chipping of the tools upon the stone—the breaking of Hinauri’s fetters—I set not my foot within the cave. Eight moons passed away, and the ninth was growing old, when one day she waited for me outside the entrance to her abode, on the white steps that lead down into the lower parts of the temple.

“ ‘O Te Makawawa,’ she said, ‘the work is finished. Hinauri, the Bright One, stands free, but she does not yet live. Nevertheless, Chief and Tohunga, there will be another life in this cave before many days.’

“ ‘Blessed be the child that is born under the smile of Hineteiwaiwa,’ I said. ‘I will go to my tribe and bring back a woman to be with you.’

“I brought the woman, and Miriami’s child was born before another moon had set out to find the Sacred Isle in the West. Then was I summoned to the cave to see the magic the woman had wrought upon the stone. Hinauri stood free. She stood as thou didst see her in thy dream, O Kahikatea—a thing to wonder at and worship. E Koro! the magic of the woman was not of earth. It was the Chisel of Tonga—and more than that, though I know not what more.

“Then for two summers and winters I toiled in the temple, cursing the Vile Tohungas in the abyss at the full moon, as my father and all my father’s fathers had done before me, and singing the ancient karakias in the white cave at sunset. But the spirit of Hinauri returned not. Yet from that time forward certain men with the fire of the Vile Tohungas in their eyes found entrance to the temple. My thought is that they had heard a threatening voice teaching them strange things. Perchance the ages had told them how they had been tricked, and they came to learn the secret of our greater magic, and to destroy the Bright One. But, O Sons of Kiwa, I took their heads, baked them, and hung them in the abyss.

“But hear me, O Friend of the Forest Tree. These are my words to you, and this is the thing which keeps me from rest. When the little girl—Keritahi Kerei was her name—was able to run about and speak her own tongue and mine, I used to lead her and Miriami down to a place where the river hemmed them in against the mountain wall. Here the sun shone upon the moss, and flowers grew, and here the little one would play. One day I was cutting wood on the bank lower down, when I heard a scream, and, looking up, I saw Miriami standing on the bank waving her arms. I hastened to the place, and she pointed to the water, where I saw, rising to the surface, the little body of the child. O my brethren of the pale skin, I saw her white face, and in her hand she held some mountain lilies, in reaching for which she had fallen over the bank. The current swept her under, and though I plunged in at once, it was some time before I could find her among the twisting folds of the water. When at last I laid the little body at Miriami’s feet, its spirit had fled beyond Wai Ora Tane.

“Have you seen the grief of a mother weeping for her child, O Pakehas? I hope I may never see it again. I sat down and covered my head, and my own tears flowed like rain. But not for long. Miriami dashed her tears away and tried to bring the little one’s spirit back from Reinga. I knew that a spirit sometimes halts and lingers on the hither bank of Wai Ora Tane; therefore I worked with her on the little body, trying to charm the spirit back, and, as we worked, I sang an incantation, while her tears fell on the child’s pale face.

“But Keritahi’s spirit had passed beyond the waters, from whose further bank none may return by the way they went. The sun was sinking when we ceased our efforts, and then Miriami sank down in despair. By the ancient rites of the temple no dead body must remain within its inner tapu. I told Miriami that I would bury it at once somewhere in the outer tapu across the stream. She pleaded with me to let her come, but I would not; I had sworn to my father’s spirit that she should not go beyond the inner tapu. ‘Then,’ she said, ‘bury the body of my child beneath the shade of the great rimu in the valley, where the tui sits and sings in the twilight, that when I listen from the mouth of the cave I may mingle my grief with his singing.’

“I promised this. When she had taken a last farewell of her little one, she sank on the ground numbed with grief, and I crossed the river with Keritahi’s body in my arms. As I was hurrying towards the rimu in the valley, I said in my heart, ‘It is the will of the tohungas—the child stood in the way of Hinauri. The attention was divided. Now the child is dead, Hinauri will delay no longer. It is best: the tohungas have spoken——’

“The tongue in my heart stopped, and I stood still, looking down at the child. Was it a tremor passing through the little body, or was it my dream? Who could come back after so long a stay in Reinga?

“I hurried on again into the shades of the valley, and came to a sudden stop a second time, for the body was trembling visibly in my arms. There was no longer any doubt. The little lips parted. The child drew a breath and sighed. Then the eyes opened and closed again. She was returning from the arms of the Great Woman of Darkness.

“My first thought was to turn back and restore the child to her mother, but when I had taken some steps I hesitated. Another thought held me, and I stood still. Miriami would conquer her grief; the worst of it was over. The tohungas had spoken, and I saw their meaning. The child was to live, but not, O Pakehas, not with its mother, not within the tapu of Hinauri. Yes, it was plain. My heart bled for Miriami, but there was something more important: Hinauri was first.

“Keritahi opened her eyes and looked up at me. Her little lips moved, and I heard the only part of my name that she could say: ‘Wawa.’ Then the eyes closed again, and my breast melted. How could I play this trick upon the woman whose magic had done so much? Miriami’s soft eyes came up before my mind, and my body shook like the kahikaha’s leaf. But I must do it. It was for Hinauri. ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘the child must have the spirit of a great witch—none but a witch could come back out of the Land of Silence. Yes, the Great Ones have spoken—she is a witch, and that is why my karakias have been powerless.’

“Need I tell you, O my sons, how I coaxed the child to sleep on a stone that I had warmed with fire—then how I dug a grave beneath the rimu and buried a large stone there—and afterwards how I went back to Miriami with a lie in my throat and took her again into the mountain, where in the white cave she remained alone with her grief? But I will tell you, O Friend of the Forest Tree, what I did with the child, for that word is for you, to guide you in the search.

“I went back to her lying on the warm stone. I bent over her and listening for her breathing. It was regular and deep.

“ ‘She is a witch,’ I said, ‘she will live.’

“When she awoke I took her to my tribe, though on the way I sat down many times to cover my head, for, with her arms round my neck, she asked me questions that I could not answer. I gave her to a young chief of my tribe, and said to him, ‘Take a band of warriors and journey on towards the south, and when you come to a pakeha’s house leave the child there in safety without any word, so that the one into whose care the child falls knows neither whence it comes nor who brings it.’

“They went forth, and the child was under my word of protection.

“O Friend of the Forest Tree, within two moons they returned, and the young chief spoke a strange thing in my ear. ‘We have ended the work you set us to do, O Te Makawawa, and lo! a moon ago we came to a hut on the bank of a river southwards, and within sat a pakeha asleep by a fire. With my own hand I unfastened the door and set the child inside. Then I closed the door with a loud noise, and looked in at the window. The man awoke, and when I looked upon his face I saw that it was the face of him we captured with the woman many moons ago. That is truth, O chief.’

“Then I, having heard this, returned to the temple and sought rest, saying to myself: ‘It is not such a bad deed you have done, Te Makawawa—you have stolen a child from its mother and have restored it to its father.’ But no rest came to me, neither did the tohungas speak to me again in dreams. In the many years that followed I grew weary of life, for Hinauri came not, and I felt the displeasure of the tohungas heavy upon me. I still kept the woman a sacred prisoner, and she lived in peace, for was she not matakite, and a lover of solitude?

“At length my son Ngaraki, the Fierce One, arrived at the age when he should take up the duties of the ancient temple, and I came forth to die. But lo! I cannot go hence until I have undone the wrong that I did, until I have restored the child to her mother. Make haste, O Friend, and find the little maiden in the south. The sun lingers over the hills, but cannot set—my eyes grow dim, and I see your faces in a mist—my head is bowed to the ground, but my spirit cannot pass hence till this is done. O Sons of the Shining Sea, my words to you are ended.”

The aged chief covered his head with his flaxen robe and bowed himself to the earth. A solemn silence fell upon us, so astonished were we at this, his strange story.