Hinemoa's Bath

How the lovely maiden of Rotorua swam across the lake for love

of Tutanekai and married him.

EARLY in the middle of the North Island of New Zealand, where the country is full of vol- canoes and geysers and springs of boiling water, is a lake with a pretty island in it, called Mokoia Island. The name of the lake is Rotorua.

On the shore of the island is a rocky pool, shaped like a square bath-tub. It is full of warm water, and has trees and ferns growing all about it. The name of the pool is "Hinemoa's Bath," and this is the story of how it came to be called by that name. Hundreds of years ago there lived on Mokoia Island a Maori family with such long names that no American can pronounce them, and in this family was a foundling boy, named Tutanekai, who after- wards became a great chief. In a little village across the lake there lived another Maori family- also with very long names-who had a daughter named Hinemoa.

Now, Hinemoa was a maiden of very high rank, besides being a very lovely girl-so lovely that all the warriors in the island, and also on the shores of Lake Rotorua, spoke of her and of how beautiful she was, and all the young men wanted to marry her.

Like most Maoris, Tutanekai was very fond of music. He had a friend called Tiki, who was also very fond of playing and singing, and on fine even- ings they would both go up to the top of Mokoia Island, which is only a wooded hill rising out of the lake, and play soft, sweet music.

Hinemoa, from her home across the lake, could hear the sound, and every night she would listen for it. Then she would say to herself: "That is the music of Tutanekai which I hear."

Sometimes, when there was a great meeting of all the people living about Lake Rotorua, Tuta- nekai would come over from Mokoia Island, and in this way Hinemoa had met him, and loved him, and Tutanekai, seeing how beautiful she was, had fallen in love with her.

But Tutanekai was afraid to tell her so, for so high born a maiden could only marry a chief or a chief's son; not a foundling like Tutanekai.

After a while, however, Tutanekai sent a mes- sage to Hinemoa, in which he told her that he loved her, and for a while the lovers used to meet every day, as long as the great gathering of the people on the shore of the lake lasted.

Hinemoa and Tutanekai grew to love each other more and more, and when the time came for Tuta- nekai's family to go back to Mokoia Island, they arranged that Hinemoa should paddle herself over to the island in a canoe the first night she could. In order that she might know where to land, every night Tutanekai and his friend Tiki were to play soft music-Tutanekai upon his trumpet and Tiki upon his horn.

One night, at midnight, when the lake was very calm, and she could hear the music coming sweetly across the water, Hinemoa slipped quietly down to the shore to look for a canoe. But her friends sus- pected she would do something of the kind, and had hauled all the canoes up on the beach.

The canoes were far too heavy for Hinemoa to drag into the water, so she sat down on the lake shore to think how she could manage to cross the water. As she sat there, she heard the sound of Tutanekai's trumpet, and it seemed to be calling to her.

Then Hinemoa felt that she must go, and, as she could not have a canoe, she would swim across, though she knew it was a very long way, and that the water of the lake was very cold. So she took six large, dry, empty gourds and placed three on each side of her, as floats, so that if she became tired she would have something to bear her up.

Hinemoa walked along the rocks to the edge of the lake, and then, throwing off her clothes, she jumped into the dark, cold waters. The rocks and the place where she stood before taking her leap are shown to this day.

After a while she reached the stmp of a tree which used to be in Lake Rotorua, and she clung to this and rested for a time, as she was very tired. Then she struck out again, and when she became too tired to swim the gourds bore her up, and she floated until she was strong enough to swim on again.

The night was so dark that Hinemoa could not see the island, and she had nothing to guide her but her lover's music: but at last she felt the firm rocks undder her feet, and knew that she had reached the island. So well had the music guided her that she landded at a place just below Tutanekai's village. Now, when Hinemoa landed there was, and there is to-dlay, a spring of hot water close to the lake, with rocks all around it and trees growing over it, just like a bath, but pretty enough for a fairy. iere Ilinemoa, tired out with her long swim and shivering with cold, came to warm herself by bath- ing in the hot water.

While Hinemoa was warming herself in the hot spring, Tutanekai, feeling thirsty, sent his slave to bring him some water. The slave went down to the lake, close by where Hinemoa was sitting, and dipped a calabash into the lake.

Hinemoa heard him do this, and became fright- ened, for she knew it was not Tutanekai. She was afraid she might be found out and sent back to her own people, who would watch her so carefully that she would never be able to cross the lake again to meet her lover.

"For whom is that water?"she called out, making her voice as deep and strong as she could.

"For Tutanekai," replied the slave. "Give it to me, then," ordered Hinemoa.

The man, thinking she was thirsty, gave her the water, and she drank it up, and then threw down the empty calabash on purpose, and broke it to pieces.

"Why did you break the calabash of Tutanekai?" asked the angry slave. “You had no right to do so."

Hinemoa made no reply; she sat there thinking. "If I do this several times more, Tutanekai will be angry, and will come here to see who it is that breaks his calabashes, so he can punish him, and then I will let him know who I am."

"Where is the water I told you to bring me?"de- manded Tutanekai, when the slave returned.

"Your calabash was broken,"replied the slave. "Who broke it?"

"The man sitting in the bath at the hot spring." "Go back again, and bring me some water this time," said Tutanekai.

So the slave went to the lake again, with another calabash, and dipped up some more water, and again Hinemoa asked him, still speaking as much like a man as she could: "For whom is that water?" "For Tutanekai," said the slave, as before. "Give it to me, for I am very thirsty," said Hine- moa.

Once more the slave gave it to her, and she drank and again threw down the calabash and broke it. The same thing happened several times, until at last, in despair, the slave went to Tutanekai, who asked him at once: "Where is the water for me?"

"It is all gone," replied the slave. "All your cal- abashes have been broken, one after the other." "Who broke them?"

"That man who is sitting in the bath." "Who is the fellow?" asked Tutanekai.

"How can I tell?" replied the slave. "He is a stranger."

"How dared he break my calabashes?"demanded Tutanekai. "Did you tell him the water was for . me?"

He was so angry that he took his heavy club, and went down the hill to the bath, calling out:

"Where is this fellow who dared to break my cal- abashes?"

When Hinemoa heard his voice, she knew that it was Tutanekai himself, so she hid herself behind the rocks about the hot spring, wondering how soon she would be discovered.

Tutanekai looked all around the hot spring and the rocks, and at last he felt a hand.

"Who is this?" he called out.

"It is I, Tutanekai," Hinemoa whispered. But he did not recognize the voice.

"Who are you? Who is 'I'?"he asked.

"It is I, Hinemoa," she said, but this time she spoke louder, and then Tutanekai knew it was in- deed Hinemoa.

Then Tutanekai brought garments for her, and took her to his house, where they were married, and their great, great, great-I do not know how many greats-grandchildren live to-day on the shores of Lake Rotorua.

And to this day they tell tales and sing songs of this lovely ancestress, Hinemoa, the maiden of Ro- torua, and how she loved Tutanekai and swam across the lake to marry him.