The Market Price of a Pakeha.--The Value of a Pakeha "as
such."--Maori Hospitality in the Good Old Times.--A respectable
Friend.--Maori Mermaids.--My Notions of the Value of Gold.--How I
got on Shore.
Here I must remark that in those days the value of a pakeha to a tribe
was enormous. For want of pakehas to trade with, and from whom to
procure gunpowder and muskets, many tribes or sections of tribes were
about this time exterminated, or nearly so, by their more fortunate
neighbours who got pakehas before them, and who consequently became
armed with muskets first. A pakeha trader was therefore of a value say
about twenty times his own weight in muskets. This, according to my
notes made at the time, I find to have represented a value in New
Zealand something about what we mean in England when we talk of the sum
total of the national debt. A book-keeper, or a second-rate pakeha, not
a trader, might be valued at, say, his weight in tomahawks; an enormous
sum also. The poorest labouring pakeha, though he might have no
property, would earn something--his value to the chief and tribe with
whom he lived might be estimated at, say, his weight in fish-hooks, or
about a hundred thousand pounds or so: value estimated by eagerness to
obtain the article.
The value of a musket was not to be estimated to a native by just what
he gave for it: he gave all he had, or could procure, and had he ten
times as much to give, he would have given it, if necessary; or if not,
he would buy ten muskets instead of one. Muskets! muskets! muskets!
nothing but muskets, was the first demand of the Maori: muskets and
gunpowder, at any cost.
I do not, however, mean to affirm that pakehas were at this time valued
"as such,"--like Mr. Pickwick's silk stockings, which were very good
and valuable stockings, "as stockings;" not at all. A loose straggling
pakeha--a runaway from a ship for instance, who had nothing, and was
never likely to have anything--a vagrant straggler passing from place
to place,--was not of much account, even in those times. Two men of
this description (runaway sailors) were hospitably entertained one
night by a chief, a very particular friend of mine, who, to pay himself
for his trouble and outlay, ate one of them next morning.
Remember, my good reader, I don't deal in fiction; my friend ate the
pakeha sure enough, and killed him before he ate him: which was civil,
for it was not always done. But then, certainly, the pakeha was a
_tutua_, a nobody, a fellow not worth a spike-nail; no one knew him; he
had no relations, no goods, no expectations, no anything: what could be
made of him? Of what use on earth was he except to eat? And, indeed,
not much good even for that--they say he was not good meat. But good
well-to-do pakehas, traders, ship-captains, labourers, or employers of
labour, these were to be honoured, cherished, caressed, protected--and
plucked: plucked judiciously (the Maori is a clever fellow in his way),
so that the feathers might grow again. But as for poor, mean, mere
_Pakeha tutua, e aha te pai_?
Before going any farther I beg to state that I hope the English reader
or the new-comer, who does not understand Maori morality--especially of
the glorious old time--will not form a bad opinion of my friend's
character, merely because he ate a good-for-nothing sort of pakeha, who
really was good for nothing else. People from the old countries I have
often observed to have a kind of over-delicacy about them, the result
of a too effeminate course of life and over-civilization; which is the
cause that, often starting from premises which are true enough, they
will, being carried away by their over-sensitive constitution or sickly
nervous system, jump at once, without any just process of reasoning, to
the most erroneous conclusions. I know as well as can be that some of
this description of my readers will at once, without reflection, set my
friend down as a very rude ill-mannered sort of person. Nothing of the
kind, I assure you. You never made a greater mistake in your life. My
friend was a highly respectable person in his way; he was a great
friend and protector of rich, well-to-do pakehas; he was, moreover, a
great warrior, and had killed the first man in several different
battles. He always wore, hanging round his neck, a handsome carved
flute (this at least showed a soft and musical turn of mind), which was
made of the thigh-bone of one of his enemies; and when Heke, the
Ngapuhi, made war against us, my friend came to the rescue, fought
manfully for his pakeha friends, and was desperately wounded in so
doing. Now can any one imagine a more respectable character?--a
warrior, a musician, a friend in need, who would stand by you while he
had a leg to stand on, and would not eat a _friend_ on any account
whatever--except he should be very hungry.
The boat darts on; she touches the edge of a steep rock; the "_haere
mai_" has subsided; six or seven "personages"--the magnates of the
tribe--come gravely to the front to meet me as I land. There are about
six or seven yards of shallow water to be crossed between the boat and
where they stand. A stout fellow rushes to the boat's nose, and "shows
a back," as we used to say at leap-frog. He is a young fellow of
respectable standing in the tribe, a far-off cousin of the chief's, a
warrior, and as such has no back: that is to say, to carry loads of
fuel or potatoes. He is too good a man to be spoiled in that way; the
women must carry for him; the able-bodied men of the tribe must be
saved for its protection; but he is ready to carry the pakeha on
shore--the _rangatira pakeha_--who wears a real _koti roa_ (a long
coat) and beaver hat! Carry! He would lie down and make a bridge of his
body, with pleasure, for him. Has he not half a shipful of _taonga_?
Well, having stepped in as dignified a manner as I knew how, from
thwart to thwart, till I came to the bow of the boat, and having
tightened on my hat and buttoned up my coat, I fairly mounted on the
broad shoulders of my aboriginal friend. I felt at the time that the
thing was a sort of failure--a come down; the position was not
graceful, or in any way likely to suggest ideas of respect or awe, with
my legs projecting a yard or so from under each arm of my bearer,
holding on to his shoulders in the most painful, cramped, and awkward
manner: to be sacked on shore thus, and delivered like a bag of goods
thus, into the hands of the assembled multitude, did not strike me as a
good first appearance on this stage. But little, indeed, can we tell in
this world what one second may produce. Gentle reader, fair reader,
patient reader! The fates have decreed it; the fiat has gone forth; on
that man's back I shall never land in New Zealand. Manifold are the
doubts and fears which have yet to shake and agitate the hearts and
minds of all my friends as to whether I shall ever land at all, or ever
again feel _terra firma_ touch my longing foot. My bearer made one
step; the rock is slippery; backwards he goes; back, back! The steep is
near--is passed! down, down, we go! backwards, and headlong to the
depths below!
The ebb tide is running like a sluice; in an instant we are forty yards
off, and a fathom below the surface; ten more fathoms are beneath us.
The heels of my boots, my polished boots, point to the upper air--ay,
point; but when, oh, when again, shall I salute thee, gentle air; when
again, unchoked by the saline flood, cry _Veni, aura?_ When, indeed!
for now I am wrong end uppermost, drifting away with the tide, and
ballasted with heavy pistols, boots, tight clothes, and all the straps
and strings of civilization. Oh, heavens! and oh, earth! and oh, ye
little thieves of fishes who manage to live in the waters under the
earth (a miserable sort of life you must have of it)! oh, Maori sea
nymphs! who, with yellow hair--yellow? egad--that's odd enough, to say
the least of it: how ever the Maori should come to give their sea
nymphs or spirits yellow hair is curious. The Maori know nothing about
yellow hair; their hair is black. About one in a hundred of them have a
sort of dirty brown hair; but even if there should be now and then a
native with yellow hair, how is it that they have come to give this
colour to the sea-sprites in particular?--who also "dance on the sands,
and yet no footstep seen." Now I confess I am rather puzzled and struck
by the coincidence. I don't believe Shakspeare ever was in New Zealand;
Jason might, being a seafaring man, and if he should have called in for
wood and water, and happened to have the golden fleece by any accident
on board, and by any chance put it on for a wig, why the thing would be
accounted for at once.
The world is mad now-a-days about gold, so no one cares a fig about
what is called "golden hair:" nuggets and dust have the preference; but
this is a grand mistake. Gold is of no use, or very little, except in
so far as this--that through the foolishness of human beings, one can
purchase the necessaries and conveniences of life with it. Now, this
being the case, if I have a chest full of gold (which I have not), I am
no richer for it, in fact, until I have given it away in exchange for
necessaries, comforts, and luxuries, which are, properly speaking,
riches or wealth; but it follows from this, that he who has given me
this same riches or wealth for my gold, has become poor, and his only
chance to set himself up again, is to get rid of the gold as fast as he
can, in exchange for the same sort and quantity of things, if he can
get them: which is always doubtful. But here lies the gist of the
matter--how did I, in the first instance, become possessed of my gold?
If I bought it, and gave real wealth for it, beef, mutton, silk, tea,
sugar, tobacco, ostrich feathers, leather breeches, and
crinoline,--why, then, all I have done in parting with my gold, is
merely to get them back again, and I am, consequently, no richer by the
transaction; but if I steal my gold, then I am a clear gainer of the
whole lot of valuables above mentioned. So, upon the whole, I don't see
much use in getting gold honestly, and one must not steal it: digging
it certainly is almost as good as stealing, if it is not too deep,
which fully accounts for so many employing themselves in this way; but
then the same amount of labour would raise no end of wheat and
potatoes, beef and mutton: and all farmers, mathematicians, and
algebraists will agree with me in this--that after any country is fully
cultivated, all the gold in the world won't force it to grow one extra
turnip, and what more can anyone desire? So now Adam Smith, McCulloch,
and all the rest of them may go and be hanged. The whole upshot of this
treatise on political economy and golden hair (which I humbly lay at
the feet of the Colonial Treasurer), is this:--I would not give one of
your golden locks, my dear, for all the gold, silver, pearls, diamonds,
_mere ponamus_--stop, let me think: a good _mere ponamu_ would be a
temptation.
I had once a _mere_, a present from a Maori friend, the most beautiful
thing of the kind ever seen. It was nearly as transparent as glass; in
it there were beautiful marks like fern leaves, trees, fishes--and I
would not give much for a person who could not see almost _anything_ in
it. Never shall I cease to regret having parted with it. The Emperor of
Brazil, I think, has it now; but he does not know the proper use of it.
It went to the Minister many years ago. I did not sell it. I would have
scorned to do that: but I did expect to be made Knight of the Golden
Pig-knife, or Elephant and Watch-box, or something of that nature: but
here I am still, a mere pakeha Maori--and, as I recollect, in desperate
danger of being drowned.
Up we came at last, blowing and puffing like grampuses. With a glance I
"recognized the situation:" we had drifted a long way from the
landing-place. My hat was dashing away before the land breeze towards
the sea, and had already made a good "offing." Three of the boat's crew
had jumped overboard, had passed us a long distance, and were seemingly
bound after the hat; the fourth man was pulling madly with one oar, and
consequently making great progress in no very particular direction. The
whole tribe of natives had followed our drift along the shore, shouting
and gesticulating, and some were launching a large canoe, evidently
bent on saving the _hat_, on which all eyes were turned. As for the
pakeha, it appears they must have thought it an insult to his
understanding to suppose he could be drowned anywhere in sight of land.
"'Did he not come from the sea?' Was he not a fish? Was not the sea
solid land to him? Did not his fire burn on the ocean? Had he not slept
on the crests of the waves?" All this I heard afterwards; but at the
time, had I not been as much at home in the water as anything not
amphibious could be, I should have been very little better than a gone
pakeha. Here was a pretty wind up! I was going to "astonish the
natives," was I?--with my black hat and my _koti roa_?
But the villain is within a yard of me--the rascally cause of all my
grief. The furies take possession of me! I dart upon him like a hungry
shark! I have him! I have him under! Down, villain! down to the kraken
and the whale, to the Taniwha cave!--down! down! down! As we sank I
heard one grand roar of wild laughter from the shore: the word _utu_ I
heard roared by many voices, but did not then know its import. The
pakeha was drowning the Maori for _utu_ for himself, in _case_ he
should be drowned. No matter: if the Maori can't hold his own, it's
fair play; and then, if the pakeha really does drown the Maori, has he
not lots of _taonga_ to be robbed of?--No, not exactly to be robbed of,
either; let us not use unnecessarily bad language--we will say to be
distrained upon.
Crack! What do I hear? Down in the deep I felt a shock, and actually
heard a sudden noise. Is it the "crack of doom?" No, it is my
frock-coat gone at one split "from clue to earing"--split down the
back. Oh, if my pistols would go off, a fiery and watery death shouldst
thou die, Caliban. Egad! they have gone off--they are both gone to the
bottom! My boots are getting heavy! Humane Society, ahoy! where is your
boat-hook?--where is your bellows? Humane Society, ahoy! We are now
drifting fast by a sandy point, after which there will be no chance of
landing,--the tide will take us right out to sea. My friend is very
hard to drown--I must finish him some other time. We both swim for the
point, and land.
And this is how I got ashore on Maori land.