MAORI MANNERS.
II.
The Maori tongue is akin to several of the South Sea dialects. The
language of the distant Sandwich Islands corresponds most nearly to it.
A Maori and a Hawaiian can understand one another to a great extent.
It is strange that intervening groups should be inhabited by people of
wholly different races, who speak in altogether different tongues.
For ordinary colloquial purposes a sufficiency of Maori is readily
acquired, though those who study it deeply discover many difficulties.
The alphabet contains only fourteen letters, consequently the sound of
many words, expressing wholly distinct ideas, is frequently confusingly
similar. The grammar is not overcharged with those bugbears of
childhood—moods, tenses, and declensions. The tone and inflection of
the voice are used to convey a varied meaning to the same word, in
many instances. A sentence will have different significations according
to the inflection used in uttering it, and to the gestures that
accompany it. The idiom is singular, but rather graceful.
The written language has been constructed by the missionaries and
others, as has been done with various other tongues in Polynesia and
elsewhere. Bibles and sundry more books have been translated and
printed in Maori. In fact, there is beginning to be quite a Maori
literature, for, besides translations, there have been published
several volumes of Maori legends, proverbs, songs, etc., and there are
two or three journals regularly issued in the language.
Most of the rising generation are able to read and write in their own
tongue, if not in English also; for they all have been, or go, to
school. They cannot readily articulate all our sounds, but education
is doing much to remedy this; also, they are rather inclined to adhere
to their own idiom, which is, of course, to be expected. Very few of
the elder Maori have these Pakeha accomplishments, or care to exercise
them. A queer pride and prejudice keep them from attempting to learn or
speak English. But I have found that a good many of them know a great
deal more than they are disposed to allow.
The ancient Maori would seem to have had some notion of hieroglyphic
or picture-writing. The moku is one example of this, and others are
to be found in the symbolic carvings of door-lintels and of standard
posts, inscriptions on rocks and trees, and the sacred whalebone staves
of the tohunga, whereon were kept a genealogical record of the families
of high rank.
Oral tradition was well kept up among the Maori, and certain of them
may be termed deep scholars in it. They are a long-winded race, and
very great at a korero (talk or debate), without which nothing was or
can be done. They can reel off immeasurable quantities of legendary
history or romance, in prose and verse, having astounding memories
for this sort of thing. Oratory was cultivated as an art by them,
and many are remarkably eloquent; but the style of their orations
principally consists in the recitation of proverbs and traditions,
and the application of them to affairs of the moment. Sir George Grey
is, perhaps, more intimately acquainted with these things, and with
the Maori language, than any other Pakeha, and he has collected and
published some of their poems and sayings.
Decidedly the most noteworthy Maori institution was that of the tapu.
It exists in various forms throughout the South Sea. There is the tambu
of Fiji, and the tabu of other islands, essentially the same thing.
But it was among the Maori that it appears to have been brought to its
greatest perfection. We have drawn from it our word _taboo_, which we
use to express anything that is rigidly forbidden or disallowed. But
the Maori tapu went far deeper than that. To use the words of another
writer, "it comprised everything that we would call law, custom,
etiquette, prejudice, and superstition, and had therefore its good as
well as its bad effects."
Except in some of its superstitious aspects, the tapu is now a thing of
the past, and is spoken of here as such. I have not studied the subject
very deeply, but have picked up enough knowledge of it to enable me to
give a general idea of what it was.
Tapu appeared under many different phases, and was intimately connected
with all the concerns of life. A river was tapu at certain well-known
seasons, thus providing a close time for the fish. No person might
disturb it in any way; no one might fish or bathe in it; nor might a
canoe venture upon its surface until the tapu was removed.
A wood was tapu, in like manner, when birds were nesting, tawhera
fruit maturing, or rats multiplying. This was in effect a game-law.
Similarly, the fields and gardens, the cultivations of kumera and taro,
used not to be fenced until the introduction of pigs rendered that
necessary. Human trespassers were kept off by means of the inviolable
tapu. Burglars and thieves were prevented from entering empty houses,
or from appropriating property, by the same simple means.
The application of the tapu was exceedingly simple. A carved and
painted rod was stuck up; a bunch of flax was prominently displayed; a
rag from the person, a bone, a bunch of hair set in some conspicuous
situation, any of these were sufficient indications of the awful
mystery. But to remove the tapu was a wholly different matter. That
could not be done so easily. In all cases of importance a whole ritual
had to be gone through before the tapu could be lifted. Ceremonies
of high import were sometimes necessary, even a sort of propitiatory
sacrifice seems occasionally to have been made. The karakia, a kind of
invocation or prayer, had to be uttered with due solemnity, and this
necessitated the intervention of the tohunga.
Here let me explain who this personage was. Like poets, the tohunga
was born, not made. What gave him his particular sanctity or dignity,
how he was chosen, set apart, or elected to office, are things that no
Pakeha can understand. They are sublime and fearful mysteries, into
which not even the greatest friend of the Maori has ever been able to
penetrate. All we have ever learnt regarding the tohunga is simply
that there he _was_, the acknowledged priest, prophet, seer, sorcerer,
medical man, judge and jury, executioner, and general adviser of the
tribe, while also being the grand vizier of the chief, if indeed he was
not the chief himself. He might belong to any class. He might be an
ariki (sovereign), a tana (noble), a rangatira (gentleman), or one of
the commonalty. He might even be a kuki (slave), or, as has been known,
a wahine (woman). This, then, was the individual with whom rested the
imposition or lifting of the tapu, in all the more solemn cases, and he
was the arbiter and arranger of all its various and intricate modes of
application.
The penalties for infringement of tapu depended upon the particular
phase of it that was broken. Often instant death was dealt out to
offenders; it was inevitable in all important cases. But slighter
punishment was sufficient in instances of a less comprehensive kind.
Tapu was rarely broken except through accident or ignorance, for
dark and gloomy horrors of a spectral kind hovered round it in Maori
imagination. Yet if tapu was infringed, neither ignorance of it, nor
unavoidable accident was held to be the slightest excuse. Bloody
massacres have taken place, and furious wars been waged, simply to
avenge some unintentional breach of tapu.
No notion of chastity seems to have belonged to Maori women. They were
children of nature, and by no means prudish. Whilst young and free,
unengaged to any gentleman, a Maori girl was permitted to have as
many followers as she liked, and she was not exactly what we should
term virtuous. If pretty she was a general pet in the kainga, and a
merry time she had of it. One of the ordinary rules of hospitality
as practised in a Maori village, still not entirely obsolete in some
places, proves the engaging openness of manners and unrestricted
freedom which prevailed socially. The number of half-breed children
occasionally seen about a kainga, show the easy way in which certain
Pakeha have fallen in with Maori customs.
But tapu provided a marriage law of singular stringency. So soon as a
girl was married, nay, merely betrothed, no more license for her. She
was tapu to her husband, and if the terrors of the unseen world should
not be enough to keep her in the straight path, death was the penalty
for the slightest deviation therefrom. She was the slave as well as the
wife of her lord, and this continued until, and sometimes even after,
his death, unless he should permit a sort of formal divorce.
The person of an ariki was highly tapu. The sublime essence rested,
if anywhere, most particularly in his head. His hair might not be cut
or dressed without the observance of most formal etiquette. It was a
fearful breach of tapu to pass anything over or above his head. Any
man was tapu, or unclean, if he were wounded, sick, or undergoing the
moku. He might not enter a house, or eat food with his hands. But an
ariki in this condition was, of course, tapu in much higher degree.
One such dignitary, entering the canoe of another person, accidentally
scratched his toe with a splinter. Blood flowing from the wound made
the boat tapu, and it thereby became the property of the chief. The
owner surrendered at once, not even dreaming of complaint.
Burial places were naturally tapu. A Maori of the olden time would
rather die than break their sanctity; and his descendants of the
present day have hardly got over the feeling. They were called wahi
tapu, and no one dared to enter them. The tohunga and his assistants
passed within them to bury the dead, but only with much karakia and
ceremony. Spirits of some kind were supposed to keep watch and ward
over them, and to wreak terrible vengeance upon trespassers. Water
flowing from a wahi tapu was sacred, and whatever it touched became
tinctured with the same dread property. Rather a nuisance, sometimes,
one would think, such as when a storm of rain should send a new
watercourse from some wahi tapu on a hill-side down into the river, or
through the kainga. Either would thus be rendered tapu, and have to be
deserted at once.
Certain lands, at the present day, cannot be bought from their Maori
owners because of wahi tapu upon them. It will be remembered that our
show-place is in this category. There is a wahi tapu, a cavern in this
instance, near the Bay of Islands, that will yield treasure-trove to
curio-hunters some day. With the bodies of the dead were placed their
arms, valuables, and personals generally. There is said to be a great
store of such riches in this place. Of course, no Maori will go very
near it, and the few Pakeha of the district who know its whereabouts
would not break the tapu, having too much to lose, and not caring to
risk Maori wrath.
In the earliest days of intercourse with Europeans, the tapu was
sometimes made useful in business; useful, that is, to the Maori, but
certainly not to the trader. For instance, a Sydney vessel sails into
Hokianga, or some other river, and is boarded by the ariki of the
neighbourhood. This gentleman is perfectly satisfied with the trader's
goods, but cannot agree as to the price to be paid for them in pigs,
lumber, and flax. The Pakeha wants so much; the Maori offers so
little. Long chaffering results in no better understanding. At length
the chief departs indignantly, previously putting the tapu upon the
ship and her cargo. No other natives will now approach or do business;
even other tribes will not infringe the tapu. If the skipper wished to
sail off to some other part, he could not do so, except by risking a
battle, or spoiling his chances of future trade. Generally, he would
come to terms with the chief, after an exasperating delay.
The mana (power) of an ariki was very great; and, in a lesser degree
the next ranks, the tana and rangatira, possessed it also. As there was
little or nothing externally to distinguish the greatest of chiefs from
the meanest of his subjects, "the dignity that doth hedge a king" was
conferred and kept up by the mysterious agencies of the tapu. Possibly
this was a good reason for its universal supremacy.
The tapu descended into the commonest details of daily life, and it
reached to the most solemn and obscurest depths of the Maori mythology.
It was a law—a code of laws, based on superstition, elaborated with
diplomatic skill, enforced by human justice, universally and entirely
accepted, and in its most important aspects was invested with the
grimmest terrors of the unseen world.
A Maori would certainly rather die than enter the precincts of a wahi
tapu; his terrors would probably kill him if he were so much as touched
by a ngarara, or little green lizard. Incredible as it may seem, the
Maori were indeed sometimes killed by fear. Instances are on record of
individuals who have unknowingly violated the tapu, in some one of its
important phases. No one else might be aware of the crime, so that the
culprit would have nothing to dread from human justice. But he has been
so absolutely terror-stricken, that he has gone straight away into the
bush, laid down, and died there.
Everything about an ariki was invested with a sacred mystery. His
clothes, weapons, ornaments, or house could not even be touched by the
inferior. He must eat alone, could not carry food, could not blow the
fire, could not do many things, lest his tapu should unwittingly slay
some unfortunate person, or his mana become impaired.
The law of the tapu made government possible among the Maori, and bound
them together in their tribes; just as the law of Moses made government
possible among the Hebrews. Indeed, in many of its applications the
tapu is strangely similar to the Jewish code. Sometimes it may seem
ridiculous to us in certain of its forms, so do many of our customs
seem ridiculous to the Maori. The other day, one of the Maori members
of the House of Representatives rose in his place to oppose a motion
for an hour's adjournment of business. He said that the Pakeha system
of adjourning for refreshment every now and then was a ridiculous
one. Honourable members went and got more or less drunk—so the Maori
alleged—and then returned only to wrangle or go to sleep. It would
be better to conclude the business on hand, and do the drinking
afterwards, observed this sapient legislator. Some "teetotallers'"
organ, commenting on the incident, said "his remarks actually shamed
the House into decent behaviour for a day or two."
The early missionaries made a dead set against the tapu as a heathen
custom, and herein, I think, their policy was a mistaken one. But its
whole working was not known to them at that period, and, besides that,
it caused them no inconsiderable annoyance. The following story is
recorded—by a writer who was himself one of the missionaries—of the
first serious blow that heathenism received in New Zealand, and from
which originated the acceptance of Christianity by all the tribes of
the Maori.
An early party of missionaries had settled at Keri-keri, in the Bay of
Islands district, and were on friendly terms with the natives. But when
the customary tapu of the Keri-keri river was in force, it caused the
mission people great annoyance. The river was their only road, and they
could not now pass up or down it; their communications with Te Puna,
the principal mission centre in the bay itself, were thus stopped.
Stores were required, and at last, in defiance of the native tradition,
the mission boat was manned and rowed down the river, thus breaking
through the inviolable tapu.
The rage and terror of the Maori were excessive, as may be supposed,
and they looked to see the outraged atua (spirits) exterminate the rash
Pakeha. But nothing happened, so the Maori determined to avenge the
insult themselves, as their fathers had done on Du Fresne, for a very
similar violation of tapu. They seized the mission boat on its return,
and tied up its occupants preparatory to killing and eating them. Then
a whole tribe divided the boat's cargo among themselves.
Now, it so chanced that the bulk of the stores, which the boat was
bringing up from Te Puna to Keri-keri, consisted of two items: pots
and tins of preserves of different kinds, and a supply of medicines.
The Maori devoured the first greedily, and then, as they did not know
what else the drugs could be intended for, out of a mere sense of
consistency they swallowed salts, jalap, ipecacuanha, castor oil, and
so on, as greedily and copiously as they had the jams and pickles.
The result may readily be imagined. Dire prostration of that unhappy
tribe. Instant release of the captives, amid the grovellings and
supplications of the now anguished and disordered Maori. Triumphant and
unexpected victory of the missionary mana. That tribe became instant
converts, and were received into the fold of the Church. Had not the
missionaries broken through the dreaded tapu unharmed? And had not the
avengers of their insulted deities been visited with strange and awful
punishment for their presumption in daring to meddle with these Pakeha?
What further evidence was needed to demonstrate the superiority of the
missionaries over all the Maori gods and devils?
Most strange, too, is another circumstance that operated to the same
end. The Maori had oracles, or some kind of divination that was
practised by the tohunga. Again and again were these oracles consulted,
as to whether the Pakeha religion or the Maori mythology was best
worthy of belief. The answer was invariable—so the missionaries tell
us. It declared Jesus Christ to be the only true God. So the tapu Maori
was set aside; and, little by little, the tapu Pakeha, or Christianity,
replaced it.
At the present day all Maori are professed Christians, and, as a rule,
very earnest ones. Among the younger there is a state of mind more
approaching to our standards, but with the elders it is different.
They were born under a different _régime_. Their young minds were
filled with hereditary impressions that conversion has been naturally
powerless to shake off altogether. Their vague and foggy mythology
is still believed in, though they formulate their notion of it in
Scriptural words and phrases.
They have long laid aside the old habits of war and cannibalism, but
political necessity brought this about, quite as much as Christianity.
And the old warlike spirit is by no means dead, any more than the dark
and gloomy mysteries of the ancient belief. These crop out sometimes
from beneath the veneer of the newer mental garment.
It was believed that the spirits of the dead—of the good dead, the
brave warrior dead, apparently—had a long and toilsome journey before
them. They had to cross mountains and marshes, and to find their way
through forests and over rivers. Many terrible difficulties had to be
encountered, and all sorts of spirit foes were ready to contest the
narrow path. At last the end of the earth was reached, Cape Reinga,
in the extreme north. An awfully tapu place this to living Maori.
Here came the spirits of the dead at last, after accomplishing their
journey, beset as it had been with many perils. And from the top of
Cape Reinga, a mighty rock projecting into the sea, they took their
last look at earth and dived into the water. Then they had to swim out
beyond the Three Kings Islands, where the gate of Paradise was supposed
to be situated.
Many a tattooed Christian cannot give up his belief in this idea,
and he still retains it, reconciling it in some dim way with his new
theology.
There is a little emerald-green lizard in the bush, called by the Maori
ngarara. It is dreadfully tapu, and an old warrior would rather die
than touch it. It is believed to contain a spirit, some say an evil
demon, others the ghost of a wicked man. There is some uncertainty on
that point, even among the most learned tohunga. At any rate it is most
excessively tapu. It seems that to throw a ngarara at a Maori, or even
to bring it near him, or show it to him, is a crime of a very heinous
character. Wars were the consequence of such acts, once upon a time.
I did not know of this superstition regarding the ngarara, and nearly
lost my life in consequence. At least, I have been told the case was as
bad as that.
This was the way of it. Once, when engaged in land-surveying, I had a
gang of Maori workmen, to cut the lines through the bush and do the
general work of the party. Among these were two or three half-breeds,
youngish men, and a couple of old moku Maori, with others. The two
old fellows always struck me as being more like Irishmen of the
peasant class than anything else. They always had some whimsical
joke or another, there was a normally comic look in their faces, and
they possessed that quaint affectation of childishness, and love of
laughter, which are proverbially characteristic of the Irish peasant.
We had been some weeks out, and had got on very well together. Like all
the others, the two old boys were remarkably pious. They had a sort of
Bible-class and prayer-meeting every night and morning in the camp. I
used to call them "the two apostles," because their baptismal names
happened to be Pita (Peter) and Pora (Paul).
One day, when we were all at work on the line, I happened to pick up a
pretty little ngarara. Without thinking of what I was doing, I held it
out to Pita and Pora, who were nearest to me, asking them what it was,
and finally I threw it lightly towards them, saying, "Catch!"
The two apostles became suddenly transformed. They yelled, they
screeched, they leapt and danced, they chanted the terrific war-song
of their tribe. Never shall I forget the sudden and fierce convulsion
that completely changed every feature of their faces and bodies. I no
longer knew my two apostles, they had changed into demoniac savages in
a whirlwind of wrath.
I stood admiringly watching them, never supposing this exhibition was
real, but imagining it was simply a new joke got up for my behoof. The
two came gradually closer towards me, clashing their axes together,
and seeming like a pair of ferocious panthers. But I noticed that the
rest of the gang had stopped work and were looking on. They were not
laughing, but seemed excited and concerned. Then it occurred to me that
something was not right, and that it would be as well to withdraw.
Just as Pita and Pora were brandishing their axes within a few feet
of me, yelling and dancing, or rather bounding, towards me, the two
half-breeds rushed swiftly past them and threw themselves between us.
Without a word they seized me by the arms and dragged me into the
thicket. Then they explained, saying—
"Run for your life! They mean to kill you!"
When I rejoined the working-party an hour or two later, Pita and Pora
were calm again, and had resumed their work. They merely growled and
menaced me. Afterwards, when we were lying side by side in camp, Pita
reverted to the matter as a pleasant episode. He told me all about the
ngarara, how tapu it was, and what a dreadful insult I had unwittingly
put upon him and his mate. He said they would certainly have killed me
in their wild gust of passion, though they would have been sorry for it
afterwards. It was all over now, he added, because he and Pora had had
time to reflect, and remembered that I was a poor ignorant Pakeha who
knew no better. Besides, they were Christians, which they had forgotten
in their heat. Now, they were my two apostles once more. I understand
that Pora alluded feelingly to the matter during an exposition of the
Scriptures, with which he favoured the rest of the gang the following
Sunday.
At the present day, the rites and ceremonies of the tohunga have
entirely given place to Christian observances; and, as is the wont of
primitive intelligences, the Maori are most rigorous observers of all
outward forms, whatever degree of fervour they may have spiritually
attained. In the young days of Christianity here, the converts ascribed
to the missionaries a magical mana, such as they had formerly believed
to reside in the tohunga. This was the natural result of that terrible
day of wrath on the Keri-keri, when a "great awakening" was brought
about through the instrumentality and efficacy of Epsom salts, and
when the mana of the tapu Pakeha was thereby so fully demonstrated.
Consequently, the ceremonial prescribed and the doctrines inculcated by
the missionaries were most unquestioningly accepted.
The Maori adopted religion with a marvellous zeal, and, had it not been
for European colonization, sectarianism, and other reasons, they might
have become a startling example of fervid Christianity. The differences
between denominations, even in the early days, created much bitterness,
and, as we have seen, led to Hau-hau. It has needed, at times, all
the mana of the missionary, and more, to prevent actual hostilities
between communities professing the differing creeds of the Episcopal,
Wesleyan, or Roman Catholic bodies. One often meets with sad examples
of sectarian animosity manifested among these simple people.
In the early days the missionaries were a political power. Long before
the Treaty of Waitangi was signed they had attained a supreme and
widespread influence among the tribes. As has been already noticed, it
was their desire to have formed a Christian Maori nation, under their
own ægis; and, to effect this, they seem to have disregarded the wants
of their own countrymen. But all this is retrospective matter, with
which it is not now necessary to deal. Neither may I revert to the
action of missionaries in the young days of the colony, either with
regard to the general government, or to the land-sharking attributed
to certain of their number. Too much acrimony has been given rise to
already by the discussion of such topics.
The missionary influence has now less practical power, perhaps, than
clerical direction in England. Only among secluded hapu (communities)
is anything resembling the old force to be found, and there it is
necessarily limited and localized. It is felt more among the elders
than among the younger generations, who have learnt to read and write,
have mixed more with Pakeha, and whose minds are consequently more
open, and less inclined to accept spiritual authority as absolute.
Their conceptions are not the same as their fathers', to whose minds
Christianity came as a new form of tapu, and to whom the missionary
appeared as possessor of a more powerful mana than the tohunga.
Sunday is a kind of tapu day with the Maori. They are often more
Sabbatarian than Scotsmen, and more pharisaic than the Pharisees
themselves. To the letter of the law they pay the minutest attention,
whether they estimate its spirit rightly or not.
But there is great diversity of character in this as in other matters,
and what is recorded of one tribe or community will not always apply
to all. The perfect equality with the Pakeha that the Maori enjoy, and
the degree of education that has grown up among them, have produced
effects. Among others is a gradual change from fervour to hypocrisy,
and from an exaggerated piety to a lesser regard for the forms of
religion. Year by year fewer tales will be told of Maori affectations,
simple pieties, or childish formalism.
Religion is often the fashion in some of their communities, and is
entertained with the most rigid observance. Travellers coming to a
Maori kainga upon a Sunday, have been denied shelter and food until
sunrise on Monday; and, when Monday came, they have been cheated by the
same tattooed Pharisees, who were too sanctimonious to sell a potato
to a hungry traveller upon the Sabbath, or to help him build a hut as
shelter from the wind and rain.
Maori look upon a money collection in church as a part of the ceremony,
on no account to be omitted. The service, they think, is incomplete
without it. But they will not give more than one penny, on any account
whatever. The warden, who is taking round the plate, has to make change
for numerous sixpences, shillings, and even notes (£1) in the course
of his progress through the church, in order that the Maori may give
their pennies—no more and no less. If a man or woman cannot raise a
penny, he or she will usually stop away from church altogether, rather
than be remiss in the important ceremony of putting a copper in the
plate. In the rare case, when one is found in church without possessing
a copper to give, he will _make believe_ to put something in the plate
when it comes to him, and—by way, I suppose, of strengthening the
deception—will make a horrible grimace at the collector.
There are many very quaint scenes to be witnessed in connection
with a Maori church, which, until they were used to them, must
have sorely tried the gravity of the missionaries and the white
part of the congregation. The Maori behave with an exaggerated
decorum and seriousness of deportment that is in itself sufficiently
laughter-provoking, especially since their eyes are always roving
stealthily round to see who is observing them. They sing with such
earnestness that at times it almost amounts to fury; and they join in
the responses with loud and emphatic fervour. They will weep abundantly
and noisily when moved thereto by certain prayers, or by pathetic
incidents from Scripture history; or they will laugh uproariously at
passages that tickle their fancy.
Nothing whatever can keep these simple and excitable people from
showing their feelings, as aroused by Scripture reading or by the
sermon. They listen to the preacher precisely as they do to their own
traditions, when told by a native story-teller in the wharè. Their
ejaculations are frequent, and prove the intense and vivid interest
they take in the stories told them. I have seen a church-ful of Maori
grinding their teeth, stamping their feet, waving their arms, and
actually raging, when the treachery of Judas was being related to them.
On the other hand, I have seen the same people violently nodding their
heads, grinning with appreciation, exclaiming kapai! (good), and
showing thorough approbation, over the somewhat questionable business
transactions of the patriarch Jacob with Esau and Laban. The stories
of Daniel and the lions, and of the other young men who were thrown
into the fiery furnace, are high favourites with the Maori. The lions'
den finds a parallel in their own mythology, and is recognized by them
as being meant for the mysterious cave of the Taniwha, or gigantic
lizard-dragon, of which they possess legends.
Dress is a most important item of Sunday ceremony among the Maori,
and it is astonishing how well they will turn out. In the seclusion
of their own kainga they frequently lay aside civilized attire, and
are seen either quite naked, or only loosely enveloped in a dirty
blanket; but elsewhere they usually wear shirt and trousers, much the
same as settlers. To go to church, as also on high-days and holidays,
they appear in wonderfully correct costume; for most Maori have earned
money enough, at one time or another, with which to rig themselves
out at the stores. Coats of broadcloth, alpaca, or light silk; snowy
shirt-collars and cuffs; dangling watch-chains, with perhaps a bouquet
in the buttonhole, and a bright-coloured satin scarf; "billy-cock" or
"wide-awake" hats, white cork helmets, or possibly even a "chimney-pot"
hat; accurate trousers and unquestionable boots; in such guise does the
Maori rangatira of the present day saunter into church, side by side
with the far less well-got-up English-born New Zealand gentleman.
Only one item of the old barbaric splendour—besides the moku on the
face—is retained, and that is nearly always seen; namely, the earrings
and ornaments. These are prominent features, and their size causes them
to be well displayed. The ear ornaments are of considerable variety.
A polished slip of greenstone (jade), about six or eight inches in
length, is most highly thought of. Then there are dog's teeth, boar's
tusks, polished shells and pebbles, bunches of soft white feathers like
marabouts, fresh flowers, and yards upon yards of streaming ribbon.
But this ornamentation is not unsightly, though at first it may seem
somewhat incongruous with the rest of the costume. Some of us used to
discuss the advisability of decorating our own ears in the same way,
with a view, perhaps, of looking more attractive in the eyes of the
Maori maidens.
The Maori young ladies are not, perhaps, strikingly beautiful—our
Rakope always excepted—but they have good features, plump, graceful
figures, and an altogether comely and agreeable _tout ensemble_.
Their white teeth and juicy lips, sparkling eyes and dimpling cheeks,
ever-ready smiles and roguish glances, make them a very pleasant sight
to see. One loses all distaste for the brown complexion, and even for
the two or three lines of moku on the chin, though most of the present
generation are without those marks.
The dress of a Maori girl, under ordinary circumstances, is a print
frock and nothing else, unless it be a straw hat. But, like the
gentlemen, she can come out a grand swell sometimes. You may see all
the latest Auckland fashions in a Maori church. The general run of the
girls' costume is a dress of calico or some similar stuff, clean and
well put together, with a tartan shawl of the most vivid hues over
the shoulders, a jaunty hat decorated with flowers and feathers, and
a general profusion of natural flowers and fluttering ribbons in the
flowing hair. Boots and socks are worn on such occasions, much to the
wearers' discomfort, I believe.
But the rangatira girls have learnt from the Pakeha ladies to indulge
a passion for fine clothes, and it is seldom that they do not find
means to gratify their vanity. A Maori _young lady_—for the rangatira
hold themselves as of gentle blood at the very least—has several ways
open to her of acquiring sufficient pin-money to place her wardrobe on
a proper footing. The first and easiest method is evidently to worry
"papa" into selling some of his land; but the Maori paterfamilias is
not always pleased to allow his daughters to interfere with his own
peculiar line of business.
Of course miss declines to go out to service as a domestic in any
settler's family, even if she were fitted for such a post—that is
menial work, and suitable only for the inferior kuki girls. But she
does not always object to do open-air labour about a farm, dig potatoes
and kumera, reap and shell maize, assist among the flocks at shearing
time, and take a job of humping. Often she will go gum-digging or
flax-picking—one or other of these is her favourite means of raising
the wind, unless she can find a market for fish, fruit, or eggs. Any
way, get money she must, and will, and does, somehow or another, and
on Sundays and gala-days she will appear at church or at the settlement
arrayed in a style that would do credit to Regent Street.
At our bush-balls the Maori girls appear in muslins, ribbons, silks,
and laces—though these may not always be of the cleanest or newest.
And I have even seen silk stockings—white or pink, with "clocks" up
the sides—and sandal-shoes upon their feet.
Nor is our modern Maori belle merely a dressed-up savage. Educated at
the mission or government schools, she can always read and write in
Maori, and often in English better than she can speak it. She has some
idea of elementary arithmetic, geography, and history, and can use a
needle and thread, study the English fashion-books, and sometimes even
use her pencil and draw a little. Still, I am bound to say, all these
improvements are but superficial; the Maori blood is in the girl and is
bound to show itself, however far advanced may be her education.
Whilst young and unmarried, and even in the early days of matrimony,
the Maori girl's life is happy enough. She is petted and caressed by
everybody, particularly if more than ordinarily comely; but in the
after years she becomes a beast of burden, a hewer of wood and drawer
of water, an inferior being, who may be soundly thrashed when her lord
considers it good to do so. And the less said about the older women
the better; they rapidly pass through every degree of homeliness,
until they at last attain to a surpassing and appalling hideousness.
In the best and foremost of the Maori girls of the period there is
a constant struggle between the acquired Pakeha refinements and the
primitive habits of the kainga. This leads to many ludicrous scenes,
two instances of which I will describe.
One Sunday I saw the young and handsome daughter of a chief of some
rank stepping out of church, and got up to death in a costume that was
evidently the result of a recent visit to Auckland itself. For the
benefit of my lady readers I will try to describe her dress—so far as
an ex-bushman may essay such a task.
Her robe was of pale green silk, adorned with lace trimmings, darker
green fringes, and pale pink satin borderings. It had a panier and
train, and was shaped and fitted with great taste, and as a fashionable
milliner might turn it out. The lady wore cuffs and collar of white
lace, with pink satin bows, also a gorgeous cameo brooch, a gold
watch-chain, and lavender kid gloves. Her head was adorned with a
wide-brimmed white hat, high-crowned, and having one side looped up.
It was ornamented with dark green velvet, some gay artificial flowers,
a stuffed humming-bird, and a long drooping ostrich feather. Her hair
was elaborately dressed in the latest type of chignon; in one hand she
carried a gorgeous parasol, all ribbons and fringes and lace, and in
the other she had a large feathery fan; while from beneath the white
edge of her petticoat two pretty little boots peeped out.
Of course my lady was the cynosure of all eyes, and her delighted
vanity was boundless. She minced and rustled down the pathway like
a peacock, utterly disdaining all her kindred, male and female, and
immensely proud of her own "Englishness." She tossed her head and
twisted herself about as a child would do, and wore on her face
a chronic smile of supreme self-contentment, while her eyes were
wandering all about to note the effect her grandeur was producing.
As her ladyship would not condescend to let any one speak to her, so
grand and dignified did she feel, it happened that, when she got to
the outskirts of the settlement, she found herself alone, and then, I
suppose, her assumption of Englishness suddenly left her. One or two of
us had stolen after her, keeping hidden among the bushes at the side
of the road, and thence witnessing what followed.
Presently appeared on the scene two or three old Maori women, horrible,
repulsive-looking hags, scantily draped in the filthiest and most
ragged of blankets, their brows thatched with disgusting masses of
hair and dirt. These witches gathered round the young belle, loudly
expressing their admiration, and fingering over her Pakeha attire. Then
her ladyship experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling, and returned
all at once to the level of common humanity. Relinquishing all her
airs and graces, she whipped up her silken skirts, squatted down on
her hams, drew out a short black pipe, and, cheek-by-jowl with her
ancient compatriots, enjoyed a hearty smoke, while relating with great
animation the events of the morning.
On another occasion I was riding down to the Bay of Islands, when I
came up behind a couple who were riding leisurely along in the same
direction. Save and except their shaggy, ungroomed horses, they might
have just ridden out of Hyde Park into the middle of that wild country.
One was a lady, attired in an elegant, blue, velveteen riding-habit,
with hat and feather to match, and with silky brown hair falling over
her shoulders down to her horse's croup. Her cavalier, from the top
of his white helmet down to his spurred boot-heels, was got up with
considerably more regard to effect than is ordinarily seen in the bush.
And there was a good deal of spooning going on, apparently, though that
is not so uncommon when couples ride out together, even in the bush.
The gentleman was carrying the lady's parasol and other paraphernalia,
was leaning over, holding her hand, looking into her eyes, and all the
rest of it.
"Ho, ho!" I thought to myself, "that will be Miss Dash, I presume, whom
the Blanks expected to visit them. And who is the fellow, I wonder!"
So I rode quickly after them, coming up without attracting attention,
my horse's unshod hoofs making scarcely any noise on the soft road.
To my amazement, the amorous pair turned out to be Henere Tangiao, a
half-breed, who had been the foreman of a gang of native labourers
I had lately discharged; and his fair companion was his very recent
bride, formerly Miss Mata Akepiro.
They greeted me with great cordiality, only a little overcome by
self-consciousness of their "store-clothes," that had been donned to do
honour to some settlers they had been to visit. Said Mrs. Tangiao to
me, showing her pretty teeth, and with only a little more Maori accent
than I am able to reproduce—
"You come see our house, Mitta Hay; you come see old Maori kainga at
Matapa? You come plenty plenty soon, good!"
I accepted the invitation, and did go some days after that. The house
was a little wooden cottage, built outside the enclosed kainga of raupo
wharè, or reed-grass cabins, of the rest of the tribe. It was a wharè
Pakeha, built by Henere in right of the admixture of English blood in
his veins, and not, I truly believe, from any preference for that style
of building over the old Maori kind.
There was no one about when I arrived, so I walked through the two
rooms and out at the back. The rooms were furnished with a few tables
and chairs and other things, much after the style of married settlers
in a small way. Out behind the house was an open space, where a
fire was burning, with a billy boiling upon it. Close to the fire,
superintending the cooking, her hair hanging in elf-locks round her
head and over her face, squatting on the ground with her chin on her
knees, a pipe in her mouth, and a dirty blanket over her shoulders as
her only garment, was Mrs. Tangiao, the lady of the riding-habit.
Naturally, you would suppose that such an elegant and civilized young
bride would blush with shame and dismay at being discovered by me in
such utter _déshabillé_. Not a bit of it! Up she jumped, all smiles
and welcomes, her blanket falling off as she did so, and leaving her
as naked as a mahogany Venus. Even this did not discompose her in the
least, as she warmly shook hands with me, and with truly childlike
innocence offered her lips for a fraternal salute.
But the most comical part of the whole affair is yet to be told.
A hearty coo-ee or two brought up Henere, who was at work in his
cultivation at no great distance. After he had shaken me by the hand
and warmly welcomed me, he began to scold the unlucky Mata. Not on
the score of indelicacy or indecency, though; no such thought as that
crossed his brain, good easy man! He only reproved his wife for not
showing sufficient and proper honour to her "rangatira Pakeha" guest,
which could not be done, he considered, unless she were completely
attired in full Pakeha costume.
So, while I sat on the verandah and sipped some tea, Henere commenced
to dress up his bride before my very eyes. He put on and fastened every
article of her best clothes, combed and brushed out her redundant hair,
decked and ornamented her with all the ribbons and laces and so on of
which her wardrobe could boast. Meanwhile, the lady remained quite
passive under his hands, sitting or standing or turning about as
required, but all the while with serious unmoved expression of face,
and puckered-up lips. Her large wondering eyes she kept fixed intently
upon me, to note the effect the processes of her toilette were having
upon me. I was very nearly strangled with suppressed laughter, but it
would have mortally offended these simple, earnest people to have shown
the least sense of the ridiculous.
When all was finished, and Mrs. Tangiao was costumed in English
fashion, and very nicely, too, let me say, her husband made her enter
the sitting-room and sit down upon a chair. Then he turned to me,
unbounded satisfaction visible in his beaming face, inflated breast,
and gesturing hands.
"You come see common Maori, sah? You come find Pakeha gentleman, Pakeha
lady, Pakeha house! Good, good! Now you sit talk to my missee, I get
Pakeha dinner."
After the meal we took a stroll through the kainga, Mata trying to
attitudinize after the fashion of the white ladies she had seen in the
settlements; and Henere loftily informing his neighbours that "_We
three Pakeha_ come to see _your_ Maori town"—a piece of humour that
was thoroughly enjoyed by both men and women, who made great capital
for numberless jokes out of it.