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, eat one of them next
morning. Remember, my good reader, I don't deal in fiction; my friend
eat the pakeha sure enough, and killed him before he eat 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 eat 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, Miss. 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 is 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; however 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 Shakespeare 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 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 any
one 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 "recognised 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 over-board, 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--must finish
him some other time. We both swim for the point, and land; and this is
how I got ashore on Maori land.