THE RECEPTION.
(1815-1822).
He that soweth discord among brethren.
--_Proverbs._
The position of the missionaries when left alone at Rangihoua was not an
easy one. Ruatara was dead, and there was no one to fill his place. His
successor at Rangihoua, though friendly and genial, seems to have had
but little influence. Korokoro cared for nothing but war. The real ruler
was Ruatara's uncle, Hongi, who lived some miles away; and Hongi's
character had yet to disclose itself. His behaviour was quiet and
gentlemanly; he assured the missionaries of his protection, and he kept
his word.
This protection, however, was subject to limitations. The settlers were
naturally anxious to grow corn and vegetables, but the cold clay of Te
Puna[1] was not a favourable soil. At the very beginning some of them
had pleaded for a more fertile spot, but their sagacious leader had set
his veto on the proposal. Not many months, however, after Marsden's
departure, Kendall and Hall crossed the Bay to a sunny spot at the mouth
of the Waitangi River. Here they bought 50 acres of fertile land, and
thither Hall transferred his family. He soon saw around him a prolific
growth of maize and vegetables, but just as he was congratulating
himself on the wisdom of the move, a scene occurred which quickly
altered his views. He was felled to the ground by a savage visitor who
brandished an axe over his head, and he struggled to his feet only to
behold his wife's countenance suffused with blood from a smashing blow
dealt her by another ruffian. His furniture and tools were carried off,
and the poor missionary was glad to return to his colleagues, and to
share the protection of the _tapu_ which Ruatara had placed upon their
settlement. Barren as Te Puna might be, it was a safe refuge, and so
long as the missionaries stayed there they suffered nothing worse from
the natives than a little pilfering and an occasional threat.
[1] The missionaries generally used the terms Te Puna and Rangihoua
indiscriminately.
Their real troubles arose within their own circle. The settlement
(including children) consisted of twenty-five people, and it was
organised by Marsden on what may be called a communistic basis. His
original plan had been for each settler to be allowed to trade with the
Maoris on his own account, and for this purpose he had given them a
stock of goods before leaving Sydney. This concession was intended to
compensate those who, like King and Hall, had given up large incomes on
leaving New South Wales. But a very short experience convinced Marsden
that such traffic was open to grave objections. With characteristic
promptitude he remodelled his scheme. Calling the settlers together, he
told them that he could allow no private trade whatever. All traffic
with the natives was to be carried on by the whole community, and the
profits were to go towards defraying the expenses of the mission.
Rations of food and other necessaries would be served out to the mission
families, and each settler would receive a small percentage on whatever
profit might accrue from the trading voyages of the brig.
These terms were not accepted without protest, but such was the weight
of Marsden's authority that they were at length adopted by all. The
scheme is interesting as foreshadowing the communism of Selwyn, and as
being the earliest example of socialism in white New Zealand. But all
such experiments need the constant presence of the inspiring mind, and
this is just what the Te Puna community lacked. Marsden did not return
for more than four years, and in the meantime the settlers were left
with no head whatever. Kendall was the cleverest of the group, and his
ambitious spirit chafed at the restrictions imposed by his distant
superior. He bore a commission of the Peace from the Governor of New
South Wales, but his magisterial powers were mostly exercised on runaway
sailors. In the mission his vote counted for no more than the vote of
King or of Hall.
For a time, indeed, the experiment promised well. Hall spoke in later
years of the "zeal, warmth, and sanguinity" with which they began their
work. Kendall was successful with the school, in which a son of the
noble Te Pahi acted as an assistant. One or two new settlers arrived
from Australia, and glowing reports reached the Committee in London.
But evil was at work. As early as 1816, Kendall was sending to Marsden
grave accusations against his colleagues. His letters were plausible and
carried weight. Quarrels arose between him and Hall, who was so wearied
with the "difficulties, discouragements, and insults" of his life that
he wished to retire from his post. The rules of the community were not
kept; the forbidden trade in firearms was not altogether avoided; the
early fervour cooled, and little mission work was done.
Marsden grieved over this sad declension, yet could not at once apply a
remedy. But in the early months of 1819 he had staying at his parsonage
a singularly devoted Methodist preacher whose health had broken down.
The chaplain suggested to his guest that he should try the effect of a
voyage to New Zealand, and should investigate the state of the Mission
there. Like a mediaeval bishop, Marsden called in the assistance of a
preaching order to infuse new life into his failing "seculars." The
boldness of the plan was justified by the result. Mr. Leigh tactfully
mediated between the separated brethren; by prayer and exhortation he
rekindled their flagging zeal; and, Methodist-like, he drew up a "plan"
for their future operations. Soon after his departure King and Kendall
went on a missionary tour to Hokianga on the western coast; Hall boated
along the eastern coast, and preached as far as Whangaruru.
On the reception of Leigh's report, Marsden wrote a hopeful letter to
London. "The place," he said, "will now be changed, and I trust we shall
be able to lay down such rules and keep those who are employed in the
work to their proper duty, so as to prevent the existence of any great
differences among them." But he himself must initiate the changes, and
by August of that same year (1819) he was again at the Bay of Islands.
The meeting between himself and his catechists was marked by
satisfaction on both sides. Kendall and King could report hopefully of
their recent reception on the Hokianga River, which they were the first
white men to see; Hall could relate how he had found and forgiven the
people who had assaulted him at Waitangi, and how prosperous had been
his tour until he reached a _pa_ where the demand for iron was so great
that the inhabitants stole the rudder-hangings of his boat, and left the
poor missionary to find his way back as best he might in stormy weather
to the shelter of Rangihoua. Marsden, on his part, could introduce a
party of new helpers whom he had brought from Sydney--the Rev. John
Butler and his wife, Francis Hall, a schoolmaster, and James Kemp, a
smith.
New plans were at once formed for an extension of the work. An offer
from Hongi of a site opposite to his own _pa_ was accepted, and Marsden
bought for four dozen axes a large piece of ground on the Kerikeri
River, at the extreme north-west of the Bay. Here, in a sheltered vale
and amid the sound of waterfalls, the new mission station was
established. To it the fresh workers were assigned, Butler taking the
chief place. Marsden himself pushed on across the island to the mouth of
the Hokianga, and on his return was surprised to see much of the new
ground broken up, maize growing upon it, and vines in leaf.
Agriculture formed indeed an important feature in Marsden's plans for
the mission. Seeing Hongi's blind wife working hard in a potato field,
he was much affected by the miserable condition of many of the Maoris:
"Their temporal situation must be improved by agriculture and the simple
arts, in order to lay a permanent foundation for the introduction of
Christianity." No spiritual results were as yet visible, but the chiefs
attended Marsden's services and "behaved with great decorum." On the
evening of September 5 he administered the Holy Communion to the
settlers at Rangihoua. The service was held in a "shed," but "the
solemnity of the occasion did not fail to excite in our breasts
sensations and feelings corresponding with the peculiar situation in
which we were. We had retrospect to the period when this holy ordinance
was first instituted in Jerusalem in the presence of our Lord's
disciples, and adverted to the peculiar circumstances under which it was
now administered at the very ends of the earth."
In spite of the more promising appearances, however, Marsden seems to
have realised that the missionaries must never be left so long again
unvisited. In little more than three months he was again in New Zealand.
There had been no difficulty about leave of absence this time, for the
Admiralty needed kauri timber, and was glad to avail itself of his
influence with the Maoris, and his knowledge of their ways. Marsden made
the most of this unlooked for opportunity, and stayed nine months in the
country. Of all his visits this was the longest and the most full of
arduous effort, but its results were almost nullified by subsequent
events. For it happened that on his arrival at Te Puna he found another
enterprise in contemplation--one which would leave its mark upon
history, and make the year memorable with an evil memory in the annals
of New Zealand. This was the journey of Kendall and Hongi to England.
To understand the course of events and to appreciate its fell
significance, it is necessary to keep in mind both what the Englishman
was doing in New Zealand, and what the New Zealander was doing in
England, during those same months of the year 1820. They will meet again
next year in the parsonage of Parramatta, and then the results of their
separate courses will begin to show themselves.
Hongi, though less definitely favourable to the mission than had been
his nephew Ruatara, had hitherto always stood its friend. On Marsden's
last visit he had indeed disbanded a large army at his request, and had
seemed ready to relinquish his design of obtaining _utu_ for the blood
of several Ngapuhi chiefs who had been lately slain in battle. But the
obtaining of _utu_ was almost the main object of the heathen Maori. An
eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, blood for blood and death for
death--this was his creed. If the blood of the murderer could not be
had, then someone else's blood must be shed--someone, too, of equal rank
and dignity. Hongi could not bring himself to accept the new message of
peace, and his dissatisfaction was, it would seem, fanned by Kendall,
who had ambitions of his own to serve. The other settlers, fearing to
lose the protection of Hongi's restraining hand, did their utmost to
dissuade him from taking the journey, but in vain. "I shall die," said
the chief, "if I do not go."
Four days accordingly after Marsden's arrival the two set sail, having
with them Waikato, another chief of the same tribe. The story of their
visit to England is to a large extent familiar. They were received with
great interest at the Missionary House, but the authorities treated
Hongi as a heathen soul to be saved, and this was not what he wanted.
Together they went to Cambridge, and here Kendall found scope for his
abilities in furnishing to Professor Lee the materials for a scientific
orthography of the Maori language. He stayed on at Cambridge to prepare
for Holy Orders, which the Society had agreed that he should receive.
The chiefs meanwhile were entertained at the houses of nobles and
prelates in different parts of the country, and at length were presented
to King George IV. "How do you do, Mr. King George?" said the
gentlemanly Hongi. "How do you do, Mr. King Hongi?" replied that easy
monarch. This was the kind of reception that the Maori appreciated, and
with the craft of his race he immediately seized his advantage. "You
have ships and guns in plenty," said he to the King; "have you said that
the New Zealanders are not to have any?" "Certainly not," replied His
Majesty, and gave him a suit of armour from the Tower. Hongi's object
was now attained. In spite of the missionaries he would have his guns,
and he would be a king.
This determination was not shaken by the Christianity which came under
the notice of the chiefs. At Norwich Cathedral they were given a seat in
the episcopal pew close to the altar, on the occasion of Kendall's
ordination. Hongi was chiefly impressed by the bishop's wig, which he
thought must be emblematic of wisdom. His conclusion was that the Church
was a very venerable institution and a necessary part of the English
State, but it did not seem to follow very consistently the doctrines
which he had heard proclaimed by the missionaries. Its official
representatives seemed to be on good terms with the world: why should he
be better than they? Like the king and great people of England he would
uphold the Church and--go his own way.
Marsden meanwhile had been working hard in the opposite direction. On
landing in February, 1820, he found that some of the missionaries had
been using muskets and powder as articles of barter. It was very hard to
avoid doing so, for the Maoris were no longer satisfied with hoes and
axes. Guns were becoming necessary to self-defence in New Zealand, and
guns they would have. Marsden took a firm stand and informed the chiefs
that if there were any more trading for firearms the mission would be
withdrawn. The Maoris were far too keenly alive to the advantages of
European settlement not to be alarmed at this threat. They agreed to
deal with the settlers by means of peaceful articles of commerce.
Marsden now began a wonderful series of journeys. His obligation to the
timber-cutters led him far up the Thames Valley, but he soon went on by
himself and reached Tauranga, where he found memories of Captain Cook.
Returning to his ship in the Thames estuary, he made more than one
expedition to Kaipara and the more northern parts of the island,
including places where no white man had hitherto been seen.[2] In these
journeys the Mokoia _pa_, which stood on the site of the present village
of Panmure, near Auckland, became a kind of pivot of his operations. Its
chief, Hinaki, was particularly friendly, and in him Marsden hoped to
find a second Ruatara, and in his village a basis for mission work
further south. In fact, all the people of this district seemed more
accessible to the appeal of religion than were those of the Bay of
Islands. From June to November the devoted missionary passed up and down
the waterways which encompass the present city of Auckland, as well as
overland to Hokianga and Whangaroa, preaching in the numerous villages
the simple truth of the one living and true GOD. After one of his
journeys he writes: "I had now been twenty days from the ship, during
which time I had slept in my clothes, generally in the open air or in a
boat or canoe. A great part of the time the weather had been very wet
and stormy. I had crossed many swamps, creeks, and rivers, from the Bay
of Plenty[3] on the eastern side to Kaipara on the western coast; yet,
through the kind providence of God, I met with no accident or unpleasant
circumstances, but, on the contrary, had been highly gratified, and
returned to the ship in perfect health."
[2] Marsden's routes of travel during this time have been thoroughly
traced and elucidated by Dr. Hocken. In a biography or in a work on
the exploration of New Zealand a full account of these interesting
journeys should be given. But, for reasons which will presently
appear, they have hardly any importance for the history of the Church.
One Rembrandtesque passage may be quoted in which Marsden narrates his
visit to the _pa_ of Pataua, near Whangarei. This _pa_ was built high
above the sea, upon rocks which had "the appearance of an old abbey in
ruins.... I was conducted up the narrow pass [writes Marsden] which I
could not ascend without assistance, the path was so steep and narrow.
When I had reached the top, I found a number of men, women, and
children sitting round their fires roasting snappers, crawfish, and
fern root. It was now quite dark. The roaring of the sea at the foot
of the _pa_, as the waves rolled into the deep caverns beneath the
high precipice upon which we stood, whose top and sides were covered
with huts, and the groups of natives conversing round their fires, all
tended to excite new and strange ideas for reflection."
[3] I have ventured to substitute this term for the "Mercury Bay" of
the original. It is clear that Marsden thought himself much further
north than he really was. Dr. Hocken proposes to read "Towranga,"
which, of course, means the same as my own emendation.
[Illustration: VIEW OF PAIHIA.]
Marsden's labours were indeed so great and so many-sided as to compel
the most sincere admiration. At one time he seems wholly given up to
trade, and on his first visit the Maoris were astonished to see him busy
with the aristocratic Nicholas in salting barrels of fish for export to
Sydney. At another time he is the adventurous explorer bearing
cheerfully the extremes of hot and cold, of wet and dry. Yet again he is
the sagacious counsellor and the resolute leader of men; and with it all
he is the warm-hearted Christian who can stay in the midst of his
labours to indite a letter to England, full of spiritual force and
sweetness. Wherever he passes he finds his God a very present help; he
lies down at night in the wet grass with feelings of adoring wonder at
the mysteries of redemption, and before his closing eyes there rises the
vision of the Cross of Jesus.
At his departure in December, Marsden left behind him a peaceful
community and an apparently prosperous mission. Butler had during the
year put into the ground the first plough ever used in New Zealand. The
Maoris were quiet, and the missionaries went to their beds at night
without any sense of insecurity. Four of the newly visited chiefs from
the Thames district followed Marsden at a short interval to Australia,
and stayed with him in his parsonage at Parramatta. Among these was
Hinaki of Mokoia, who wished to continue his journey to England. They
were still in the house when, in the following May, Hongi and Kendall
arrived on their return journey. It was the month of the death of the
great Napoleon at St. Helena, and it would almost seem as though a
portion of his spirit had passed into the Maori chief on his passage
through the Atlantic. At any rate Hongi began now to disclose his
purposes: "Do not go to England," he said to Hinaki at Marsden's table;
"you will surely be ill there. Better go home and see to your defences.
I shall come to visit you before long." All the presents which the great
people in England had showered upon him (excepting, of course, the suit
of armour) he now bartered for muskets and powder. A legend of his race
told how when the Maoris came from Hawaiki they were followed by an
invisible canoe in which sat the figure of Death. With more reason might
that grim form have been supposed to lurk now in the hold of the ship in
which Hongi and Hinaki sailed together to their native land.
They arrived there in the July of 1821, and the missionaries of Kerikeri
soon realised that they had a different Hongi to deal with. For a time
he held aloof from them, and when he did speak he showed great reserve.
Some allowance must of course be made for the inevitable disillusionment
of such a return. After the palaces of the bishops by whom he had been
entertained in England, the mission stations must have appeared even
startlingly humble. But the real grievance was the cessation of the
trade in firearms. The King had approved of this trade: why should the
missionaries object? Kendall in his new clerical attire seemed quite
willing to play the part of court-chaplain to the would-be king. "I
would as soon," he said, "trade with a musket as with a dollar."
The effects of the change were seen immediately. The Maoris grew
insolent, broke down the settlers' fences, and stole whatever they could
lay their hands on. This was, however, as nothing to that which
followed. Hongi and Hinaki had become reconciled on the ship, but a new
act of aggression soon called for reprisals, and at the head of an
immense naval armament Hongi set out for the waters of the Waitemata.
Clad in his helmet and coat of mail, he declaimed his wrongs before his
enemy's stockade at Mokoia, and was only saved by his armour from sudden
death by a treacherous bullet. Hinaki would grant no satisfaction; a
general assault took place, and after a desperate contest the _pa_ was
taken. Hongi swallowed his rival's eyes, and drank the blood that welled
from his throat. The taste of blood seemed to rouse the tiger in his
nature, and he proceeded to sweep the country with fire and sword.
"Powerful tribes on both sides of the Thames were cut off, and for years
the whole country was deserted." The districts which Marsden had visited
so hopefully the year before were all reduced to desolation. The people
whom he had found so receptive of divine truth were now no longer to be
seen: they were either killed, carried into slavery, or driven to the
mountains of the interior.
The missionaries were not exposed to this awful carnage, but their
position can only be described as terrible. The Mokoia expedition
brought back (it was said) no less than 2,000 prisoners. Several of
these were slaughtered in cold blood at the very doors of the station at
Kerikeri. The Maoris were inflamed with the lust for blood; they gloated
over the sufferings of their enemies. They surrounded the mission
premises with poles, upon which were stuck the heads of the slain, while
the remains of the cooked flesh lay rotting on the ground. The unhappy
missionaries could do but little. They rescued a few children from among
the prisoners, but for the rest they had to bear as best they might the
intolerable humiliation of feeling that they owed their very safety to
the protection of Hongi. The Kerikeri settlers were reduced to the
further degradation of making cartridge boxes for the troops, while
their forge was used for the manufacture of ammunition. How much is
contained in these few lines from the schoolmaster's diary: "The natives
have been casting balls all day in Mr. Kemp's shop. They come in when
they please, and do what they please, and take away what they please,
and it is vain to resist them."
Marsden and the Home authorities were powerless to help. Of course
Kendall was dismissed. So was another of the settlers. Others left of
their own accord, and the Society at Home thought of abandoning the
mission. The one bright spot was Rangihoua or Te Puna, where the two
original catechists, King and Hall, kept quietly on, thus showing the
value of Marsden's training during the years of waiting in Sydney. Their
settlement was gradually improving, and at least they kept the flag
flying. As for Marsden himself, there was even one more drop of
bitterness to be added to his cup. Ever since the beginning of the
mission he had kept up a seminary for New Zealanders at Parramatta. The
chiefs were eager to send their sons to be educated under his care, and
in the beginning of 1820 he had no less than twenty-five in residence.
But in the following year a time of mortality set in; several of the
young men died, and for a time the seminary was closed.
Marsden had inaugurated the mission in 1814 with the message of peace
and goodwill to men. Now, as he thought of the charred villages and
whitening bones which marked the face of the country after seven years
of Gospel preaching, he must surely have felt bound to take other words
as the burden of his cry: "I came not to send peace, but a sword."