RUIN AND DESOLATION.
(1862-1868).
Our heart's consuming pain,
At sight of ruined altars, prophets slain,
And God's own ark with blood of souls defiled!
--_Keble._
The armed truce which lasted from June, 1861, to May, 1863, was marked
by strenuous efforts on both sides to bring about a lasting peace. To
appreciate the gravity of the situation, it is necessary to remember
that the European settlements were still but a fringe round the coast,
while the whole of the interior of the island was occupied by the
Maoris. But that race had so dwindled away during the last half-century,
and the Europeans had poured in so fast during the last twenty years,
that the relative numbers were now not very unequal. If the Maoris had
been united, they might even yet have driven the immigrants from the
land. That they were not united in any such hostile policy was due
almost entirely to the influence of the missionaries. There would have
been no hostility at all if just and considerate treatment had been the
rule throughout.
In justification of this statement we have only to follow the action of
the king-maker, Tamihana, of the old "king," Potatau, and even of his
successor, Tawhiao. As long as he lived, old Potatau said _Amen_ at the
end of the prayer for the Queen. Even when many of the "king's"
adherents had joined the Taranaki army, which was fighting for its life
against the Imperial troops, the prayer was still offered up day by day
without curtailment, though perhaps with some misgiving, that her
majesty might be strengthened to "vanquish and overcome all her
enemies." Sir George Grey established Mr. Gorst as magistrate and
schoolmaster in the heart of the Waikato. The native authorities would
allow no one to appear as a suitor in his court, but they took an
interest in his school, and visited it from time to time.
But Taranaki still seethed with discontent, and murders sometimes
occurred. Tamihana's position became more and more difficult. He
convened a great meeting on Oct. 23, 1862, at Peria, to discuss the
Waitara and other grievances. It began with solemn evensong, and on the
following Sunday morning Tamihana himself preached an eloquent sermon
from the text, "Behold, how good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to
dwell together in unity." In fervid language he urged the cessation of
all inter-tribal quarrels, and the unification of the race under the
king's flag. Bishop Selwyn was present, and in the afternoon preached
from the same text on the need for a still larger unity, which should
embrace both nations under the flag of the Queen. Tamihana was touched
by this appeal, and made another attempt to induce Rangitaake to submit
his claim to arbitration. The chief refused, and the king-maker was
driven to the conviction that his power was beginning to decline. It was
passing into the hands of the more violent Rewi, who longed for war with
the pakeha as keenly as some of the Taranaki settlers longed for war
with the Maori.
To understand the positions of the king party and of the colonists, it
is necessary to form a picture of the frontier line. From Ngaruawahia,
the Maori king's capital, the River Waikato flows northward till it
reaches a point not much more than 40 miles from Auckland. Here it takes
a sudden turn to the westward. Its previous course may be compared to
the upright stem of the letter T: from this point it forms the left arm
of the cross. The right arm of the T is supplied by the smaller River
Mangatawhiri, which here falls into the Waikato. The cross of the T
extended from the western sea almost to the Hauraki Gulf, and divided
the country of the "king" from that of the white man. It was quite near
enough to the capital to fill the Aucklanders with anxiety, and on one
occasion, when a few turbulent spirits broke through the boundary, the
settlers on the Manukau left their homes in alarm.
Sir George Grey was genuinely anxious to avoid war, but he tried to cow
the Maoris by driving a military road from Auckland to a point just
outside the frontier line, by depositing bridging material upon the bank
of the Mangatawhiri, and by sending a war steamer up the Waikato. In the
early part of 1863 he endeavoured to deal justly with the Waitara
difficulty by holding an enquiry into Te Rangitaake's claims over the
block. It was found that the chief's rights were valid, as Martin and
Selwyn had all along maintained, and the governor at once resolved to
give back the land unjustly seized. Unfortunately, his ministers were
slow to give their consent, and the delay spoiled what would otherwise
have been welcomed as an act of grace. Moreover, he himself made the
error of first taking military possession of a block in South Taranaki,
which the Maoris were holding as a pledge for the restitution of
Waitara, and they were naturally led to distrust the governor's good
faith. A party of British soldiers were ambushed and killed before the
offer to give back the Waitara was proclaimed, and again the flames of
war broke out. The governor ordered the Auckland army to cross the
Mangatawhiri River, and the act was taken as a declaration of
hostilities. "It is now a war of defence," said Tamihana; "nothing is
left but to fight."
The country upon which the governor thus launched his 10,000 English
troops was one which was little known to Europeans, but it certainly was
not savage. The Austrian geologist, Hochstetter, who explored it four
years previously, found hardly any white men except the missionaries;
but he was struck with the order, the reverence, and the prosperity
which were seen in every part. Rangiaohia, where the "king" had his
abode, is thus described:
"Extensive wheat, maize, and potato plantings surround the place; broad
carriage roads run in different directions; numerous herds of horses and
cattle bear testimony to the wealthy condition of the natives; and the
huts scattered over a large area are entirely concealed by fruit-trees.
A separate race-course is laid out; here is a court-house, there a
store; farther on a mill on a mill pond; and high above the luxuriant
fruit-trees rise the tapering spires of the Catholic and Protestant
churches.[12] I was surprised in entering the latter sanctuary at
beholding a beautifully painted glass window reflecting its mellow tints
in my wondering eyes."
[12] The professor evidently means the Roman and Anglican churches.
Such was the land which was now to bear the ravages of war. Mr. Gorst
and the missionaries were commanded to depart. Archdeacon and Mrs.
Maunsell lingered to the last, and only escaped by walking all night
through the thick bush till they reached the boundary river.
The military operations do not come within the scope of this work.
Suffice it to say that the "king's" forces were soon defeated and his
capital occupied. But, like "a fire in the fern," hostilities kept
breaking out in unexpected places throughout the island for several
years. The honours of the war were certainly not to the British army,
though it showed no lack of bravery. But the ringing defiance of the
"_ake, ake, ake_" of the hardly bestead and famishing garrison of Orakau
will always remain one of the world's heroic memories; while the English
soldiers, with their general, soon sickened of a war on behalf of greedy
settlers against such magnificent opponents as the Maoris proved
themselves to be.
While recognising, however, the gallantry of the Maoris, the world has
hitherto taken little account of the high moral character of the
king-movement. A conspicuous example of this quality is afforded by the
career of Henare Wiremu Taratoa. Baptised and taught by Henry Williams,
after whom he was named, this man had been afterwards trained at St.
John's College, and had actually taken a part in the founding of the
Melanesian Mission. When at length he was pronounced unfit for the
sacred ministry on account of his impetuous disposition, he became a
teacher in the mission school at Otaki. Here he remained until 1861,
when the governor's aggressive policy determined him to cast in his lot
with his threatened countrymen. Settling in Tauranga, a place which
became the scene of military operations in 1864, he joined in the
fighting at the Gate Pa, where the Imperial troops sustained their most
severe defeat. But he had never forgotten his Christian training. On
arrival at Tauranga, he set up a "school of instruction in arithmetic
and christening." He then organised a system of councils, which
regulated both civil and religious matters. The result was that "the
people feared to do wrong, and nothing but good order prevailed." When
war broke out, his rules were strikingly humane. There must be no
ill-treatment of women or non-combatants; no soldier once hit must be
shot a second time; if an enemy were hungry he must be fed; fighting
must never begin on a Sunday (as all the British campaigns had done),
but rather on a Friday, "that being the day on which Christ was
crucified."
These rules were not vain ones with Taratoa and his men. Through the
night after the conflict at the Gate Pa, Henare tended the English
wounded, one of whom, in his dying agonies, thirsted for a drop of
water. There was none in the _pa_, nor within three miles on the Maori
side of it, but Taratoa threaded his way through the English sentries in
the darkness, and returned with a calabash of water to slake his
enemy's thirst. By the side of each wounded Englishman there was found
in the morning some small water-vessel, placed there by the Maoris
before they deserted the fort.
In spite of their success at the Gate Pa, the Maoris were soon
afterwards beaten at Te Ranga (June 21), and in this battle the humane
Taratoa was killed. Upon his body was found a little book of prayers
which he had compiled and used. It concluded with the apostolic precept
which he had obeyed at the risk of his life, "If thine enemy hunger,
feed him; if he thirst, give him drink."
Taratoa's laws of war were far from being observed by his "civilised"
opponents. In sadness and shame we read of the devastation of the once
smiling Rangiaohia, and of the utter destruction, there and throughout
the country, of crops and houses.[13] Hostilities were followed up by
wholesale confiscation of the Maoris' lands--a measure which was to some
extent the real object of the war. Maddened by defeat, by the loss of
lands and homes, by hunger, and by disease which followed hunger, the
Maoris were at last ready to doubt the truth of the religion which the
white man had brought them.
[13] I have kept out of the text all mention of the burning of women
and children in a whare at this place, because one clings to the
belief that it was accidental. Englishmen don't do things like that
intentionally. But there can be no doubt that it made a deep
impression upon the Maori mind. The English general had told them
(they said) to send their women and children to Rangiaohia for safety.
They did so, and then the troops, instead of attacking their _men_,
attacked and burnt their women. The Maoris seem to have had a peculiar
horror of fire. In their most savage days they always killed their
enemies before they cooked them.
The match was soon laid to the train. An old man in Taranaki announced
that he had received the revelation of a new religion, suited to the
Maori people. Like the Arabian Mohammed, Te Ua was considered to be a
person of weak intellect; like Mohammed, he claimed to have received his
revelation from the Angel Gabriel; like the Arabian prophet again, he
put forth a mixture of Judaism[14] and heathenism which sanctioned
polygamy, and whose propagation was to be carried on by the sword. A
trifling success over a small English troop gave the necessary impetus
to the movement, and soon bands of ardent Hauhaus (as they were called)
were traversing the island, and winning over crowds of restless and
dissatisfied people. By making their listeners walk round a pole,
chanting a strange jargon in which a few Latin words can be recognised,
they mesmerised the susceptible Maoris, and gained complete control over
their minds.
[14] This is generally admitted; but Bishop Williams, who had
exceptional opportunities for studying Hauhauism, thinks that the
element of Judaism was very slight.
The attention of the Hauhaus was turned first to the south; but, at
Otaki, Hadfield's influence once more availed to save the settlement,
and to block the road to Wellington. At Wanganui, Taylor's Maoris stood
firm in their loyalty, and in a desperate battle on the island of Moutoa
drove back the enemy at fearful loss to themselves (May 14, 1864). Some
months later, however, a second attack was made on Wanganui, and the
crisis brought out the magnificent heroism of another of Selwyn's old
students, "John Williams" Hipango. There had been no rejection in his
case, but he had studied so hard by dim candlelight that his eyesight
was affected, and he was obliged with great sorrow to give up his hope
of entering the ministry. At the time of the attack he occupied a
responsible position among the Maoris, and now he took command of the
defence. The enemy sent four men to lie in ambush and kill him, but
Hipango caught them, fed them, and sent them away unhurt. The next night
ten men were sent for the same purpose; they too were caught, and they
too were released. "I will not," said Hipango, "be the first to shed
blood." Next day, Feb. 23rd, 1865, the Hauhaus came forward in open
attack. They were completely defeated, but in the hour of victory a ball
struck John in the chest. He was buried at Wanganui with military
honours, white men carrying their deliverer's body to the grave.
In the same month a band of the fanatics reached Opotiki in the Bay of
Plenty. The mission station at this place was now under the charge of
Carl Sylvius Volkner, a fair-haired, blue-eyed German, who had been
ordained by Bishop Williams in 1860. He had acquired great influence
over the people, and had built a church and a school; but so threatening
had the aspect of things become that he had taken his young wife for
safety to Auckland, as Mr. Grace had done his family from Taupo. The two
missionaries returned in a schooner on the first of March to Opotiki,
bringing food and medicines for the sick and starving people. Their
vessel was descried just at the time when the Hauhaus were indulging in
one of their wild orgiastic dances. Their leader, Kereopa, announced
that their god demanded a victim. On arrival in the river the schooner
was seized by the excited crowd. After several hours of anxious
suspense, the missionaries were ordered on shore, where, amidst taunts
and revilings, they were conducted to a small house, there to await
their fate.
The hours of respite were not wanting in consolation. The cottage was
not locked nor guarded; the prisoners were even able to recover their
belongings; the sailors who shared the peril gave the best end of the
little room to the two clergy, and joined them heartily in their evening
prayers. But the Hauhaus were working themselves up in the Roman
Catholic chapel to a devilish frenzy, and the noise of their shouting
could be heard long after darkness had fallen. The missionaries passed a
sleepless night, sustained only by the evening psalms and by one
another's society.
The morning of the second of March brought no relief to their anxiety.
Efforts for a ransom failed, and the captives fell back upon their
unfailing refuge--the psalms for the day. These were startlingly
appropriate to their situation, though hardly calculated to raise their
spirits very much. But his companion could not help being struck with
the calmness of Volkner's manner, and the beautiful smile upon his face.
Like a more illustrious sufferer,
He nothing common did, or mean,
Upon that memorable scene.
At one o'clock the two friends prayed together for the last time. The
psalms had now become terrible in their urgency:
Eating up my people as if they would eat bread.
Their feet are swift to shed blood.
Swift indeed! Before an hour had passed, a number of armed men appeared
and summoned Volkner to go with them. "Let me go too," said his
companion; but he was forced back with the ominous words, "Your turn
will come next." The young German was marched to a spot near his church,
and stripped of his coat. A willow-tree was near at hand, and he was
soon stationed beneath it. He asked for his Prayer Book, which had been
left in his coat pocket. When it was brought, he knelt some time in
prayer. On rising, he shook hands with his murderers, and quietly said,
"I am ready." With strange inconsistency his executioners continued
shaking hands with him until the moment when he was hoisted up.
An outburst of demoniac savagery followed on the cutting down of the
martyr's body. The head was severed from the trunk, and the blood was
greedily drunk even by some of the friends of the victim. The Taranaki
leader, Kereopa, forced out the eyes and swallowed them. Part of the
flesh was taken far inland, where memories of its arrival have been
found quite lately by Bishop Averill.
But what of the other prisoner? He was now strictly guarded, and could
learn nothing about his friend, except what he gathered from a whisper
which he overheard among the sentries: "Hung on the willow tree."
Together with the sailors and other Europeans, he was now marched to the
spot to which Volkner had first been led. But there was no repetition of
the tragedy. There was robbing of pockets, binding of hands, and an
exhibition of bullying tyranny; but the lust for blood had abated. With
the cryptic utterance, "A time to bind, and a time to loose; a time to
kill, and a time to make alive," the bonds were loosed from all the
party, and they were bidden to stay for the night in the house of a sick
settler named Hooper.
It was a night of horror. In the one small room--18ft. by 12ft.--there
were crowded the sick man, four sailors, the missionary, and "six or
eight natives--men, women, and children. The suffocation from so many
people and from the fumes of tobacco was almost overpowering." Grace had
just heard certain news of his friend's fate, and had "every reason to
believe that it would be his own last night on earth." Again as he lay
awake he could hear "the dancing and shouting going on in the Romish
chapel, and also in the church." Again the sailors showed their humanity
by sharing their coats and blankets. But there were no evening prayers
now, for there was too much moving about. Even his Prayer Book had been
carried off: "I could only in private commend myself and my companions
to the watchful care of our Heavenly Father. Thus ended this terrible
day, upon which the first blood was shed in New Zealand for the Gospel's
sake."
The morrow was "a dreadful day of bitter suspense." But it brought its
own consolation. The sick man had a few books, and amongst them was a
Prayer Book which had been given him by Volkner. Again therefore the
psalms could be read, and those for the day "appeared written for the
occasion." They had taken a brighter tone:
Thou shalt show me the path of life!
Two days later the Hauhau leader, Patara, arrived and held a trial in
the church. The charges were all of a political character. Volkner was
denounced as a spy, because he had travelled so often between Opotiki
and Auckland. Nothing could be brought against Grace, except the old
charge of taking away the Maori's land. "Neither Mr. Volkner nor I have
any land," said the missionary. The Maoris seemed by this time somewhat
ashamed of their barbarity, and Grace was allowed his liberty to go
about the _pa_. He was soon able to secure proper and Christian burial
for the mangled remains of his friend, in a grave dug at the east end of
the church[15]; but beyond a daily visit to this spot he had no
resource, and soon found the time hang heavily on his hands.
[15] The grave is now "before the altar" of the new chancel, which
extends further eastwards than the old one.
When the news of the Opotiki tragedy reached Auckland, a thrill of
horror passed through the city. The sad duty of breaking the news to
Mrs. Volkner was undertaken by Bishop Selwyn and Bishop Patteson, who
had lately arrived from Melanesia. Her answer was worthy of a matron of
the primitive Church: "Then he has won the Crown!"
On the following Sunday a memorial sermon was preached at St. Mary's
Church by Patteson. Read in the light of subsequent events, its words
are charged with a double significance. The tone of something like envy
is indeed remarkable, and the description of the martyr of the past
applies equally well to the martyr of the future:
"We know," said the bishop, "and we thank God that we do know, how good
he was, how simple-minded, how guileless; a man of prayer, full of faith
and good works that he did--meekly following his Saviour in pureness of
heart (for to him such grace was given), walking humbly with his God. We
who can ill afford to spare him from among us, who dwell with loving
affection upon the intercourse we so lately were permitted to have with
him, thank God from our hearts that not one cloud rests upon the
brightness of his example; that he has been taken from among us, we most
surely trust, to dwell with Christ in paradise, and has left behind him
the fragrance of a holy life. It is not for him we sorrow now. What
better thing can we desire for ourselves or our friends, than that we
and they shall be taken in the midst of the discharge of our duties from
the many cares and sorrows of this world, if only by the grace of God we
may be prepared for the life of that world which knows no cares, which
feels no sorrows? Indeed, these are no conventional words. We must not
seek to anticipate the season of rest. It is a blessed thing to work in
the Lord's vineyard; it is cowardly and ungenerous to wish to shorten
our time of service in the army of Christ. But, oh! the thought that a
time will come, if our faith fail not, when we shall feel the burden of
anxieties and trials and disappointments and bereavements taken away,
and the continued warfare against sin all ended and for ever: the
thought of this cannot surely be given us for naught! It must not make
us less diligent now; it must not draw us from our appointed tasks; but
it stands written as a word of consolation and encouragement for all,
'There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God.' 'Blessed are
the dead which die in the Lord; they rest from their labours.'"
But there was a duty to the living as well as to the dead. What was to
be done for Mr. Grace? The clergy gathered at Bishopscourt asked the
question sadly and hopelessly. Even Selwyn was at a loss. At last,
Wilson urged that application should be made for the help of the H.M.S.
_Eclipse_, then in the harbour. The application was granted, and Captain
Fremantle was soon taking the bishop on an errand of rescue. But
where was the prisoner to be found? Report said that he had been carried
off to Poverty Bay by the Hauhaus, who intended to attack Bishop
Williams at Waerenga-a-hika. To Poverty Bay, accordingly, the warship
was directed, and there too a critical situation was found. Patara and
Kereopa, with their band of fanatics, had just arrived (though not with
Mr. Grace) within a few miles of the bishop's residence. A small army of
400 Maoris was drawn up in battle array to defend the bishop, but their
minds were divided, and their hearts were faint. Selwyn's exhortations
had little effect, but he obtained the help of two loyal Maoris, who
undertook to assist in Mr. Grace's rescue.
[Illustration: ALL SAINTS' CHURCH, PALMERSTON NORTH.]
The _Eclipse_ sailed back to the Bay of Plenty, and anchored outside the
bar at Opotiki. It was the sixteenth day of Grace's captivity, and the
Hauhaus had agreed to exchange him for a Maori prisoner who was being
kept at Tauranga. His treatment lately had been not unkind, but now that
the man-of-war appeared, such excitement arose in the _pa_ that his
former fears revived. However, the landing of the two messengers from
Poverty Bay diverted the attention of the Maoris from their prisoner,
who succeeded in getting on board the schooner's boat, and then, by
lying down underneath the thwarts, passed down the river unnoticed, and
gained the warship outside.
Meanwhile the position of the bishop of Waiapu and his family grew daily
worse. By the beginning of April all the converts in his immediate
neighbourhood had succumbed to the mesmerism of the Hauhaus, and to the
effects of a great _tangi_ which they held over the desolation of their
country. Accordingly, the bishop, with his family and other members of
the mission, left the station on the third of the month and took their
way northwards. They soon found a temporary home in the old Paihia
buildings at the Bay of Islands, and there the bishop strove to carry on
his school, while helping his brother, Archdeacon Henry, in his Sunday
duties. The bishop's son, Archdeacon Leonard Williams, remained at
Poverty Bay to combat the Hauhau influence, and to shepherd the remnant
of faithful Maoris.
At the end of the same month, April, 1865, the time arrived for the
General Synod to decide whether the Church in New Zealand should remain
united, or be divided into a northern and a southern organisation. The
synod was held in Christchurch, where the centre of disaffection lay.
Far removed as it was from the scene of the late troubles, the synod yet
met under the shadow of Volkner's death. Bishop Williams, too, with the
missionaries Clarke and Maunsell, had felt the heavy hand of war. It was
no time to fight over non-essentials. Canterbury was strong in its
peaceful prosperity: from the loft where the council sat the members
might look down on a scene of busy labour on the foundations of a great
cathedral, while another solid stone church (St. John Baptist) was
rising in a neighbouring square. But its lofty pretensions to local
independence could not be sustained. Archdeacon Wilson could find no
seconder for his secession motion. Men of wisdom, like Bishop Patteson
and Sir William Martin, made their influence felt on the side of peace.
The primate maintained from the outset that Christchurch was at liberty
to keep its endowments in its own hands, and its right to do so was now
definitely affirmed by the synod. The constitution also was improved by
some small changes in the direction desired by Canterbury churchmen.
But, on the whole, there was little change. Canterbury came down from
the "cloud-cuckoo-land" in which Selwyn twitted her with dwelling. Both
sides gained a better understanding of one another, and agreed to stand
together on the ground of the original constitution.
Amongst the Maoris also the martyrdom of Volkner had its influence.
Sickened by the brutality of men whom he had hitherto unwillingly
tolerated, Tamihana came to the British general and swore allegiance to
the Government. "Let the law of the queen," said he, "be the law of the
king, to be a protection to us all for ever and for ever." But his
patriotic heart was broken, and during the next year he fell into a
rapid decline. Still holding himself somewhat aloof from the white
clergy, he was upheld by the loving ministrations of his own people. As
they bore him by easy stages to his place of death, they offered this
prayer at every fresh removal: "Almighty God, we beseech Thee give
strength to Wiremu Tamihana whilst we remove him from this place. If it
please Thee, restore him again to perfect strength; if that is not Thy
will, take him, we beseech Thee, to heaven." He died with his deeply
studied Bible in his hand, his last words being a repetition of his old
watchword--RELIGION, LOVE, and LAW.
For two or three years longer the embers of war continued to blaze up
here and there. In 1867 an inter-tribal quarrel arose in the hitherto
peaceful north. A few lives were lost, and a day was fixed for a pitched
battle near Pakaraka--the opposing forces numbering nearly 600 men. No
such muster had been seen in that region since the time of Heke's war,
twenty years before. But on the morning of the battle day a message went
round both the camps, which stilled the passions of the combatants: "Te
Wiremu" was dead (July 16, 1867). The outbreak of strife had indeed
hastened the end. Instead of fighting out their quarrel, the leaders
sorrowfully made their way to take part in the old peace-maker's
funeral, and when they returned they made peace with one another. Thus
appropriately died this greatest of New Zealand missionaries. As a chief
said at the unveiling of the monument which the Maori Church erected to
his memory at Paihia: "This island was a very hard stone, and it was
Archdeacon Williams who broke it."
Within a few days of Henry Williams' death, Bishop Selwyn sailed for
England, to attend the first meeting of bishops at Lambeth. While in
England he was offered by the prime minister the bishopric of Lichfield.
Without any long delay, he sent his answer declining the proposal, and
the see was offered to another. This decision reveals, as no other act
could do, the magnificent heroism of the man. He had come to New Zealand
twenty-five years before with youthful ambitions of building a new
Jerusalem at the end of the earth. He had met with much success, but now
his work seemed to be destroyed. All he could hope to do was "to sit
amid the ruins of the spiritual temple which he had been allowed to
build, and to trace out new foundations on which to build once more." He
had begun his life with visions of restoring to the faith of Christ the
regions which had been desolated by Islam: he had lived to see his own
once loyal and Christian diocese swept by a propaganda compared to which
even Islam is a noble creed. The task which remained to him in New
Zealand was far harder than that which confronted him when he began his
episcopate. Yet then, he had the buoyancy of youth, and he had offers of
assistance from other youthful and sanguine spirits. Now, he was nearing
the age of 60, and there were no eager volunteers to help. No Pattesons
nor Whyteheads nor Abrahams had come out to him during the last decade:
indeed he had found it hard to secure any new clergy at all. His own
stipend had been cut down to less than half its original amount, and he
could with difficulty raise any funds for his diocese. To refuse an
English bishopric with its honours and emoluments, its seat in the House
of Lords, its great opportunities for influencing the policy of the
Church, and for playing a noble part in the eyes of the nation: surely
this was a sacrifice of the rarest and highest kind. Yet, to his eternal
honour, George Augustus Selwyn made this "great refusal."
The matter, however, was not to end there. At least two other clergymen
refused Lichfield, and then the offer came round again to Selwyn. This
time it was conveyed through the Archbishop of Canterbury, and
consequently it carried more weight. Still he hesitated. Friends drew
attention to the miserable stipend he was now receiving. "If I have to
live on _pipis_ and potatoes," said the bishop, "I would go back."
Lastly, the Queen sent for him. Taking both his hands in hers, she said,
"Dr. Selwyn, I want you to go to Lichfield." This was conclusive, and
the Bishop of New Zealand was soon installed in the old palace in the
Lichfield Cathedral close. He came back to New Zealand in the following
year to hand over the finances of his diocese, and to preside at a last
general synod, but it was as one whose work on the old ground was done.
He left the country finally at the close of the synod (October 20,
1868), amidst the affectionate farewells of all classes, and so passed
from the possession, though not from the memory, of the New Zealand
Church.
His departure marks the close of the formative period of our history.
Henry Williams had just received his call; Sir George Grey, who came
almost with the bishop, and with whom he co-operated in so many ways,
was to leave the country a few months later. He was the last governor
who governed, as Selwyn was the last (as well as the first) Bishop of
New Zealand, and the only bishop who exercised personal authority before
the organisation of constitution or synod.
What manner of man he was may be gathered to some extent from the
foregoing pages, though many of his good deeds have necessarily been
left unrecorded. "He was no common man," writes Mr. Gisborne, "and his
mind was cast in no common mould. His great characteristics were force
of will, zeal, eloquence, courage, and moral heroism. His main defect
was an impetuous temper, which occasionally made him dictatorial and
indiscreet." To the same effect wrote Mr. Carleton, after a reference to
his "lust of power": "Able, unselfish, enthusiastic, and devoted, we
shall not readily meet with his like again." These testimonies are
quoted as being those of politicians, and, in the case of Carleton, of a
keen opponent. The church historian, whilst not ignoring the faults
which the bishop, like other strong natures, possessed, may well go
somewhat further than the man of the world. He is fain to recognise the
nobleness of the bishop's ideals, the width of his learning, the
soundness of his churchmanship, the statesmanlike grasp with which he
confronted the difficulties and dangers of an unfamiliar situation. The
old autocratic temper still remained, as the Church of New Zealand was
yet to realise; but we may mark with reverent awe the growing humility,
the increasing tolerance, the chastened piety which the stern discipline
of life had wrought in this strong and impetuous character.
Third Period.
[Illustration: ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, INVERCARGILL.]