with skilled weapons. A cry of sorrow and repentance by Lamech, at some
ill-starred act, which filled him with remorse? Surely, rather the
exultant note of a rude spirit, handling mastery anew in the ingenuity of
his son.
There stood Lamech, on the edge of creation, crowing over the cunning
forces Tubal Cain had discovered. 'I have slain a man to my wounding, and
a young man to my hurt!' It was to be a long roll. Sir George would
recite the lines once, twice, yet again, and the thunder tramp of a Maori
impi sang in his ears. 'The story of my going to New Zealand,' he
thought, 'may appear quaint in these days, when the cable anticipates all
pleasant surprises. We had heard at Adelaide, through a coaster arriving
from Sydney and Van Diemen's Land, also from a British man-of-war on the
Australian station, of serious fighting in New Zealand. A friend of my
own was in command of the war-ship in question, which had put into
Adelaide for supplies. I spoke to him of events in New Zealand, the heavy
slaughter of British soldiers, and the evident critical situation. I had
no distinct authority to order his vessel to New Zealand, but I felt it
to be a wise step.
Accordingly, I wrote him a letter saying he ought to proceed to the scene
of trouble, and that I was prepared to assume the responsibility. We got
together what materials of war were available in South Australia, and
what money we could spare from the Treasury of the Colony. So furnished,
he sailed for New Zealand.
'A few days later, I was out riding with my step-brother from England,
who was on a visit to me at Adelaide. We were cantering along a road near
the coast, when a man with a light cart stopped us. An unknown ship had
been sighted before we left Adelaide, and this man came from the quarter
where she had taken up anchor. He stated that it was the "Elphinstone,"
belonging to the East India Company, that despatches had been brought for
me, and that he had them in his cart. He added that the "Elphinstone" had
come to take me away, and that some of the officers would very likely be
landed by the time I got to the place of anchor-age. This was all very
puzzling. I jumped off my horse, sat down beside some trees, opened the
despatch bag, and devoured its contents.'
It had been carried express from London, first overland to Suez where the
"Elphinstone" awaited, and then by sea to Adelaide. The British
Government, much alarmed as to affairs in New Zealand, borrowed the
"Elphinstone" from the East India Company. In effect, it was adopting the
Suez Canal route, long before the Suez Canal existed. Not often, perhaps,
did the Colonial Office, of the young Oceana period, have such a healthy
attack of nerves. Also, it spoke of Sir George Grey handsomely in these
despatches; which was encouraging.
Noting his career as a whole, you seem to perceive the scales of official
praise and disgrace rising and falling, like a see-saw. Now, he was being
set to the straightening-out of some twist in Oceana, to the healing of a
sore which threatened one of her limbs. Then, when Oceana, in that
quarter, was waxing strong on his regimen, Downing Street, not having
prescribed it all, would trounce him. The calls to South Australia, New
Zealand, and South Africa were in the agreeable key. The other note piped
in the good-byes to South Africa and New Zealand, and in the registered
blue-book phrase 'a dangerous man.' It was the ancient, merry way of
regarding the Colonies; with, in conflict, a masterful Pro-Consul who,
being on the spot, would there administer. Whether the see-saw had him
up, or dropped him down, Sir George kept the good heart, as school-
children do.
The tribute of Lord John Russell was that, in South Australia, he had
given a young Governor as difficult a problem in administration as could
arise. He pronounced the problem to have been solved with a degree of
energy and success, hardly to be expected from any man. In New Zealand,
Lord Stanley gave Sir George difficulties more arduous, duties even more
responsible. The ability they demanded, the sacrifices they involved,
were their best recommendation to one of Sir George's character. 'Before
I mounted my horse again, after reading the despatches,' he recalled his
decision, 'I made up my mind to go to New Zealand. Indeed, I had not two
opinions on the matter from the moment I became acquainted with the wish
of the Colonial Secretary. It was a clear duty lying before me, and that
is ever the light to steer by.'
He sailed for New Zealand in the "Elphinstone," and retained her on war
service there, another of his new departures. 'As far as I know,' he
said, 'no East India Company's ship had previously been the consort, in
active operations, of men-of-war, of the Royal Navy. There was a row
afterwards, as to paying for the "Elphinstone," and I suppose I had no
right to keep her. However, I realised that everything hung on how
effective a blow I could at once strike in New Zealand.' Several men-of-
war were at his orders, and later they were strengthened by the first
steamer ever seen in these parts. It had come to New Zealand from the
China station, and was a show alike to colonists and to Maoris.
A trifling incident of the naval activity, during the Maori wars, dwelt
in Sir George's memory by reason of its droll comedy. An officer,
thoroughly tired out, went to his bunk, leaving directions that he should
be called at a particular hour. It happened that the awakening of him,
fell to a blithesome midshipman having the sombre surname D'Eth. The
sleeper turned himself lazily, half asleep, wishful only to be left to
sleep on, and asked, 'Who's there?'
The midshipman held up the blinking, old-fashioned lantern which was in
his hand, and answered 'D'Eth.' The weirdly lit cabin solemnly echoed the
word, making its sound uncanny--'D'Eth!'
'Good God,' the officer in the bunk exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk, as
if the last trumpet had sounded: 'D'Eth, where?'
Then he saw 'D'Eth' grinning, realised that there was still time for
repentance, and bundled forth to the quarter deck.
The larger quarter deck on to which Sir George Grey had stridden, much
needed cleaning up. In the north of New Zealand, a flag staff carrying
the Union Jack, had been cut down by an insurgent chief. A settlement had
been sacked, with completeness and the chivalry innate in the Maoris. No
hurt was done the whites, that could be avoided, nor was there looting of
property. The Maoris let Bishop Selwyn wash the earth with the contents
of a spirit cask. It was all sobriety in victory.
'They were,' Sir George noted of his favourite native race, 'naturally
ambitious of military renown; they were born warriors.' British troops
had been hurled against their pas, or fortresses, only to be hurled back,
heaps of slain. A Maori pa, in some forest fastness, stoutly built for
defence from within, held by determined men with firearms, was hard to
storm. Gallantry rushed to suicide.
The Maori wars, in their broad sense, are history. It is enough here to
define them as the collision of two races. The white tide of civilisation
was beating upon the foreshores of native New Zealand. There were King
Canutes, tattooed warriors of the flying day, who would have ordered it
back. You see how easily troubles grew, although they might have been the
last desire of anybody.
Two Maori chieftains, Heke and Kawiti, were the centre of disturbance,
and Sir George Grey was to have faithful dealing with them. Heke he
called the fighting chief, Kawiti the advising chief; one the complement
of the other.
'When I met Heke after the war,' he mentioned, 'it was said that he was
somewhat nervous. I thought I was the person who should have been
nervous, because I was in his country almost alone. I liked him, and
really all the old Maori chiefs were fine fellows--shrewd, dignified,
with a high sense of honour. Heke made me his heir when he died, to the
neglect of his wife, but of course I gave her everything.'
This Heke was the son-in-law of Hongi, a Napoleonic figure in Maori
annals. Hongi was before Sir George's time, but he heard all about him
from contemporaries.
New Zealand, when Hongi had the guidin' o't, was still a land remote from
the concern of the Old World. Missionaries had begun to spread light in
the country; runaway convicts from Australia arrived stealthily, seeking
refuge. For the rest, Hongi and the Maoris were the war lords, and the
fiery torch was generally abroad. Hongi visited England, was lionised as
a New Zealand trophy, and presented, with every ceremony, to the Prince
Regent, afterwards George IV. He got many presents, and, before reaching
New Zealand again, he exchanged them to a purpose which the givers could
hardly have foreseen. Hongi had been quick to discern the road to
conquest, which musket, gun-powder, and bullet would give him in New
Zealand against the native weapons. He chortled to himself as did Lamech:
'I have slain a man to my wounding, and a young man to my hurt.'
'Landing with his battery of muskets,' Sir George had the tale, 'Hongi
lost no time in carrying slaughter through Maoriland. His lurid fame
spread far and wide; his bill of slaughter grew bigger and bigger. Yet,
he met his death by a stray shot. Te-Whero-Whero, another Maori chief,
complained to me, while we were discussing Hongi, that it was quite
unfair he, should have been cut down in that fashion. When a veteran
warrior could be destroyed, almost by accident, to the gun of a nobody,
then all honest fighting was at an end. "You should," I was earnestly
counselled by Te-Whero-Whero, "not let Maoris have arms which lend
themselves to such ways."'
One English gift Hongi had not converted into muskets, a suit of armour
that had probably been in the Tower of London. 'Another chief near
Wellington'--Sir George stated this item arising out of Hongi--'had been
given the armour, either to inspect or to keep. Anyhow, his interest took
the form of hanging it on a tree, and firing at it. The bullet, it was
alleged, penetrated the armour, and a native ran to Wellington with the
report that the chief had been shot. That was incorrect, for he wisely
wanted to test the armour before trusting himself in it. But the English
settlers, just beginning to arrive in Wellington, were disturbed lest the
tribe should fall foul of the representatives of a country which has
produced so treacherous a suit of mail.'
Knowledge of arms, on the part of the Maoris, had advanced; indeed, they
were in no wise tardy to pit themselves against British troops. Their own
success, or rather the want of success of the British, had brought about
this state of feeling. Careful, direct study of the situation, upheld Sir
George in the intuition that he must strike firmly at the rebellion, and
take every civil step that would tend to lay it. He stopped the sale of
arms to the natives, though for another reason than that advanced by Te-
Whero-Whero. Some fancied that his action might occasion discontent, if
not revolt, among the friendly Maoris. 'Well,' was his answer, 'if that
is a risk, we must run it.'
He gripped the nettle of land dealing, as between whites and natives,
admonishing: 'The State shall conduct it. Then, it will be seen what the
Maori has to sell, and the European will be made certain of a proper
title. We shall have a regular system, the State standing between the
parties to secure that all is fair. Thus friction may be avoided.' Again,
Sir George organised a native police force, which paid a double debt. It
not only waited upon law and order, but exercised a civilising influence
towards the Maoris, through those who were trained in its ranks. That aim
was at the end of all his plans; every road was marked 'To Civilisation.'
Next, Sir George took the field. By accompanying the soldiers, he was
able to gain a variety of advantages. He was at hand to sanction what
steps might be necessary, an advance on cumbrous despatch writing. His
presence was especially valuable when sea and land forces happened to be
co-operating. He could order both, being Governor, Commander-in-Chief,
Lord High Admiral, and everything else, in New Zealand. Finally, he could
speak, face to face, with the Maoris, friends and enemies in the name of
the Queen.
On the "Elphinstone" he had devoted his hours to the study of Maori,
following his principle, 'You cannot govern a race to the best advantage
unless you are able to communicate with them in their own language. They
will receive you more intimately if you thus meet them; they will tell
you things which they would not care to confide to an interpreter.
Moreover, to know the language of a people is a great assistance to the
entire understanding of them, their needs and characteristics. My Maori
helped me enormously, and the language, with its rich folk-lore and
tradition, fascinated me as I grew in knowledge of it.'
The main stronghold of Heke and Kawiti was a pa designated, in Maori,
Ruapekapeka, of which the English equivalent is 'Bat's Nest.' Here the
Maoris were in martial clover, having reasoned with themselves: 'We'll
build a pa the Pakehas can't take, if we are behind its walls. We await
them in this place, and if they want us, just let them come on.' That was
Sir George Grey's summary of the resistance which the English forces,
moving to invest Ruapekapeka, had to meet. Fortune smiled, and exacted
little as return sacrifice.
'Our force,' he narrated, 'was strengthened by a detachment of friendly
Maoris under the command of Waka Nene, a grizzled warrior. He was my
chief adviser among the Maoris, and his services were of the utmost value
to me. Waka Nene recognised the necessity, in New Zealand, of a
government which could control both races. The former mistake, of trying
to storm a well-defended pa, was replaced at Ruapekapeka by an artillery
bombardment. Having made myself familiar with the method of warfare
pursued by the Maoris, I decided this to be our line of tactics. They
could use their Tower muskets with effect, but of artillery they had
none, except a few old ship's guns, which they would have been better
without.
'We had pounded the "Bat's-Nest" heavily, when, on a Sunday, Waka Nene's
brother, Wi Waka, made out, from our front, that it seemed to be more or
less empty. The Maoris had gone to a sheltered spot to celebrate divine
service, thinking perhaps that Sunday was not a battle day with us. They
relied upon our observing Sunday for praise and rest, unaware that
Christian nations have done much of their hardest fighting on that day.
Immediately we learned of Wi Waka's discovery, our men advanced into the
pa. Rushing back to occupy it, at the alarm, the Maoris met us already in
possession. They endeavoured, with vigour and gallantry, to drive us out,
but could not, and the whole affair was over in a quarter of an hour.
'Wi Waka sustained a severe wound in the encounter, being shot through
the ribs, on the left side. Hearing of this, I ran to him, and he asked
me would he die of the wound or not? I replied that I could not tell,
that possibly it might not be a fatal wound, but on the other hand it
might be. When I had spoken he took my hand and said, "Have I done my
duty to-day? Say!"
'Several chiefs had by this time gathered round, and we were all much
touched by Wi Waka's appeal. I could only answer, "Yes, certainly! You
have done your duty nobly." He turned to the chiefs: "Did you hear the
Governor's word? I don't care now if I die." Happily he recovered, but
the incident showed the spirit of the man, and he was an example of the
others.'
The English force, Sir George made the postscript, was to have assailed
the 'Bat's-Nest' on the Monday, the defences being much knocked about.
The intention was to assault from the rear, and he believed they would
have been certain of the enemy, without incurring any considerable loss.
The fall of Ruapekapeka brought peace to the northern half of New
Zealand, and when the Governor visited Heke it was 'To explain to him
that I was his friend, which he admitted.'
Some of the folks in New Zealand blamed Sir George for being too
indulgent towards revolted Maoris, fearing, 'In thanks they will raid
Auckland some day, and massacre us all.' A retired military officer,
inclined to that view, was staying at Government House, Auckland, the
night a fire destroyed it and Sir George's earliest group of literary
treasures.
'When a shout went up, on the discovery of the fire,' Sir George laughed
in recollection, 'my guest fancied that his prophecy about the Maoris had
come true. He looked out of his bedroom window, saw Maoris about, and
assured himself that an attack on us had begun. He barricaded his door
with a chest of drawers, the chairs, whatever he could lay hands on.
Being a man of military training he prepared for a desperate siege, and
this so effectively, that I believe he had, on learning the real state of
matters, to escape the fire by crawling through the window.
Afterwards, the Governor had a critic the fewer, of his olive branch to
the Maoris.
X 'TWIXT NIGHT AND MORN
Night and morning in the far south were vividly reflected to Sir George
Grey in tales of Rauparaha and Rangihaeta, Maori chieftains, and of
Siapo, Loyalty Islander.
Before his arrival in New Zealand, the Maoris had been divorced from
their cannibal practices. Yet, the horrid traffic was not remote, if he
were to accept a lasting rumour of Rauparaha and Rangihaeta. The pair
were making their own war stir for him, and must be tackled. It was
earlier that, sitting on a hillside in friendly converse, they sent a
slave girl for a pail of water. As she tripped off to do their bidding,
Rauparaha, the story was, shot her through the back for a meal. No doubt
cannibalism among the Maoris had thriven on the absence of animal meat,
for New Zealand was peculiar in that respect. Its one large creature of
the lower world was the moa, of which Sir George said 'It was akin to the
ostrich, but no European, I believe, ever saw it alive.'
Governor Grey and Bishop Selwyn were out together on a walking
expedition, and it was Easter Sunday. 'Christ has risen!' Selwyn
reverently welcomed the day, and his companion joined, 'Indeed He has.'
They were communing in that spirit when a bundle of letters, sent from
Auckland to intercept them, was brought into the tent. One to Selwyn bore
the news of the death of Siapo, who had become a Christian under his
teaching, and who was being educated with other natives, at his seminary
in Auckland.
The Bishop, overcome with grief, burst into tears; then broke some
moments of silence with the words, 'Why, you have not shed a single
tear!'
'No,' said Sir George, 'I have been so wrapped in thought that I could
not weep. I have been thinking of the prophecy that men of every race
were to be assembled in the kingdom of heaven. I have tried to imagine
the wonder and joy prevailing there, at the coming of Siapo, the first
Christian of his race. He would be glad evidence that another people of
the world, had been added to the teaching of Christ.'
'Yes, yes,' Selwyn remarked, drying his tears, 'that is the true idea to
entertain, and I shall not cry any more.' What a touching incident! It
shows us the depth of feeling which united Governor and Bishop. Only Sir
George's version ran, 'It illustrated Selwyn's great, good heart.
Stalwart, quite the muscular Christian, he had the simple heart of the
child. He was a man entirely devoted to his duty, counting nothing of
trouble or reward. We worked hand in hand. During an illness in New
Zealand, I drew out a constitution, such as I believed would best suit
the Church of England there. Broadly, it came into operation, and in a
speech, when he was leaving New Zealand, Selwyn told of its origin.'
You seek life pictures, rather than any chronology of dates, and
therefore to a second incident of Sir George and Selwyn on tramp. They
were in the Taupo range of mountains, and their supply of food had run
very short. By the borders of Lake Taupo they sighted the house of a
Maori chief who, being absent, had shut it up. Believing he might find
inside a stay to their wants, Sir George forced the door, and after that
a cupboard. In it were rice and sugar and other supplies, which he
exhibited to Selwyn with the triumphant shout, 'Here, I'll make you a
present of all this!'
'I'm afraid,' the Bishop gently remonstrated, 'that there will be trouble
about our doings. You see we have really broken into somebody's house.'
'Oh, no,' Sir George reassured him, 'I know the chief who owns the place,
and he would give us part of himself.' On the following day they met the
chief, as he was returning home at the head of a string of his men. Sir
George informed him of the straits to which he and the Bishop had been
put, and of what they had done, and received this approval, 'Well, that
was like true friends, and I'm so glad you did it!'
'You can realise,' Sir George drew the inference, 'how easy it was for me
to get on with so chivalrous a race as the Maoris!' He and they had
arrived at a mutual comprehension of each other. They recognised his
parts, the manner in which he could make himself felt where least
expected, the difficulty of beating him in expedients, his desire to
advance their interests and happiness, his tender care for them as a
father, after he had ridden as the Caesar. Towards the full
understanding, his bout with Rauparaha and Rangihaeta was, perhaps, an
assistance.
'The name Rauparaha,' he narrated, 'means in Maori a cabbage leaf; a wild
cabbage leaf. The tradition was that Rauparaha's father was killed and
eaten by some rival chief. While eating him, the other chief mumbled with
inward satisfaction, "This man eats like a young cabbage." The son, being
told, vowed revenge, and took the name Rauparaha to emphasise the fact.
It was insulting, he felt, to laugh over the eating of his father.'
Sir George's pledge for peace was the opening up of the country by means
of roads, and he drove these hither and thither. The power of resistance
which the Maoris manifested in warfare, kept anxiety simmering at Downing
Street. 'In that connection,' Sir George said, 'Earl Grey, as Colonial
Secretary, consulted the Duke of Wellington on the best policy for
securing the durable settlement of the Maoris. The Duke, I learned from
Earl Grey himself, advised the making of roads which would knit New
Zealand, and employ the natives. Just after Earl Grey had seen the Duke,
he had despatches from me, in which I outlined, in almost as many words,
what I had been doing.'
The coincidence struck Sir George, and it gratified him to have the Duke
in agreement. He was supported by another eminent soldier, when, at a
London dinner party, being asked to give his opinion of the conduct of
the Crimean War, he answered, 'I should have attacked upon the St.
Petersburg side, where you could really get at Russia, instead of on the
Crimean side, with its strong forts, its distance from the centre of the
empire, and a food supply confined to that carried by the ships.'
In New Zealand he had no difficulty in getting Maori labour, since it was
fairly paid, and excellent trunk roads were the result. Rauparaha took
the innovation with a seeming unconcern, meant to hide an adverse
feeling, which Rangihaeta, however, frankly expressed. He could look back
upon his years, old Rauparaha, and mark in them enough stir and fight to
satisfy a score of warriors. Age had crawled on to his shoulders, causing
his furtive eyes to rest on the ground. But he was still himself, as Sir
George Grey realised, on receiving certain information. It indicated that
Rauparaha was in a league of mischief, that he had quietly given a
signal, and that large bodies of natives were drawing down the coast to
his aid. Farther, it was put to Sir George that an attack on Wellington
was the evident object. This would be calamity, for the forces available
as a defence, at short notice, were small. Now for the Governor's action,
which some criticised as high-handed.