With the exception of certain yachting trips, Mr. Roland Massinger,
as he now called himself, having decided to drop the title for the
present, had no experience of ocean voyaging. A well-found yacht,
presided over by an owner of royal hospitality and fastidious
friendships, with carefully selected companions, and the pick of the
mercantile marine for a crew, leaves little to be desired. Fêted at
every port, and free to stay, or glide onwards as the sea-bird o'er the
foam--such a cruise affords, perhaps, the ideal holiday.
But this was a far different experience. A shipload of perfect
strangers, many of them not indifferent, like himself, to changing
scene and environment, but unwilling exiles, leaving all they held
dear, and murmuring secretly, if not openly, against Fate, presented no
cheering features. The weather was cold and stormy; while, in crossing
the Bay of Biscay, such a wild outcry of wind and wave greeted them,
that with battened-down hatches, a deeply laden vessel, frightened
passengers and overworked stewards, he had every facility afforded
him for speculation as to whether his Antarctic enterprise would not
be prematurely accounted for by a telegram in the _Times_, headed
"Another shipwreck. All hands supposed to be lost."
This, and other discouraging thoughts, passed through the mind of
the voyager during the forty-eight hours of supreme discomfort,
not unmingled with danger, while the gale ceased not to menace the
labouring vessel. However, being what is called "a good sailor," and
his present frame of mind rendering him resigned, if not defiant, he
endeared himself to the officers by refraining from useless questions,
and awaiting with composure the change which, as they were not fated to
go to the bottom on that occasion, took place in due course. How the
storm abated, how the weather cleared; how, as the voyage progressed,
the passengers became companionable, has often been narrated in similar
chronicles.
The mountains of New Zealand were finally sighted, and the good ship
_Arrawatta_ steamed into the lovely harbour of Auckland one fine
morning, presenting to the eager gaze of the wayfarers the charms of a
landscape which in many respects equals, and in others surpasses, the
world-famed haven of Sydney.
It was early dawn when they floated through the Rangitoto channel
between the island so called--the three-coned peak of which, with
scoria-shattered flanks, denoted volcanic origin--and the North Head.
Passing this guardian headland, "a most living landscape," the more
entrancing from contrast to the endless ocean plain which for so many a
day had limited his vision, was spread out before the voyager's eager
and delighted gaze. Land and water, hill and dale, bold headlands and
undulating verdurous slopes, combined to form a panorama of enchanting
variety.
The city of Auckland, which he had come so far to see, rose in a
succession of graduated eminences from the waters of a sheltered bay.
Bold headlands alternated with winding creeks and estuaries; low
volcanic hills clothed with dazzling verdure, ferny glens and copses
which reminded him of the last day's "cock" shooting at the Court;
while trim villas and even more pretentious mansions gave assurance
that here the modern Vikings, having wearied of the stormy seas, had
made themselves a settled home and abiding-place. Glen and pine-crested
headland, yellow beach and frowning cliff, wharves and warehouses,
skiffs and coasters, the smoke of steamers, all told of the adjuncts of
the Anglo-Saxon--that absorbing race which has rarely been dislodged
from suitable foothold.
On the voyage Massinger had noticed a good-looking man, about his own
age, in whom, in spite of studiously plain attire, he recognized, by
various slight marks and tokens, the English aristocrat. Most probably
the stranger had made similar deductions, as he had commenced their
first conversation with an unreserved condemnation of the weather,
after a passing depreciation of the food, concluding by a query in the
guise of a statement.
"Not been this way before?"
Massinger admitted the fact.
"Going to settle--farm--sheep and all that--take up land, eh!"
"I thought of doing so, unless I change my plans on arrival. I suppose
it's as good as any of the Australian colonies?"
"Beastly holes, generally speaking, for a man who's lived in the
world. Don't know that New Zealand's worse than the rest of the lot.
Australia--all black fellows--kangaroos--sandy wastes--droughts and
floods. Burnt up first--flood comes and drowns survivors. So they tell
me!"
"But New Zealand is fertile and well watered; all the books say so."
"Books d----d rot--lies, end to end; must go yourself to find out. My
third trip."
"Then you like it?" pursued the emigrant, stimulated by this wholesale
depreciation of a country which all other accounts represented as the
Promised Land.
"Have to like it," answered the other; "billet in this infernal New
Zealand Company. Wish I'd broke my leg the day I applied. Heard of it,
I suppose?"
Mr. Massinger had indeed heard of it. Had read blue-books,
correspondence, letters, articles, and reviews, in which the New
Zealand Land Company was alternately represented as a providential
agency for saving the finest country in the world for British
occupation, for finding homes on smiling farms for the crowded
population of Great Britain, for Christianizing the natives as well as
instructing them in the arts of peace; or, as a syndicate of greedy
monopolists, insidiously working for the accumulation of vast estates,
and oppressing a noble and interesting race, whose lands they proposed
to confiscate under a miserable pretence of sale and barter.
"I _have_ heard and read a good deal of the proceedings of the New
Zealand Land Company; but accounts differ, so that they are perplexing
to a stranger."
"Naturally; all interested people--one myself," said his new
acquaintance. "But, as we've got so far, permit me?" and extracting
a card from a neat _porte-monnaie_, he handed it to Massinger, who,
glancing at it, perceived the name of
MR. DUDLEY SLYDE,
_Secretary to the New Zealand Land Company,
Auckland and Christchurch._
"Happy to make your acquaintance," he said. "I am not sure that I have
a card. My name is Massinger."
"What! Massinger of the Court, Herefordshire? Heard generally you had
sold your place and gone in for colonizing. What the devil--er--excuse
me. Reasons, no doubt; but if I had the luck to be the owner of
Massinger Court--_born_ to it, mind you--I'd have seen all the colonies
swallowed up by an earthquake before I'd have left England. No! not for
all New Zealand, from the 'Three Kings' to Cape Palliser."
"If all Englishmen felt alike in that respect, we shouldn't have had
an empire, should we?" suggested the other. "Somebody must take the
chances of war and adventure."
"_Somebody else_ it would have been in my case," promptly replied Mr.
Slyde. "However, matter of taste. Every man manage his own affairs.
Great maxim. And as mine are mixed up in this blessed company, if
you'll look me up in Auckland, I'll put you up to a wrinkle or two
in the matter of land-purchase--of course you'll want to buy land;
otherwise _you_ might get sold--you see? Stock Exchange with a 'boom'
on nothing to it."
The transfer of Mr. Massinger's trunks in a four-wheeler to a
comfortable-appearing hostelry was effected with no more than average
delay. An appetizing breakfast, wherein a well-cooked mutton chop
was preceded by a grilled flounder, and flanked by eggs and toast,
convinced him that the Briton of the South had no occasion to fear
degeneration as a consequence of unsuitable living. After which he felt
his spirits distinctly improved in tone, and his desire to explore the
surroundings of this distant outpost of the wandering Briton took shape
and motion.
The town of Auckland, having a few reasonably good buildings and
a large number of cottages, cabins, and other shelters in every
gradation, from the incipient terrace to the Maori "whare," was about
the average size of English country towns. No great difference in the
number of houses. Not much in that of the inhabitants. But there was
an unmistakable departure in the air and bearing of these last. The
recognized orders and classes of British life, hardly distinguishable
from their British types, were all there. Rich and poor, gentle and
simple. The farmer, the country gentleman, the tradesman, the lounger,
the doctor, the banker, the merchant, the peasant, and the navvy, all
were there, with their pursuits and avocations written in large text on
form and face, speech and bearing. But he marked, as before stated, a
certain departure from the home manner. And it was grave and essential.
Whether high or low, each man's features in that heterogeneous crowd
were informed, even illumined, with the glow of hope, the light of
sanguine expectation.
Once landed on the shores of this magnificent appanage of Britain, so
nearly lost to the empire, dull must he be of soul, narrow of vision,
who did not feel his heart bound within him and each pulse throb at the
thought of the gorgeous possibilities which lay before him. Before the
labourer, who received a fourfold wage, and rejoiced in such plenteous
provision for his family as he had never dreamed of in the mother-land.
Before the farmer, who saw his way to opulence and landed estate, as
he surveyed the transplanted food crops growing and burgeoning as in
a glorified garden which "drank the rains of heaven at will." Before
the professional man, whose high fees and abundant practice would
soon absolve him from the necessity of professional toil. Before the
capitalist, who saw in the steady rise of land-values, whether in town
or country, an illimitable field for judicious investment, ending with
an early retirement and at least _one_ fortune.
The town sloped upwards from the sea, thus necessitating steep
gradients for the streets. The main street, broad and well laid out,
was more level at its inception, though Massinger saw by the hill
immediately above it that he would not have to go far before his
Alpine experiences would stand him in good stead. This was entirely to
his mind; so, stepping out with determination, he reached the summit
of Mount Eden. Here he paused, and indeed the pace at which he had
breasted the ascent, after the inaction of the voyage, rendered it far
from inexpedient to admire the view. What a prospect it was! He stood
upon an isthmus with an ocean on either hand. Far as eye could range,
the boundless South Pacific lay glowing and shimmering under the
midday sun; on the hither side, the harbour with flags of all nations
and ships from every sea.
The roadstead by which the _Arrawatta_ had entered, appeared like a
land-locked inlet. The outlines of the Greater and Lesser Barrier
were plainly visible, as also the lofty ridge of Cape Colville; other
islands and headlands loomed faintly in the shadowy horizon. Westward
lay the great harbour of Manukau and the Waitakerei Ranges.
Weary with scanning the gulfs of the Hauraki and Waitemata, as also
the far-seen ranges of the Upper Thames, holding stores of precious
minerals, he allowed his eye to rest upon the fields and farmhouses,
villages and meadows, overspreading the levels and sheltered beneath
the volcanic hills. Under his feet what marvellous revelations of
fertility met his gaze! The volcanic formation was evidenced by the
shape of the conical eminences by which he was surrounded. He counted
more than a dozen. In all, the extinct craters were perfect in form,
though covered on side and base with richest herbage. In these he
detected most of the British fodder plants, growing in unusual
luxuriance. Observing the flattened summits and remains of graded
terraces, he found on inspection that the hand of man had adapted these
works of nature to his needs.
Scarped, terraced, and perfect of circumvallation, the remains of
mouldering palisades indicated the abodes of a warlike people, who had
in long-past days converted these hilltops into fortresses, affording
effective means of defence, as well as a wide outlook, in case of
invasion.
Here for generations, perhaps centuries uncounted, had this vigorous,
agricultural, warlike people--for such by his course of reading he knew
the Maori nation to be--lived and died, fought and feasted, garnered
their simple harvest, and lived contentedly on the products of land and
sea.
Proud and stubborn, brave to recklessness, they naturally became
jealous of the gradually extending occupation of their land by the
encroaching white race. But why should such a people not be sensitive,
even to the madness of battle, against overwhelming odds? They had won
their country from the deep, traversing wide wastes of waters in canoes
but ill adapted for storm and tempest. They had discovered this fair
region--cultivated, peopled it. Why should they not resist a foreign
occupation to the death? And as he looked around on the magnificent
prospect spread before, around, he could not help recalling the lines
of the immortal bard--
"Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?"
Returning to his hotel, he chanced to meet several groups of this
much-exploited people, and was much impressed by the stalwart frames
and bold, independent bearing of the men.
Many of the women, too, were handsome, and among the half-caste girls
and young men were forms and faces which would have compared favourably
with the finest models of ancient Greece. One young man of that colour
attracted his attention. He had been reading on board ship that
wonderful romance of Michael Scott's, wherein the spacious times of
old, and the planter-life of the West Indian Islands, are limned with
such prodigality of colour, such wealth of humorous perception, such
power of pathos. As this young man came swinging along with a companion
down the street, cigar in mouth, he could not help saying to himself,
"There's the young pirate captain out of 'Tom Cringle's Log.'" He was
taller even than that fascinating Spanish desperado, but there was a
strong family likeness.
"What a man he is!" thought Massinger. "Six feet three or four, if
an inch, broad-shouldered, deep-chested--a wondrous combination of
strength and activity; supple as a panther, with the muscle of a
Farnese Hercules. As to his features, the eyes and teeth are splendid,
the complexion a clear bronze, hardly darker than that of Southern
Europe."
Altogether he doubted if he had ever seen such a remarkable masculine
specimen of personal grace and beauty. "This is truly a remarkable
country," he soliloquized. "If the climate and soil can raise men like
this, what may not be hoped from the introduction of a purely British
race, with all the modern advantages of civilization?"
Thus pondering, he managed to discover his hotel, where he set himself
resolutely to sketch out a plan of future operation, before completing
which, he deemed it advisable to deliver some of the letters of
introduction with which he had been plentifully supplied. One of the
more immediate effects of this action was the outflow of an inordinate
quantity of advice, from the recipients of which, as a newly arrived
Englishman, he was deemed to be in urgent need.
These exhortations were compendious and exhaustive, but failed in
effect upon him from their very affluence, so much of the suggestive
information being in direct contrast to that which immediately preceded
it.
Having admitted that he intended to purchase a large block of land for
farm and grazing purposes, it was astonishing how much interest he
excited among the mercantile or pastoral magnates to whom he had been
accredited.
"Have nothing to do with that infernal New Zealand Company," said one
grizzled colonist, "or you'll never cease to regret it. They're all in
the same boat with certain British members of Parliament and the local
political gang, to rob these poor devils of natives of their tribal
lands. Title? They haven't a rag. Some artful devil of a Maori--and
they are not behindhand in that line--pretends to sell the lands of
his tribe, for a few barrels of gunpowder or cases of Yankee axes--of
course signs a bogus deed."
"But isn't he their accredited agent?" queried our hero. "They would be
bound by his act."
"Agent be hanged!" quoth the pioneer impetuously. "This allotment
belongs to me; have I a right therefore to sell the whole town? Though,
between you and me, there are men in business here who would have a
try at it, if they could delude one of you innocent new arrivals into
taking his word and paying over the cash."
"I trust I'm not quite so innocent," replied Massinger, smiling, "as to
make purchases without due inquiry."
"Depends upon whom you inquire from," said his experienced friend.
"Advice is cheap, or rather dear enough, when the giver has an axe to
grind."
"Then how am I to find out, if no one is to be trusted in this Arcadia
of yours?"
"Devilish few that I know of," rejoined the senior. "The Government
officials and the Land Commissioners are, perhaps, the safest. They
have some character to lose, and are fairly impartial."
"After what you have said, may I venture to ask counsel from
you?"--instinctively trusting the open countenance and steady eye of
the pioneer.
"Oh! certainly; you needn't take it, of course. Don't be in a hurry to
invest; that's my first word. The next, _buy from the Government_; they
have a title--that is, nearly always--and are bound to support you in
it."
"But suppose their title is disputed? What will they do?"
"Take forcible possession, which means _war_. And Maori war--savages,
as it's the fashion industry call them--is no joke. And mark my word,
if they're not more careful than they have been lately, 'the deil
will gae ower Jock Wabster.'" Here the speaker lapsed into his native
Doric, showing that though half a century had rolled by since he first
anchored in the Bay of Islands, and the Southern tongue had encroached
somewhat, he had not forgotten the hills of bonnie Scotland or the
expressive vernacular of his youth.
"But surely the tribe, whichever it may happen to be, could not stand
against British regulars?"
"So you may think. But I was in the thick of Honi Heke's affair in '45,
and I could tell you stories that would surprise you. You must remember
that, as a people, the New Zealanders are among the most warlike races
upon earth, inured for centuries past to every species of bloodshed and
rapine, and bred up in the belief that a man is a warrior or nothing.
Fear, they know not the name of. They are wily strategists, as you will
observe, when you see their 'pahs,' and the nature of their primeval
forests gives them an immense advantage for cover or concealment."
"Then you think there may be another war?" inquired Massinger, with
some interest.
"Think! I'm sure of it. Things can't go on as they are. We're in for
it sooner or later, and all because the Governor, who means well, lets
himself be led by half a dozen politicians, in spite of the advice of
the old hands and the friendly chiefs, our allies, who have as much
sense and policy as all the ministry put together."
"But will not they always naturally lean to their own countrymen?"
"Far from it--that's the very reason. Most of these chiefs have tribal
feuds and hereditary enemies, as bitter and remorseless as ever my
Hieland ancestors enjoyed themselves with. Others, like Waka Nene,
since they were Christianized by the early missionaries, have cast in
their lot with the whites. They fought shoulder to shoulder with us,
and will again, even if they disapprove of our policy."
"What an extraordinary people!" said Massinger. "And if war breaks out,
as you think likely, what will become of the colonists?"
"They will have to fight for it. Murders and every kind of devilry will
result. But we have fought before, and can again, I suppose. These
islands are going to be another Britain; and even if there has been
some folly and injustice, England always means well, and we are not
going to give them up. 'No, sir,' as my American friends say."
"I rather like the prospect," said Massinger. "A good straightforward
war is a novelty in these too-peaceful days. If I had any notion of
leaving New Zealand, which I have not, this would decide me. Good
morning, and many thanks. I will see you again before I decide on
anything fresh."
"There's grit in that young yellow," quoth the ex-skipper, as he walked
out. "Bar accidents, he's the sort of man to make his mark in a new
country."
The man so referred to walked down the street, deeply pondering.
"I have got into the land of romance," thought he, "without any
manner of doubt. What a pull for a fellow in these degenerate days!
It raises one's spirits awfully. In addition to such a country for
grass and roots as I never dreamt of it, to think of there being
every probability of a war! A real war! It reminds one of the 'Last
of the Mohicans,' and all the joys of youth. We shall have 'Hawkeye,'
'Uncas,' and 'Chingachgook' turning up before we know where we are. Oh!
_fortunati nimium_----Halloa! what have we here?"
What he saw at that moment was something which had hardly entered
into his calculations as a peaceful colonist. But it was strangely in
accord with the warning tone of Captain Macdonald's last deliverance.
A section of the Ngatiawa tribe, which had visited Auckland on the
matter of a petition to the Governor concerning the violation of a
reserve, the same being _tapu_ under ceremonies of a particularly awful
and sacred nature, were indulging themselves with a war-dance by way
of dissipating the tedium necessitated by official delay. A crowd
of the townspeople had collected at the corner of Shortland Street,
while the tattooed braves were with the utmost gravity going through
the evolutions of their horrific performance. Chiefly unclothed, they
stamped and roared, grimaced and threatened, as in actual preparation
for conflict. Musket in hand, they leaped and yelled like demoniacs;
their countenances distorted, the eyes turned inward, their tongues
protruded as with wolfish longing. Each man was possessed by a
fiend, as it seemed to Massinger, who gazed upon the actors with
intense interest. The performance, hardly new to the majority of the
spectators, failed to impress one of them with due respect. He remarked
upon the pattern tattooed on the thigh of a huge native in front of
him to a comrade, ending with a rude jest in the Maori tongue. It was
a _mauvaise plaisanterie_ in good sooth. Turning like a wild bull upon
the astonished offender, and furious at the insult offered to his
_moko_--sacred as the totem of an Indian chief--the Ngatiawa dashed
the butt-end of his musket against his breast, sending him on to his
back with such violence that he had to be assisted to rise, stunned
and bewildered. The Maoris wheeled like one man, and formed in line,
while the leader shouted _Kapai!_ as they marched through the crowd to
their camp, chanting a refrain which no doubt might have been freely
rendered, "Wha daur meddle wi' me?"
This incident impressed our Englishman more than weeks of description
could have done, with the peculiar characteristics of the strange race
among whom he had elected to dwell. Pride and sensitiveness, to the
point of frenzy, were evidently among the attributes which had to be
considered at risk of personal damage.
He was, however, surprised at the cool way in which the crowd had taken
their comrade's discomfiture, and said as much to a respectable-looking
man who was walking down the street with him.
"We're not afraid of the beggars," returned the townsman, "as we'll
show 'em by-and-by. But it's no good starting before you're ready. That
fellow was half-drunk, and it served him right. There's a big tribe at
the back of these chaps, and they're in a dangerous humour about that
cursed Waitara block. That's why the crowd wouldn't back the white man
up. He's only a wharf-loafer, when all's said and done."
This explained the affair in great part. Doubtless a _mêlée_ would
have ensued if any hot-blooded individuals in the street had commenced
an attack upon the Maoris. An obstinate and by no means bloodless
fight must have arisen. Doubtless, in the end, the whites would have
conquered. Then the tribe would have murdered outlying settlers, or
attacked the town. The military would have been engaged. The war-torch,
once applied, might have lighted up a conflagration over the whole
island, necessitating an expenditure of blood and treasure which years
of peace would have been insufficient to repay. All, too, occasioned by
the idiotic folly of a worthless member of society.
Revolving such reflections, which, with other ideas and considerations,
effectually excluded the image of Hypatia, Roland Massinger betook
himself to his hotel, having discovered, as many a gentleman
unfortunate in his love affairs has done before him, that this life of
ours holds sensational interests, which, if not sufficing to assuage
the pangs of unrequited love, yet act as a potent anodyne.
To such an extent did the subject of the diplomacy urgently required at
such a juncture excite his interest, that he cast about for some means
of visiting the camp of these strange people, and learning more about
their embassy, which had so suddenly acquired importance in his eyes.
Having fully decided upon making New Zealand his home, and becoming
fired with ambition to aid in the development of this wonderland of
the South, he had addressed himself on the voyage with commendable
diligence to the study of the Maori language and traditions. Thus,
though properly diffident as to his colloquial powers, he was in a
position to more easily acquire a practical proficiency than if he had
been without a preparatory course of study.
He had finished his lunch, and was enjoying his smoke on the balcony,
gazing over the harbour, of which the elevated position of the
Grand Hotel offered a view which he never ceased to admire, when he
recognized the sonorous voice of his marine friend of the morning,
Captain Macdonald.
"Yes, indeed! Ticklish situation--you may well say so. Jack Maori
sitting on a powder barrel, filling cartridges and smoking his pipe.
I've often seen 'em--nothing to it."
"I agree with you, Macdonald; you and I have been long enough here
to know how to deal with Maoris. The Government ought to see that
the touchy beggars are not needlessly set up. I lost a dozen
valuable blocks here in 1840 because a young fool of a pakeha didn't
know the difference between taihai-ing (stealing) and mere taking
away--tiaki-ing."
"Why, how was that?"
"Well, he said that Te Hira, the young chief of all the coast about
there, was 'taihai-ing the goahore'--instead of tiaki-ing. He felt
affronted--sulked, of course, and just as I fully expected to get all
Shortland Crescent for--well, decidedly cheap--he shut up his mouth
like a vice, and wouldn't sell a yard of his land. It shows what a
queer people they are, when a grammatical error has such far-reaching
consequences."
"Consequences!" echoed his companion; "I should think so. But I never
heard of that adventure of yours."
"Well, it made a difference of about five thousand a year to me,
according to the present price of the land. The Government got it
afterwards, and cut it up into town lots. What noble buildings are on
them now!"
"Look here, Lochiel," said the sea-captain; "suppose we walk over to
the camp and have a _Korǒero_. I know this chief, and we can both
patter Maori. It might do good to explain matters, and none of us want
to see Auckland under martial law."
"It's just a grand idea!" said the other colonist, a tall
distinguished-looking elderly man, whose spare upright figure suggested
military training; once careless enough of danger, but now for some
years declined to the more peaceful vocation of a merchant--one of the
sea-roving, fearless breed of adventurers peculiar to Britain, whose
wide-reaching mercantile transactions have included the mobilizing of
armies and the levying of taxes; "in whose lumber-rooms," as in those
of the Great Company now merged in Imperial rule, "are the thrones of
ancient kings."
Here Massinger advanced, and bringing himself within the ken of the
speakers, was at once introduced to "my old friend, Mr. Lochiel," as
"Mr. Massinger, a gentleman who had come to settle among them."
"Very pleased to make his acquaintance," said the tall man, whose
shrewd, intellectual, kindly face impressed him most favourably. "If
he is of my mind, he will have reason to congratulate himself on his
choice of a colony. I have never regretted my decision, and the greater
part of my life has been spent here."
"You seem to have a diplomatic difficulty on hand," remarked Massinger,
"if I may judge from an experience this morning."
"Oh! you witnessed that affair in Shortland Street, did you? My friend
and I were just about to walk over to the Maori camp and get their
notion of it. We're both 'Pakeha Maoris' of long standing, and the
chief, Te Rangitake, has heard our names before. Would you care to
accompany us?"
"There is nothing I should like better. I begin to wish for a more
intimate acquaintance with our native friends, and trust to be an
authority on their manners and customs by-and-by."
"It's odds but that we may know a lot more about their ways before
long," said Captain Macdonald; "more than we shall like, if I don't
mistake. In the mean time we had better look them up at the Kiki."
The newly made friends--for such they were fated to be in the
after-time--walked on a path parallel to the sea, over several deep
ravines crossed by temporary bridges, until they came to a clear space,
in front of which a bold bluff looked out upon the harbour. Here a
collection of huts, made of the _raupo_, or reed-rush, and the smoke of
fires, denoted the presence of the ambassadors of the former lords of
the soil.
"_Haere Mai! Haere Mai!_" was the cry with which they were greeted,
which Massinger rightly interpreted as a note of welcome. His
companions replied with a phrase which appeared to be the correct
antiphonal rejoinder. As they reached the camp, in which they noted
a number of women and children, it was evident that they were
favourably known to the _hapu_, or family section, of the by no means
inconsiderable Ngatiawa tribe.
The chief himself, an intelligent and determined-looking man, thus
addressed them--
"Welcome! My welcome is to you, captain! You have been a friend to the
Ngatiawa as long ago as when Honii Heke cut down the flagstaff; and my
welcome is to you--Herekino. When your ship was in Kororarika, your
heart was to our tribe."
"My salutation," said Macdonald, "is to you, O Te Rangitake! My friend
and I, also this Pakeha Rangatira, have come to you for words in this
quarrel of Otakou in Auckland today. It is folly--let it not breed
quarrels between us. It was the act of a nobody, a _tutua_.
"The heart of Otakou is sore," replied the chief, gravely. "He was
mocked by the pakeha. His _mana_ was injured. He wished for _utu_, but
I told him there were matters to be considered; that the tribe was in
_runanga_ concerning the Waitara land--our land, the land of my people.
After that he can take his musket in his hand. It is his own affair."
"It was a folly, a child's trick. The pakeha was beaten by him. He fell
on the ground. His countrymen would not defend him. He had done wrong.
Were they afraid of forty or fifty Maoris? No! They knew that the
pakeha had done wrong. They would not lift a finger for him."
"It is well," said the chief; and advancing a few steps, he spoke
rapidly to the insulted warrior, who sat moodily alone. "The Rangatira
with the white man says the pakeha has done wrong. His people disown
him. The matter is ended." Here he broke a wand which he carried in his
hand in two pieces, in token that the decision was complete. Upon which
the countenance of the insulted Maori cleared visibly; he arose, and
walked to the other side of the camp.
And now Mr. Lochiel commenced a conversation in Maori with the chief,
which evidently was more important, and, as it proceeded, became deeply
interesting. The flashing eye of the chief, his impetuous words, his
frowning brow, and ever and anon the deep, resonant tones of his voice,
intimated so much.
Captain Macdonald translated from time to time, for the information
of Massinger, who became anxious to learn more of the subject of
the important conference, for such it evidently was. The colonist
spoke calmly, but with weight and effect, as was shown by the
quick rejoinders and deeply moved expression of countenance of his
interlocutor.
"It is about this Waitara block which the Government has bought
lately," said Captain Macdonald. "He disputes the right of Teira to
sell it; says that he will _not_ acknowledge any sale or transfer. That
the land belongs, in named and measured portions, to individuals and
families in the tribe. That no single person has the right to dispose
of it. That the whole tribe must unite, and through him, their chief
and _Ariki_, give formal assent to the sale. That he is anxious to be
at peace with the Governor and our people, but that he will shed his
blood rather than part with this land."
"But surely there must have been official correspondence about the sale
of this important block?" said Massinger. "Land is not handed over
anywhere like a ton of potatoes."
"To do the Government justice, there has been correspondence enough and
to spare," replied Mr. Lochiel. "The chief says he had a letter from
the Colonial Secretary that Teira's land (as alleged) would be bought
by the Governor. That his rule was that each man was to have the 'word'
about his own land--that the word of a man with no claim would not be
listened to."
"But that is the whole business, as I understand the matter. The chief
says it is _not_ the seller's land, though he may have a separate
portion."
"That is what Te Rangitake wrote. 'Friend! Salutation to you! I will
not agree to our bedroom being sold (I mean Waitara here), for this
bed belongs to the whole of us! And do not you be in haste to give
the money. If you give the money in secret, you will get no land. Do
not suppose that this is folly on my part. All I have to say to you,
O Governor! is that none of this land will be given to you--_akore,
akore, akore_ (never, never, never)--while I live.'"
As these words rang out until they reached a shout of defiance, the
greater part of the assembled warriors started to their feet, and
standing round their chief and the three white men, looked as if but a
very little additional excitement would suffice to lead them to death
or glory, commencing with the slaughtering of any chance pakehas whom
they might meet.
"This was not by any means intended for a declaration of war," Mr.
Lochiel averred. "The Maoris are very demonstrative in oratory, and
have always been in the habit of using much parliamentary discussion;
even of giving full and official notice before war is actually
declared."
But as the three Europeans wended their way back to the city, the
countenances of the older men expressed grave doubt--even expectation
of evil.
"As sure as we stand here," said Mr. Lochiel, coming to a halt, and
looking over the waters of the harbour, lying calm and peaceful in the
rich tints of the setting sun, "and as certainly as that sun will rise
tomorrow, there will be trouble--war to the knife, I believe--if the
Government persists in paying that fellow Teira the cash and claiming
the whole block."
"I agree with you," said his friend. "How the Governor, who has stood
firm in so many similar cases, should have allowed himself to be
hoodwinked in this, passes my knowledge. These Ngatiawas will refuse
to quit their land; and the moment the surveyors go on it, there will
be the devil to pay."
"But what can they do?" queried Massinger. "Will they kill the survey
party?"
"No! certainly not. They rarely act in a hurry. They will probably use
merely passive resistance at first. But resist they will. You may take
their oath of that."
"And if that has no effect?"
"Then they will fight in earnest. They are devils incarnate when their
blood is up. I have seen many an inter-tribal raid and battle; I don't
wish to see another. But there will be murder in cold blood--killing
in hot blood, with all the devilry of savage warfare. The blood of the
men, women, and children certain to be sacrificed before the campaign
is over, will be on the heads of those whose folly and greed provoke
the outbreak."
"And is there no means of arresting this mad action?" said the younger
man. "Will not leading colonists take the initiative in preventing a
flagrant injustice--this removal of landmarks which must be paid for in
blood?"
"All depends upon whether the peace party in the House is strong enough
to defeat the machinery of the land-jobbers. If not, one thing is
certain. We shall see the beginning of a war of which it will be hard
to predict the end--much more what may happen in the meantime. And
now, if you and my old friend here will dine with me this evening, I
will promise not to sell you any land, or otherwise take advantage of
your presumed inexperience as a newly arrived lamb among us wolves of
colonists."
Nothing could possibly have been suggested more in accordance with
our hero's tastes and inclinations, and he congratulated himself on
his prospects of gaining real reliable acquaintance with New Zealand
politics. This arrangement was duly carried out, and the three
friends walked together to Mr. Lochiel's house. He had begged them to
dispense with any change of attire, as the dusk was closing in and
Mrs. Lochiel was absent on a visit. When they reached the mansion,
beautifully situated on a headland overlooking the harbour, its size
and appointments were a surprise to Massinger, doubtful of the class of
habitation which they were approaching.
"Yes," said the venerable pioneer, as they stood in the handsomely
furnished drawing-room, replete with pictures, casts, curios--a most
generous assortment of _objets d'art_, evidently the fruits of a
lengthened continental ramble; "things are much changed since Thornton
and I bought that island you see out under the line of moon-rays, from
the reigning chief, more than thirty years ago. He and I lived there
for many a day, chiefly upon pork, fish, potatoes, and oysters. How
well I remember the good old chief, to whom we 'belonged' as Pakeha
Maoris, and the first night we spent there!"
"And at that time had none of the land here been sold to the
Government?" asked Massinger.
"Not one solitary acre, where Auckland now stands--'nor roof, nor
latched door,' to quote the old song. And now, look at it."
Mr. Massinger did look across the suburb which divided the grounds
of their host's residence from the city of Auckland, with its thirty
thousand inhabitants, its churches, gardens, court-houses, public
libraries, vice-regal mansion, and warehouses. The lights of the city
showed an area even larger than he had at first supposed it to be. The
ships in the well-filled harbour, the steamers with their variously
coloured illuminants, completed the picture of a thriving settlement,
destined to perform its function notably as a component part of the
British Empire.
"This is hardly progress," he exclaimed. "It is _transformation_!"