Romance of Empire Series
EDITED BY JOHN LANG
NEW ZEALAND
TO MY WIFE
[Illustration: Heke fells the flagstaff at Kororareka
(Page 169)]
ROMANCE OF EMPIRE
NEW ZEALAND
BY
REGINALD HORSLEY
AUTHOR OF 'IN THE GRIP OF THE HAWK,' 'STONEWALL'S SCOUT,'
'THE YELLOW GOD,' 'THE BLUE BALLOON,' 'HUNTED THROUGH FIJI,' ETC.
WITH TWELVE REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR FROM DRAWINGS BY
A.D. M'CORMICK, R.I.
[Illustration]
LONDON
THE CAXTON PUBLISHING COMPANY,
CLUN HOUSE, SURREY ST. W.C.
INTRODUCTION
This book does not contain a history of New Zealand, but something of
the story of many full and stirring days. Almost like the ghost the
Maori thought him, Tasman came swiftly out of the rosy West, struck
a blow which harmed his country more than it hurt those upon whom it
fell, and yet more swiftly sailed away. Notable enough were his coming
and going, but only as the prologue to the drama which began after an
interval of one hundred and twenty-seven years. Then there steps upon
the stage of Maoriland that well-graced actor, Captain Cook; and so the
play goes on until the fall of the curtain upon the peace which closed
the long struggle of the brave tribesmen with settlers, soldiers and
colonists. Another interval, not so long, and then, fitting epilogue,
the Dominion.
The years since 1870 have no doubt held romance enough of their own.
Books have been written and may still be written of the romance of
peaceful settlement, of sport, of mountaineering in New Zealand, or
of soldiering by New Zealanders in other lands; but, save for a few
episodes, one may say that the romance of the history of New Zealand
ended for the present with the vanishing of Te Kooti. Then, at least,
ended the era of turbulence, and began the fat years of progress and
prosperity, and it is as difficult for a State as for an individual to
be romantic when "with good capon lined."
Yet so crowded with incident is the brief period named that I have
practically confined the story to the most prominent of the facts
indexed in the _New Zealand Official Year Book_ for 1906. Even with
this limitation there is not space enough in which to tell the whole
romantic story. At most, an impression of the vivid happenings of the
past can be presented, and this is what I have tried to do.
I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to those who, being dead, yet
speak--Thomson, Gudgeon, "A Pakeha Maori," and others,--whose vanished
hands picturesquely chronicled some of the events with which this story
is concerned. From Sir George Grey, the gentle "Knight of the Kawan,"
I had the legend of the Loves of Heaven and Earth and the defiance of
their rebellious sons. To the Honourable William Pember Reeves, High
Commissioner for New Zealand in London, I am greatly obliged for books
of reference and the loan of valuable photographs.
If I am not one of them, I yet claim the consideration of the Children
of the Dominion, since I am connected with them by ties of kin and
happy memories of childhood and youth lived under the Southern Cross,
here and there among the islands on both sides of the Tasman Sea.
Also the Dominion has already given me some of the facts of her
colonial days as a basis for fiction. So it is permissible to hope
that the shortcomings of this book will be forgiven, and that those
of the Dominion who may read will recognise throughout its pages a
whole-hearted admiration for their country and all that belongs to it.
If I please some, I shall be rewarded. For the rest, since "'tis not in
mortals to command success," then, _est quadam prodire tenus, si non
datur ultra_.
REGINALD HORSLEY.
[Illustration: NEW ZEALAND]
CONTENTS
PART I
THE MAORI
PAGE
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF THE RACE 3
CHAPTER II
THE MEN WHO CAME 10
CHAPTER III
THE LAND TO WHICH THEY CAME 20
CHAPTER IV
THE GROWTH OF THE RACE 35
CHAPTER V
THE LIFE OF EVERY DAY 48
CHAPTER VI
GRIM-VISAGED WAR 55
PART II
THE COMING OF THE PAKEHA
CHAPTER VII
THE DUTCHMAN'S LOSS 69
CHAPTER VIII
THE BRITON'S GAIN 79
CHAPTER IX
CLOUDS AT DAWN 89
CHAPTER X
RONGO PAI! 101
CHAPTER XI
THE WARS OF HONGI IKA 108
CHAPTER XII
VARIOUS RULERS 119
PART III
PAKEHA AND MAORI
CHAPTER XIII
GREAT BRITAIN WINS 133
CHAPTER XIV
INDEPENDENCE AND ARGUMENT 143
CHAPTER XV
TE RAUPARAHA AND HONI HEKE 158
CHAPTER XVI
THE FALL OF KORORAREKA 172
CHAPTER XVII
HEKE AND KAWITI ON THE WARPATH 177
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FALL OF THE BAT'S NEST 192
CHAPTER XIX
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH 201
CHAPTER XX
BUILDING AND UPSETTING 215
CHAPTER XXI
O'ERCLOUDED SKIES 225
CHAPTER XXII
THE QUEEN MOVES 239
CHAPTER XXIII
THE BLACK KNIGHT GIVES CHECK 244
CHAPTER XXIV
PAI MARIRE, OR THE HAUHAU SECT 254
CHAPTER XXV
MURDER MOST FOUL 262
CHAPTER XXVI
ALARMS! EXCURSIONS! 272
CHAPTER XXVII
POVERTY BAY 280
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE LAST RALLY 288
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SUN OF PEACE 307
CHAPTER XXX
THE DOMINION OF NEW ZEALAND 318
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Heke fells the Flagstaff at Kororareka _Frontispiece_
Farewell to Hawaiki 8
Victors in the Fight 66
The Fight in Massacre Bay 75
Hongi's last "Word" to his People 115
A Dreadful Recognition 122
Signing the Treaty of Waitangi 141
Phillpotts at Oheawai 190
A Boy's Heroism. "Awake! Awake!" 208
Major Witchell's Charge at Nukumaru 234
The Frenzy of the Hauhau. The Incantation 256
Butters gives the Alarm--Poverty Bay 284
MAP
New Zealand viii
PART I
THE MAORI
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF THE RACE
The voice of lamentation and the noise of weeping were heard in
Hawaiki;[1] for men's hands were lifted up to slay their own kin: so
that father slew son, and son smote father, and brother strove against
brother, until nowhere in all that pleasant land was there peace.
Wherefore, little children hid themselves for fear; and women, having
cut their cheeks with sharks' teeth, and gashed their bosoms with sharp
shells and pieces of _tuhua_[2], raised the _tangi_[3] for the warriors
who every day passed through the portals which give upon the Waters of
Reinga.[4]
But Ngahue, being a great chief, might not weep; so he sat apart in
his _whare_,[5] neither eating nor drinking, while he prayed to the
gods and to his ancestors that they would make a way of escape from the
threatening doom. For Ngahue was sore stricken, having been worsted
in the fight, and well he knew that for the conquered was no mercy.
Wherefore, he sat with bowed head and covered face, and prayed for
light.
And light came; for the gods had pity upon Ngahue, who was ever their
faithful servant.
So Ngahue arose in the black darkness, bidding his wife be of good
cheer and patiently await his return, and with noiseless tread stole
forth from his _whare_.
Softly called Ngahue unto him his best-beloved friend, Te Turi, the
Stubborn One, and Te Turi's friends, Te Weri, the Centipede, and Te
Waerau, the Crab,[6] together with certain warriors, proved in many a
fight. He compelled also to his side a sufficiency of _tutua_[7] and,
being come to the beach, launched a great canoe. Then, having commended
themselves to the gods, they sailed whithersoever Atua[8] chose to lead
them.
Many days sailed they over the placid bosom of _moana_,[9] passing
fair islands whereon they were fain to rest, but for fear of club and
cooking-pot dared not land. So they kept on the course which Atua had
set, praying ever that they might come to the land which Ngahue had
seen in a vision what time the gods gave him light.
But all things have an end. Neither Ngahue, nor his friends, nor his
followers, nor the _tutua_ complained or murmured at the hardships
they underwent, or reviled the gods; wherefore the Six Great Brethren
had compassion upon them.
So the Great Six sat in council--Tumatauenga, god and father of men and
war; Haumiatikitiki, god of the food which springs of itself from the
earth; Rongomatane, god of the food which men prepare for themselves;
Tangaroa, god of fish and reptiles; Tawhiri-Ma-Tea, god of winds and
storms; Tane-Mahuta, god of forests and of the birds therein--all were
there.
Then spake Tumatauenga, saying, "Behold! I will send ahead of Ngahue
my youngest son, Mauitikitiki o Taranga; and I will give him the
jawbone of one of his ancestors, whereof he shall fashion a great hook,
wherewith he shall fish up a land out of _moana_ for Ngahue; and the
name thereof shall be Te Ika a Maui.[10] Behold! I have spoken."
Then spake in turn the rest of the Great Brethren, sons all of Rangi
and Papa,[11] promising good gifts to Ngahue and them with him. But
Maui, obedient to his father's word, went forth and fished diligently
in the sea until, lo! he drew up a land, which, by the might of the
Six Brethren, was covered in an instant with forests and plains and
mountains and valleys. And birds flew high and low and sang among the
trees, and rivers rushed through deep woods, and silver streams flashed
by quiet lawns, and the bays and straits abounded in fish, and the
earth with good things to eat. All was of the best for Ngahue and his
friends when they should arrive.
So Maui gave to Ngahue the new land, which was a land beautiful, a
land rich and abounding in all things good and needful; and he and his
friends, beholding this fair and gracious land and knowing it their
own, gave thanks to the Six Great Brethren and were filled with joy.
Then Ngahue, calling upon the gods, drave the great canoe into a
beautiful bay, and made fast to a tree which hung low over the water
and flung its red blossoms on the tide; whereafter the wanderers
stepped ashore and stood upon the land which Maui had fished up from
the sea, and which the Six Great Brethren had given them for their own.
Then, all most reverently standing still, Ngahue gathered a little soil
and scattered it to the four quarters of the earth and, having cast his
most cherished ornament into the sea in propitiation, he chanted this
prayer to the Spirit of the Land:--
We arrive where an unknown earth is under our feet;
We arrive where a new sky is above us.
We arrive at this land,
A resting-place for us.
O Spirit of the Earth! We strangers now humbly
Offer our hearts as food for thee.[12]
And Ngahue loved the new land, for the forest trees were tall and
splendid, and the flowers beautiful and radiant as _kahukura_[13] in
the sky. Great eels swarmed in the rivers, fish in plenty swam in the
sea, and sharks, whose teeth are for ornament and for women when they
raise the _tangi_. Whales, also, played in the near seas, and seals
basked upon the rocks. Birds of song and birds for food flew in the
air or ran along the ground or swam upon the lakes and rivers. But one
giant bird with feeble wings stalked with long legs over the hills;
and, though this bird was twice the height of an ordinary man, and of
a strength prodigious, yet did Ngahue slay one such in his wanderings
about the new land.[14]
Earth, too, gave of her treasures a most beautiful stone, green of
hue and clear as light at dawn or dense as a storm-cloud, and so hard
withal that a club which Ngahue fashioned from it cracked the skull of
one of his foes, yet itself brake not in pieces.
So, looked Ngahue north or south or east or west; looked he inland
where the tall mountains hid their snowy peaks in the bosoms of the
rosy clouds, or looked he upon the "many dimpled smile of ocean,"
behold, the land was very good.
Then Ngahue, having gathered many things which would not perish by the
way, called his friends and said, "See now; let us return to Hawaiki,
taking these our treasures, which, when our kinsmen see, they will
eagerly follow us hither. So shall they gain a peaceful home, and so
shall the land the gods have given us be filled with stout hearts, and
our seed increase and multiply. What say ye, O my brothers?"
And Te Weri and Te Waerau joyously cried, "_Kapai!_"[15] and the
warriors shouted their war-cry; but the _tutua_ raised their voices and
wept for happiness that they should be free of war's alarms.
So they came again after many days to Hawaiki, whence all their kinsmen
were willing to go with them to the new and beautiful land which had
been given to Ngahue. Moreover, strife still raged; wherefore, they of
the weaker side came privately to Ngahue and begged that they might go
with him; to which the chief willingly consented, knowing that the more
the folk the better for the new land.
But one of the gods--no man knoweth which--angry because Ngahue
persuaded so many to leave the land of their birth, set fire to Hawaiki
to destroy all therein. But Rangi sent a storm of rain upon the land,
so that the fire was utterly killed, save for certain few sparks which
hid among the trees where the rain could not reach them, and there
abode for ever. Wherefore it is that, if a man rub together two pieces
of wood, fire will issue therefrom.
And now, a fleet having been built--some say at one place, some at
another, but most at Rarotonga--a great company assembled and filled
the double canoes, whereof the names were Arawa, Matatua, Tainui,
Takitumu, Kurahaupo, Tokomaru, Matawhaorua, Aotea, and more whose names
are forgotten.
[Illustration: Farewell to Hawaiki]
Family by family they embarked, taking great store of seeds of
_kumara_,[16] _karaka_[17] berries and gourds, together with
_pukeko_,[18] dogs, and rats. Thus they set sail in company from the
land of their birth.
But an evil spirit let loose a tempest upon them, so that the fleet was
scattered, and each canoe must sail upon its own course, its captain
having no pilot, but only the knowledge which Ngahue had imparted to
the high chiefs. Yet by the grace of Atua they all came safe to the
land which Maui had fished up from the sea.
Aotea, Arawa, Tainui, and the rest, all were beached at last, and the
exiles bade one another farewell and wandered here and there over the
land, each family making choice where they would dwell. Nor was the
choice too easy, since every place was so beautiful and inviting. But
at last they came to rest, and thus from the beginning was Te Ika a
Maui peopled by the friends and followers of Ngahue; and their seed,
multiplying as the spores upon the fern, founded and established the
nations which compose the Maori Race.
NOTE.--According to another tradition, the first Maori explorer was
Rakahaitu, a chief, who landed in the South Island about one thousand
years ago. Other traditions, again, give the credit of discovery to
Kupe. In August of this year, an interesting find was made on the
south coast of the North Island, in the shape of an ancient stone
anchor. This is held by experts to have been used by Kupe, whose
canoes, buried under huge mounds of earth, still rest upon the
heights to which the adventurers dragged them after landing.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The island--true site unknown--whence the ancestors of the
Maori emigrated, according to tradition, to New Zealand.]
[Footnote 2: Obsidian, or volcanic glass.]
[Footnote 3: The Lament for the Dead.]
[Footnote 4: The Abode of the Shades.]
[Footnote 5: House. In Maori there are no silent vowels. Thus whare
"wharry," not "whar"; kupe "ku-pe," not "koop."]
[Footnote 6: Maori names were frequently bestowed on account of mental
or physical peculiarities, or of real or fancied resemblance to natural
objects.]
[Footnote 7: Poor, low-born men to do menial work.]
[Footnote 8: The gods collectively. Fate.]
[Footnote 9: The ocean.]
[Footnote 10: Literally, "The Fish of Maui."]
[Footnote 11: Heaven and Earth. Short for Papa-tu-a-nuku.]
[Footnote 12: This prayer, preserved by tradition, was actually uttered
by a chief upon the landing of the exiles from Hawaiki, after Ngahue's
second, and final, voyage from his old home.]
[Footnote 13: The rainbow.]
[Footnote 14: The reference is to the gigantic, wingless bird, now
extinct, the Moa--_Dinornis moa_.]
[Footnote 15: Good! Hurrah!]
[Footnote 16: Sweet potato--_Ipomoea batatas_.]
[Footnote 17: _Corynocarpus laevigata._]
[Footnote 18: Water-hen--_Porphyrio melanotus_.]
CHAPTER II
THE MEN WHO CAME
The foregoing is more or less traditional among the Maori as to their
migration from some other place and settlement in New Zealand. Some
facts have been handed down for generations, but the traditions are
confused. When the first Pakeha[19] arrived, every Maori believed that
certain events had happened in the far past; but there was little
agreement as to the manner or sequence in which those events had
occurred.
Many investigators--notably Sir George Grey--have inquired in the
truest spirit of antiquarian research into the traditions of the
Maori; and what between the discoveries of such trained observers, the
dabblings of the amateur, and the luck of the "rolling-stones," who
have picked up a tale here and a legend there, we have a fairly clear
account of the coming of the Maori to New Zealand, as far as it is
uncertainly known and hazily remembered among themselves.
One fact, at least, is established. The Maori pertain to the Polynesian
section of the great southern archipelago, not to the Melanesian. Most
eminent ethnologists agree that the pure Polynesians are descended
through the Malays from a very remote Asiatic stock.
No bolder navigators, no more merciless pirates than the Malays ever
sailed the sea, and, as they skimmed over the blue in their queer
_proas_, their fierce eyes searching the horizon for the sail of some
helpless trader, they not infrequently made some hitherto unknown
island. Adventurers all, they occupied the place if it were their
whim, and mixed with or exterminated the original inhabitants. Thus
their stock spread in the course of centuries over all Polynesia,
giving populations to Tonga, to the Samoan, Sandwich, Society and other
islands, and, more important to our theme, to New Zealand.
It is reasonably certain that, apart from haphazard adventure, there
was once an emigration on a large scale, and it would seem that the
pioneers of Polynesian colonisation left their home in Sumatra for the
islands of their choice some nine or ten hundred years ago.
Centuries go on their appointed course and become the Past; the
immigrants, long acclimatised, have only vague memories and fanciful
traditions of their origin. They are no longer Malays; they are
Polynesians. Climate, associations, food have worked an alteration in
them; their skin is browner, their eyes less sleepy, their figures
taller and more symmetrical, their features handsomer than in the
forgotten days in Sumatra, cradle of their race. Their language, too,
has undergone a marked change, and only traces of the parent stock
are discoverable in their customs. One practice, occasional amongst
their ancestors, they have unhappily not forgotten; for the Polynesians
have established the flesh of their enemies--when they can get it--as
the prime article in their dietary. They are not so abandoned in this
respect as their neighbours of Melanesia; but they are smirched with
the same pitch, and an unpleasant defilement it is.
More centuries roll on; in Europe the night of the Middle Ages is
at its darkest, but in far-off Polynesia the dawn is at hand. On an
unnamed island within that vast area there is unrest and tribulation,
out of which a nation is presently to be born.
Where this island of Hawaiki was situated not even the Maori tradition
can certainly determine. Some will have it that Rarotonga in the Cook
Islands was once Hawaiki; but all that can be said with accuracy is
that, some five or six hundred years ago, a company of Polynesians,
perhaps a thousand strong, left the island on which they had been born
and sailed the sea in search of a new home.
In time they made the North Island of New Zealand, which, delighted
with its beauty and fertility, they decided to occupy. They landed
at various points and wandered ever farther south, increasing and
multiplying in numbers, until at last some of the most adventurous
crossed Cook Strait and began to people the Middle Island. And these
Polynesian immigrants were the ancestors of the race of men whom we now
know as Maori.
Some recent investigators hold that the North Island was then possessed
by peaceable folk calling themselves Moriori, who were speedily subdued
by the warriors from Hawaiki. A remnant of the Moriori escaped, it is
said, to the Chatham Islands, hoping to dwell in peace; but their evil
fate pursued them, for the Ngati-Awa tribe migrated in 1835 to the same
place, and the unfortunate Moriori were again conquered and enslaved.
Wherever the birthplace of the Maori, it lay within the tropics. The
nearer the equator, the shorter the interval between day and night,
and thus it was that the Maori, struck by the beauty of a phenomenon
wholly unfamiliar, styled their new home in affectionate admiration,
_Ao-tea-roa_, "The Land of the Long Lingering Day," or "The Land of
Twilight." Always poetical, others called it _Aotea_, or "The Land
of the Dawn." These charming subtitles did not displace the original
name, _Te Ika A Maui_, or, as some have it, _Eaheinomawe_,[20] but they
serve to show the poetic mind of the Maori. Later on, the Middle Island
received its native appellation, _Te Wai Pounamou_, or "The Waters
of Greenstone," while _Ra Ki Ura_, "In the Glow of the Sun," denoted
Stewart Island, the small triangle which forms the southern extremity
of New Zealand.
So they came to their own, these handsome, stalwart men, and "black,
but comely" women. You may see a group of them there upon the western
beach, led by Te Turi, one of the pioneer chiefs who received this new
jewel among countries from the hands of the gods. Perhaps they landed
at dawn, for Te Turi called the place of disembarkation _Aotea_, which
is literally "The White Day"; but he may have named the harbour out of
compliment to the canoe which had carried them so far in safety, for
it, too, was _Aotea_.
The white day swiftly turns to blue and gold, and all fatigue is
forgotten for pure joy of being. The glory of summer is everywhere, and
over all is that exquisite charm which belongs to _Ao-tea-roa_ more
than to any of the isles of the iridescent Southern Sea. Westward,
the great ocean heaves and sparkles in the morning sun--not a cloud
that way from zenith to horizon. Southward, far away, Ruapehu lifts
his time-worn, snowy head three thousand feet above grim Tongariro's
sullen, smoking cones, gazing ever where his ancient comrade, hoary
Taranaki,[21] dwells in solitude by the thundering sea.
Long ago, these mighty ones stood shoulder to shoulder; but Taranaki,
forgetting friendship, seized Pihinga, Tongariro's love, and strove to
bear her away. Then Tongariro arose in his wrath, belching forth smoke
and flames and red-hot stones, and smote Taranaki such a buffet that
the giant reeled away, nor stopped until he reached the sea. Never did
Taranaki return to his comrades. Alone he broods, rearing his great
body eight thousand feet above the tide, his stricken head hidden under
a veil of perennial snow.
Inland, the forest. But what a forest! Not the light emerald of
waving palms of their almost unregretted Hawaiki, but a forest
grand, obscure, a very twilight of verdure. Yet not all gloom; for
the _rata_[22] are abloom, and splash the dark-green front with vivid
crimson, and the white cornucopias of the "morning-glory," and the
gorgeous, scarlet "beaks" of the _kowhai_[23] bejewel the undergrowth.
Up from the ground the little "wild rose" twines the great stems to
their topmost boughs, falling back to earth, a cascade of blossom;
while, festooning and garlanding tall trunks and leafy tops, are flung
the long tendrils of the _puawananga_,[24] its myriad white stars
shining in the green night.
As they gaze, entranced, flocks of parakeets, screaming a harsh
welcome, dash from the shimmering sky athwart the sombre front, like
a rainbow shivered into fragments. There is a burst of appreciation,
a hundred poetic expressions of delight, and Te Turi's company crowd
about him, invoking blessings upon his head for his share in the
discovery of this earthly paradise.
They are worth looking at, these jubilant Maori: the men strong and
well built about the chest and shoulders, and carrying themselves as
men should. Their hair is slightly wavy or curls freely, and matches
well the steady, piercing eyes, stern lips, pronounced noses and
haughty carriage of the head we are accustomed to style "Roman." The
Malay type is fully evident, while others recall the Jew, and a very
few approach the colour of the negro, but miss his characteristic
features and woolly hair.
They are grave, dignified and impressed by the solemnity of the
occasion; and the Light is shining in the darkness of their minds, for
they stand in reverential attitudes while their great chief chants a
thanksgiving to the gods and a short prayer of propitiation to the
Spirit of the Land.
Most of the women and girls are weeping, for tears come easily to
the Maori _wahine_ (woman) even in moments of joy. But bright smiles
presently flash out everywhere, showing dazzling teeth, while, though
all are talking at once, their voices are so melodious that the babel
is rather pleasant than otherwise.
Considering them more closely, we know that we are looking at a people
exceptional, if not unique among savages.
Their intelligence is obvious; the voyage demonstrates their
enterprise, and they will later prove their courage upon many a
stricken field. Prudent they are, for they have brought the seeds of
food-plants, while for companionship and, to some extent, for food,
they gave their dogs a place in the canoes. Perhaps the rat, always a
bit of an adventurer, stole aboard as a stowaway.
They are emotional, but not less brave because tears stood in their
eyes as they listened to Te Turi's prayer. Their great chiefs solemn
chant and the exclamations which greeted the forest in its summer
dress show their poetic mind and their capacity for felicitous speech.
Moreover, they are fond of fun and have a trenchant wit, if not a very
lightsome humour. They are quick at repartee, and eloquent in discourse.
When their villages are built, you shall note how kind and hospitable
they are to strangers of whatever race. Also, you shall be convinced
that among the gentlemen of their tribes a lie is a thing abominable
and abhorred, and the word of a chief, once passed, most rarely broken.
Are they then faultless, these newcomers to the land which Maui fished
up from the sea? No; for they are men, and men yet stumbling in the
night of paganism. There is no need to catalogue their faults; they are
those common to savages, and too many of them will show clearly as this
narrative progresses. Till then let us pass them over.
Take one more look at the faces of these old-time Maori. They differ
from those of their descendants, for they are unmarked by tattoo.
The Maori of the immediate past were noted for the extraordinarily
elaborate tattooing or, rather, carving, which embellished their faces
and, sometimes, their hips. When the Pakeha arrived a Maori with
beard, whiskers or moustache was as rare as the _moa_; for tattooing
necessitated a smooth face, and each warrior was careful to pull out
every offending hair from cheek, lips and chin.[25] Thus, neither the
process nor the result was interfered with, and this was important, for
every line, curve or mark of any kind had its significance.
Tattooing was by no means universal among the Polynesians, and the
Maori tradition is firm that the faces of the immigrants from Hawaiki
were innocent of tattoo, or _moko_, as the Maori method is styled,
while beards were worn or not, according to individual taste.
It has always been a principle with savages to frighten their enemies
by noise, facial contortions, masks, weird head-dresses and so on. When
the Maori began to quarrel and fight, it occurred to one genius that
a tremendous moral effect would be produced upon the enemy if he--the
genius--were to blacken his face before going into battle. One would
hardly suppose that a shade only two or three degrees deeper than
the original would bring about any startling result; but our genius
evidently succeeded, for the next time his tribe took the field the
faces of all were black as the back of _Tui_, the Parson-bird.
Then it occurred to a wise old chief, named Rauru, that, if something
permanent could be devised, much time and trouble would be saved.
Remembering a visit he had paid to an island where tattooing was in
force, he called a council and vigorously advocated the adoption of the
practice. The suggestion was accepted and, as the process of _moko_ is
decidedly painful, there must have been many wry faces while it was
being carried into effect.
No doubt, when their faces had been rendered sufficiently terrifying,
this particular tribe had things all their own way for a time. But
there is a sincere form of flattery known as imitation and, once the
secret leaked out, matters took a turn. Before Te Ika A Maui was many
moons older, every able-bodied man on the Island had tricked out his
face in the new style, and was ready to meet the inventors upon equal
terms.
NOTE.--Tattoo is a Polynesian word, not in use among the Maori. A
skilful professor of the art of _moko_ and _whakairo_ (face and body
decoration) was held in rare esteem. Instances are on record of
slaves having vastly improved their status by the artistic use of the
lancet and mallet employed in tattooing.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 19: White man. Literally, "stranger," as opposed to Maori,
"native."]
[Footnote 20: Really, _He mea hi no Maui_, "A thing fished up by Maui."]
[Footnote 21: Mount Egmont.]
[Footnote 22: _Metrosideros robusta._ It belongs to the myrtle order,
and is one of the most ornamental trees in the New Zealand bush.]
[Footnote 23: _Clianthus puniceus._ New Zealand pea.]
[Footnote 24: A variety of clematis. In the flowering season the effect
of the white stars amid the dark green of the overhead foliage is most
beautiful.]
[Footnote 25: This was done with a pair of cockle-shells, which in
Maoriland represented the _volsellae_ of the Romans, and our modern
tweezers.]
CHAPTER III
THE LAND TO WHICH THEY CAME
Where Nature is constantly in a tempestuous mood, where volcanoes spout
and earthquakes convulse, and where, on the other hand, "Man comes in
with his strife" against Nature herself, comparatively few years may
suffice to bring about great changes and to alter the face of a country
almost beyond recognition.
Thus, the New Zealand on whose shores the Maori landed differed
materially from the New Zealand of to-day. Not only has Nature cruelly
destroyed some of the most beautiful of the vestiges of creation,
but the white man has cleared off scrubs, eradicated forests, said
with effect to the sea, "thus far and no farther," and, by radically
altering the original features of the country, has actually influenced
the climate.
New Zealand is a land in every way desirable. Save for a trick Nature
has of tumbling into convulsions now and then, it is hard to see how
any land could have been created more beautiful, more comfortable, more
blessed. Not large; indeed, a kind of "Pocket Venus" among countries;
for, though there have been smaller, there have been none more
beguiling to the senses, more charming to the eye, more responsive to
the attentions of its lords. Surely, from such a soil must spring a
worthy race.
Before colonisation, and for some time after, New Zealand included only
the North Island, the Middle Island,[26] and Stewart Island, and was
in area about one-seventh less than that of the United Kingdom. No;
not a large country; but packed to overflowing with good and desirable
things, and lacking much that is undesirable.
Early in the present century the Cook, or Hervey, Islands were included
in the colony; an interesting addition, because Rarotonga, the largest
of the group, is said to be the island where the emigrating Maori built
some of their canoes for the voyage to Te Ika A Maui, and where they
rested when Hawaiki lay far behind them. The new boundaries of the
Dominion of New Zealand embrace several other island groups.
Hawaiki lay within the tropics, while the northern extremity of New
Zealand is a clear eleven degrees south of Capricorn. As the country
tails southward, it falls more within the temperate zone, until, as
Stewart Island is reached, the latitude corresponds almost exactly with
that of Cornwall in England.
Coming thus from a hot climate to one warm indeed, but cooler than that
to which they had been accustomed, it behoved the Maori without delay
to make some alteration in their dress. At first they used coverings
made from the skins of their dogs; but this was expensive, so they
presently began to look elsewhere for what they wanted. Like most
peoples unvexed by over-education, they were keen observers, and it was
not long before they found the very thing they required.
One day, a certain Te Matanga,[27] The Knowing One, took matters in
hand. Winter was coming, and girdles of cocoa-nut fibre would scarcely
suffice to keep out the cold. For some time he discovered nothing
likely to be useful, and it was in a disconsolate mood that he stood at
the edge of an extensive swamp and wondered what was to become of his
friends and himself.
The swamp was covered with plants whose like Te Matanga had never seen.
Each grew in the fashion of a thick bush; but the leaves--there were
no branches--were flat and tapering, yet stiff and irrefragable, while
they towered, upstanding, half as high again as the height of a man.
Moreover, the leaves were so tough, that Te Matanga had some ado to
cut through one with his flint knife. Flowers upon long stalks were
in the bushes, and the plant with a red blossom was larger than that
which bore a yellow blossom, though both were stately. And, perceiving
that there were two varieties of the plant, Te Matanga named the finer
_Tihore_ and the larger _Harakeke_.[28]
When he had prodded here and sliced there, and observed the leaves to
be full of strong fibre, Te Matanga immediately perceived that he had
found that which he had set out to seek and, his anxiety upon the score
of clothing relieved, he began to feel hungry and thirsty. The swamp
water did not look inviting and, while he deliberated, he aimlessly
plucked a flower and regarded it.
What was this? At the bottom of the floral cup was a considerable
quantity of fluid, resembling limpid water.
Not without a qualm, the Knowing One tasted the liquid and found it
delicious, resembling water sweetened with honey, or the _eau sucrée_
beloved of Frenchmen. He hesitated no longer, drank off the delightful
draught, smacked his lips and drained another flower-cup of its nectar.
Having found so much, Te Matanga told himself that more should be got
from so accommodating a plant and, sure enough, he discovered an edible
gum in the roots and leaves. What wonder that, with a winter outfit
in view, his thirst quenched and his hunger stayed, clever Te Matanga
should assume a few excusable airs when telling his joyous news.
Thus, that Providence which they had not yet learned to know, gave
to the Maori food, drink and clothing, all within the compass of one
specimen of God's marvellous handiwork.
The plant which Te Matanga found is not related to the true flax,
though it serves every purpose to which the other is put. The Pakeha
speedily recognised its virtues; in 1906 twenty-eight thousand tons of
the fibre were exported from New Zealand.
Great ingenuity was displayed by the Maori in the manipulation of the
fibre and its manufacture into many useful articles, from the little
baskets in which food was served, and which were never used twice, to
the magnificent robe, or "mat," known as the _kaitaka_, which occupied
nearly a year in the making. This was peculiarly the costume of people
of consideration, and the gift of one was regarded as a mark of high
favour.
Among the many varieties of flax mats, the _pureki_ had an interest
all its own, for the makers managed to render it rain-proof, so that
it was in a sense the prototype of our mackintosh. One might also say
that it was the Maori substitute for _khaki_; for a native, wrapped
in his _pureki_ and squatting upon a barren hillside, was scarcely
distinguishable from the boulders surrounding him.
Te Matanga went to work again and experimented with the berries of the
_tutu_ or _Coronaria_, extracting thence a beverage as grateful as that
which he had quaffed from the chalice of the flax-flowers. Yet the
berries, eaten whole, are poisonous.
The beverages which Te Matanga gave to his countrymen were neither
noxious nor degrading. It was the civilised Christian who introduced
to the pagan savage that "enemy which steals away men's brains." Left
to themselves, the Maori showed no inclination towards intoxicating
liquors. Even in later days they proved remarkably temperate,
their barter with the Pakeha rarely including a supply of what they
characteristically designated "stink-water." They did not even brew the
highly stimulating _yaqona_, so popular with the South Sea Islanders;
which is remarkable, since the plant (_Piper methysticum_) grows wild
in New Zealand.
Our wise man also taught his compatriots the value of the edible fern,
_Pteris esculenta_, whose bright-green fronds waved ten feet or more
above the ground. The underground stem was cut into plugs and matured,
and, this done, was eaten plain, or cakes were baked of the flour
beaten out of it.
It was not ordained that the Maori should subsist entirely upon a
vegetable diet. Te Matanga searched for something more stimulating and
readily found it. He showed his people fat eels in creek and river,
while from the sea they drew _Mango_, the shark, _Tawatawa_, the
mackerel, _Hapuku_, the cod (not that of northern waters) and a hundred
other varieties of fish, which they cooked or dried or smoked. It was
sometimes their good fortune to slay great _Ikamoana_, the whale, and
_Kekeno_, the seal, both of which they ate with relish; while for
sauce, _Tio_, the oyster, sat upon the rocks and gaped while they
scooped him from his shell.
The dwellers inland had eels and the delicious little green,
whitebait-like _Inanga_ of the lakes to eat with their fern-root
and _kumara_. And well for them it was so; for, with the exception
of _Pekapeka_, the bat, who swept by them in eerie flight when the
long-lingering day grew pale about them, not a mammal roamed the
plains or haunted the deep woods. _Kuri_, the dog, and _Maungarua_, the
rat, they also ate; for _Maungarua_[29] multiplied exceedingly, while
_Kuri_ took to the bush and ran wild.
_Ngara_,[30] the lizard, frisked in the sunshine; but no son of Maui
looked upon him if it could be avoided; for _Ngara_ were dread beasts,
in whose bodies the spirits of the dead found an abiding-place. Even
such stalwarts as Ngahue and Te Turi would blanch at sight of any of
that terrible race. Moreover, _Taniwha_,[31] the great, the horrible,
whom to mention was unsafe, and to set eyes upon was to perish, was
not he, too, a lizard? Nay; close the eyes and mutter a _karakia_[32]
should _Ngara_ cross your path.
How blessed the Maori were in the absence of other reptiles they did
not learn till much later. Australia abounds in snakes, from the huge
carpet-snake, cousin to the boa, to the "deaf-adder," whose bite is
almost certainly fatal; but in New Zealand, as in Ireland, not even a
toad is to be found wherewith to point the sweetness of the "uses of
adversity."
The clever men now sought food among the birds, and found on land
pigeons, plovers, rails, ducks, quails and parrots innumerable. Of
these last, one, the _kakapo_, was almost as big as a fowl, like which
it ran about the ground, feeding; for its wings were short and feeble,
and it rarely used them except to fly from a bough to the earth and up
again. Conscious of its weakness, it chose the late twilight or the
night for its rambles, hiding away during the day. Like so many of the
interesting birds of New Zealand, it is now nearly extinct.
Among sea-birds, many of which were eaten, particular choice was made
of _Titi_,[33] the Mutton-bird. These birds flew inland at night,
and the Maori, anticipating their coming, would choose a likely spot
upon the verge of a cliff and build a row of fires. Behind these they
lurked, armed with sticks and, as the birds, attracted by the light,
flew past, they were knocked over in immense numbers. As the flesh
was oily, they were preserved in their own fat, packed in baskets of
seaweed and stored until winter, when they formed a staple and highly
flavoured dish. The inland tribes made annual pilgrimages to the coast
for the purpose of procuring a supply of mutton-birds.
Of all the birds which the Maori found on their arrival the most
singular were those which are either extinct or fast becoming so.
These were the _Struthidae_, or wingless birds,--such as the ostrich,
the rhea, and the emu,--which were represented in New Zealand by the
gigantic _moa_[34] and the _kiwi_.[35]
The _moa_ was long ago exterminated by the Maori, who saw in its huge
bulk magnificent prospect of a feast of meat. All that is left of it
to-day are bones in various museums, one or two complete skeletons, and
a few immense eggs.
There were several species of this bird, the largest of them from
twelve to fourteen feet in height; but, huge as they were, they appear
to have possessed little power of self-defence, though a kick from one
of their enormous legs and long-clawed feet would have killed a man.
But, like all wingless birds, they were shy and timid, never coming to
a knowledge of their strength; so they fell before a weaker animal, but
one of infinitely greater ingenuity.
The bones of birds are filled with air, for the sake of warmth and
lightness; but the leg bones of the _moa_, like those of a beast, and
unlike those of any known bird, were filled with marrow.
Diminutive in size, and in appearance even more extraordinary than its
cousin, the _moa_, is the _kiwi_, as the Maori named the apteryx from
its peculiar cry. Several species were plentiful in the Islands, but
some of them have become extinct, and the rest are fast disappearing.
The Maori attract the bird by imitating its call and, as it is rather
stupid, it is easily caught and killed.
The _kiwi_ was served up at table, as were most things in New Zealand
which walked or swam or flew; but what gave it surpassing value in
Maori eyes was its plumage of short, silky feathers, whose beauty they
were quick to recognise, and which they employed in fashioning one of
the rarest and most ornamental of their mats (_kahu-kiwi_).
There was little difficulty about the erection of houses and forts, the
building of canoes, the shaping of spears and clubs. Given the ability
to construct, there was material in plenty. Throughout the land spread
magnificent forests, whose plumed tops waved above trunks uprearing one
hundred feet, or more, some of them of an age well-nigh incredible.
Few and short appeared the years of man beside the life of the giant
_kauri_[36] which for close upon four thousand years had towered there,
stately emperors in a company of kings.[37] How brief the age of
their forest court compared with their own--the _totara_[38] with its
eight hundred years of life, the _rimu_[39] with its six hundred, the
_matai_[40] with its four hundred. What are they beside the dominant
_kauri_? Mortals, looking up to an immortal.
Crowded in those forests primeval were trees bearing wood with capacity
for every class of work to which man could put his hand. Trees with
wood of iron hardness; trees with wood so soft that it fell away in
silky flakes at the touch of the knife; trees with wood of medium
consistence, durable as stone; trees whose wood under the hands of the
artist-polisher took on a beauty indescribable; trees whose bark was
rich in all that the tanner needs; trees which yielded invaluable resin
and turpentine; trees which gave up no less valuable tar and pitch;
trees which could be reduced to wood-pulp for the making of paper when
the time for that should come: all these there were, and more.
So the Maori set to work, building houses and forts, and hewing out
canoes. For the last, those who dwelt in the north chose the great
trunks of the _kauri_, often forty feet in circumference, and of such
diameter that a tall man with outspread arms could not stretch from
rim to rim of the cross section. In the south they used the _totara_,
likewise a pine, and great, but a pigmy beside the imperial _kauri_.
While the builders built, explorers traced the swiftly flowing rivers
from source to sea, or gazed with awe at the snow-capped peaks and
glimmering glaciers. Others moved northwards towards those giant
mountains from whose cones poured tall pillars of smoke, threatening
shadows of dire events to come, or stood upon the shore of a lake,
marvelling to find the water hot instead of cold.
Imagine one, agape with curiosity, holding in his hand a dead _kuri_,
designed for dinner. Suddenly, with hiss and roar, a column of water
shoots hundreds of feet into the air, almost at his elbow. With a cry
of terror he starts back, losing his grip of the dog, which drops into
an adjacent pool. Too much afraid to run, our Maori stands trembling,
and the spouting column presently falls back into the bowels of the
earth. Marvelling, he gropes in the pool for his dinner, and with
another yell withdraws his hand and arm, badly scalded. But he has got
his dog and, to his amazement, it is cooked to perfection.
Small wonder if the Maori muttered a _karakia_, deeming the miracle the
work of the demon of the lake. But their fear departed as time went
on, and the hot springs and lakes became health-resorts, where they
bathed and strove to be rid of the pains and aches their flesh was
heir to. Those who dwelt within reach of this marvellous region soon
became familiar with its phenomena, and made full use of the natural
sanatorium and kitchen.
Other immigrants gathered for ornament the precious greenstone from
the Middle Island, with blocks of jade and serpentine; the snow-white
breast of the albatross; the wings of birds; the tail plumes of the
infrequent _huia_;[41] the cruel teeth of the shark. They found
another use for the greenstone, fashioning it with infinite toil into
war-clubs, or _mere_, too valuable to be used in the shock of battle
without safeguard against possible loss. So a hole was drilled through
the handle, and a loop of flax passed through, by which the club was
secured to the wrist.
How in the world could they pierce that defiant mineral--they, who had
neither iron nor diamonds with which to drill a hole? Their method was
as ingenious as it was simple. They took a sharp-pointed stick of hard
wood and half-way up secured two stones, which acted after the manner
of a flywheel. Above the stones two pieces of string were attached, and
these, alternately pulled, imparted a rotatory movement to the stick,
whose sharpened point at length pierced the sullen stone.
Their travels over, the pioneers returned, to be welcomed with tears of
joy, while prayers were chanted and cherished ornaments offered to the
gods in thanksgiving for their safe home-coming. They neither embraced
nor kissed; nor did they shake hands after the European fashion. They
saluted one another in a manner all their own. Bending forward, they
_pressed_ their noses together, sniffing strongly the while; and this
act of friendly greeting they called the _hongi_--the verb _hongi_
signifying "to smell."
One drawback to residence in these fortunate islands was the scarcity
of animal food--of red meat there was none, save when a dog was slain
for the pot. Still, there was food enough--vegetables and fruit, birds
and fish, so that starvation was not a common fate, except a man were
lost in the dense bush, where never sight or sound of life was seen or
heard.
A real evil was the tendency of the earth to tremble, shake and gape,
sometimes overthrowing the evidence of years of toil on the part of
man, and occasionally slapping Nature herself in the face. In other
words, a large part of New Zealand being within the "earthquake zone,"
the country is convulsed from time to time by shocks of greater or
less severity. Since the arrival of the Pakeha there have been severe
disturbances, and one or two heavy shocks have occurred, greatly
disfiguring the beautiful face of the land.
In the North Island are many dormant craters, which have on occasion
sprung into fierce activity, resulting in widespread devastation and
some loss of life. The early Maori were fortunate in escaping eruptions
of any magnitude, but the North Island, long before their arrival, must
have been in a state of intense unrest. The hot springs and lakes, the
geysers of Rotomahana and Rotorua, the more than boiling mud among the
smouldering hills, the fiercely smoking cones of giant Tongariro, are
so many evidences of that terrible time of earth-pang and convulsion,
of belching out of smoke and flame and rended rocks, with vomitings
of broad rivers of molten lava, which flowed over the land, effacing
everything in their course.
This was the land to which the Maori came; a land of "mountain, lake,
and stream," which, could it have remained as the Children of Maui
found it, must have endured "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever."
But the blind forces of Nature and the needs of the white population
have done much to alter the face of the country, and have shorn it of
some of that loveliness which once was almost universal, but of which
much--very much still remains.
If New Zealand is now so surpassingly beautiful, what must it not
have been before thousands of acres of noble forest fell before axe
and flame; before the mountain, clad from base to summit in primeval
growth, stood bare and grey and grim, pierced with a thousand unsightly
wounds, deep in which man bends his back and delves for mineral wealth;
before the valleys, radiant with the beauty of fern and flower, were
trodden into mud by the marching feet of the "army of occupation";
before the rivers, racing towards the shining sea, tumbling merrily
among rapids, glissading recklessly over the falls, were chained to the
log of commerce, their banks shorn of the fringing green to make way
for the houses of the moderns, their pure and limpid waters polluted
by the refuse of factories and the filth of towns? If those who have
seen it now and love its loveliness could but have seen Maoriland as
it was then! There is no help for it. It is inevitable that, when Man
steps in, Nature must in large measure lose her sceptre and resign her
sway.
Such was the land to which the Maori came--a land with no extremes of
heat or cold, though it sometimes showed a little ill-humour and shook
down a house or two; a land which gave them most that they could desire
and all they really needed, if it denied them overmuch strong animal
food; a land in which, but for their turbulent passions and their lust
for war, they might have lived out their lives in peace and comfort and
almost unqualified happiness; a land of unsurpassed magnificence, of
radiant beauty, of unbounded fertility.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 26: Designated South Island in New Zealand Official Year-Book
for 1907.]
[Footnote 27: Te Matanga never had existence outside these pages.
He typifies those energetic men, found in every nation, who devote
themselves to the service of their fellows. The discoveries attributed
to Te Matanga were the outcome of the application of many minds to
various problems, as the Maori spread over the country and became
acquainted with its capacity and products.]
[Footnote 28: _Phormium tenax_, the so-called New Zealand flax,
flourishes in swampy ground. In appearance it is a collection of broad,
stiff, upstanding leaves, tough enough to stop a bullet, dense enough
to conceal a man. Many a fugitive has escaped by dodging from the heart
of one bush into that of another. Both of the varieties come to highest
perfection in the north.]
[Footnote 29: The grey rat, which accompanied the Pakeha, exterminated
the native rat, and was never eaten by the Maori. Curiously enough,
during the wars, the Maori were accustomed to speak of the "Pakeha
Rat" just as in the days of the first George, Englishmen spoke of the
"Hanoverian Rat," and with the same significance.]
[Footnote 30: Not any particular species of lizard, but a generic term
for the whole family.]
[Footnote 31: A mythical monster, presumed to have had the shape of a
saurian, inhabited the sea and, according to some, the depths of vast
forests. The powers of this demon for ill were boundless, and it was
regarded with the deepest awe by every Maori.]
[Footnote 32: A charm.]
[Footnote 33: _Oestrelata neglecta_ (Schlegel's Petrel).]
[Footnote 34: _Dinornis moa._]
[Footnote 35: _Apteryx._]
[Footnote 36: _Dammara australis_, the kauri pine.]
[Footnote 37: This is no exaggeration.]
[Footnote 38: A pine.]
[Footnote 39: Red pine.]
[Footnote 40: Black pine.]
[Footnote 41: _Heteralocha acutirostris._]
CHAPTER IV
THE GROWTH OF THE RACE
The various Maori tribes were not bound by any common tie save that
of race, nor did they own allegiance to a chief chosen by all to rule
over the whole nation. Their laws and customs were for the most part
similar; but cohesion between them gradually dissolved as each tribe
realised its ability to stand alone.
The tribes (_iwi_) took origin in the family,[42] and were subdivided
into sub-tribes (_hapu_), and, if the latter were large, into family
groups, also termed _hapu_. Every division had its acknowledged chief,
and the _ariki_, or chief of the highest class, who by right of birth
stood at the head of the whole, was styled the Paramount Chief.
Powerful though such a man was, his actions did not go unchecked; for
that ancient principle, _noblesse oblige_, was strongly implanted in
Maori of rank. For a chief to be convicted of lying, of cowardice, of
tyranny was black disgrace, and were these vices proved against a lord
paramount or the head of a sub-tribe or _hapu_, action was at once
taken. The offender was not deposed, but another man of rank quietly
took his place for all practical purposes, save one.
A second check upon the chiefs was that mighty power which has been
styled "the voice of God," namely, the voice of the people. General
assemblies were from time to time convened, at which every man, and
woman too, had the right to express opinions.[43] So, if only to escape
the shame of exposure, the chiefs strove to conform to the established
code of honour; but it is fair to say that they seem to have been
animated by higher motives than concern for public opinion.
Each tribe was thus practically a republic, governed by a perpetual
President, whose dignity and office were hereditary, but who was obeyed
by the people only so long as he continued to deserve their allegiance.
The _ariki_ was hereditary chief priest as well as chief citizen, and
was a man apart. His back was not bent, nor his hands gnarled with
toil, his person was inviolable, his sanctity great, and he was all
in all to his people. He helped and consoled them in time of trouble,
read their fate in the stars, their future in a host of natural
objects, and interpreted their dreams. On one day he saw visions and
prophesied; on the next he was busy with the work of a Lord Lyon or
Garter King-of-Arms, instructing the Master of the _Moko_ on behalf of
some lusty warrior desirous of commemorating his own doughty deeds;[44]
while he selected on a third a name for an infant, or presided at the
obsequies of some notable chief or _rangatira_.
In Maori mythology _Rangi_, Heaven, and _Papa_, Earth, long ago
dwelt in happiness with their six children, but the brothers, with
the exception of the god of winds and storms, rebelled against their
parents, and cruelly dragged them apart.
Yet their love remains unshaken, and Earth's sighs of longing, draped
in clinging mist, every day ascend to Heaven; while Heaven's tears,
a rain of refreshing dew, fall all night long upon Earth's sorrowful
breast.
Rangi and Papa were in part avenged. Their dutiful son, Tawhiri-ma-tea,
rushed against the rebels, thunder rolling, lightning flashing,
hailstones rattling and hurricanes raging in his van. Scared by this
stupendous manifestation of wrathful force, Tangaroa hurled himself
into the sea, Rongomatane and Haumiatikitiki buried themselves under
the earth they had insulted, and Tane Mahuta called upon his forests to
cover him. Only Tumatauenga, father of men and god of war, stood firm,
scowling defiance at his brother of the storm.
So has it been ever since, and Tawhiri-ma-tea, unable to overthrow
his brother, continues to take a bitter vengeance upon the war-god's
children. Men, whom he pursues on sea and land with tempest and
tornado, ever seeking to slay and make an end.
Under the collective name of _Atua_, the above were the principal gods
of the Maori. Every tribe possessed an honoured _tohunga-whakairo_,
or woodcarver; but the quaint finial figures upon the gables of their
houses were not adored as gods, the Children of Maui never having been
idolaters.
The Maori looked forward to a future existence wherein their state and
condition would remain very much as they had been in this world. A
slave in life continued a slave after death, and, when a great chief
died, several of his slaves were slain, that he might not go unattended
among his fellow shades.
The abodes of the departed were Rangi, occupied on different planes by
gods and men of heroic type, and Reinga, under the sea at the extreme
north of the North Island, where dwelt only the spirits of men.
There was no question of reward or punishment. The dead simply
continued to exist in spirit form, occasionally revisiting the scenes
of their former life. These visitors preferably occupied the bodies
of lizards, which explains the abhorrence in which these reptiles
were held by the Maori, who, though they revered and prayed to their
ancestors, were terribly afraid of meeting their pale ghosts, or
transmigrated souls.
The _tohunga_, or sorcerers, exercised unbounded influence over the
minds of the Maori. Their duties on occasion coincided with those of
the _ariki_, and their position, too, was hereditary; but, while men
revered, and often loved their chief, their respect for the _tohunga_
was tinctured with fear and, not seldom, with hate. The chief could
lay _tapu_ upon a man, which was bad enough; but the _tohunga_ could
bewitch him outright, condemning the poor wretch to loss of worldly
gear, aches and pains, and even to death itself. The _ariki_ thought it
no shame to go in dread of the _tohunga_, while, let the _tutua_, or
common fellow, be once convinced that the malign eye of the wizard had
bewitched him, and he not infrequently laid him down and died.
There did not exist among the Maori a middle class as we understand
the term. Every Maori whose birth placed him in a position between the
aristocracy and the _tutua_ class was a warrior by choice. Among such
were men of property, poets, philosophers, literary men who did not
write, but told their stories to eager audiences--in a word, gentlemen
of leisure until the need for fighting arose. In the infrequent
intervals of peace these, if you will, represented the middle class;
but, once "let slip the dogs of war," and they cried "havoc" with the
best of them. The Maori warrior, or _toa_, unlike the Japanese Samurai,
did not live for war alone, but was ever ready when it came.
When speaking of the conduct and character of the high chiefs, it
was mentioned that they were rarely deposed. The reason why, may be
expressed in one word--_land_. Bad or good, the chief had a fuller
knowledge with regard to land than any other person concerned.
It is necessary clearly to comprehend what follows; for the
misunderstandings which arose between the Maori and the colonists over
the tenure of land had much to do with the origin of the long strife
between them.
When the canoes from Hawaiki had discharged their passengers at the
various spots selected by the chiefs in command, each one of the latter
took possession of a district which became his property, and the
property of all his followers, every free male and female among them
being part proprietor. In other words, the land was common to the tribe.
In consequence of this community of ownership every additional person
born claimed ownership by right of descent. As time went on only the
few could have told exactly what their rights were; but every Maori was
assured that the land belonged to him and that it could not be disposed
of without his sanction.
The chiefs share was the largest, because of his direct descent from
the chief who originally took possession of the district; but even in
this distinguished instance the voice of the people made itself heard,
and the chief himself could not part absolutely with the land unless by
common consent. The land might be leased to strangers, but the only way
in which the owners could be dispossessed was by conquest.
As with chiefs, so with humbler folk. The land held by a family was
not theirs to dispose of without the consent of the tribe. A family of
one tribe might lease to a family of another tribe; or an entire tribe
might transfer its holding; but the land was not given away for ever,
and could be reclaimed at a future date.
The colonists could never understand this principle; nor could the
Maori comprehend that land, once exchanged for money or goods, had for
ever passed away from them. Endless difficulties arose with the Pakeha,
because every descendant of the original possessor of land claimed a
share of the property and of the price. It is indubitable that this
conflict of the laws of one race with the law of another caused much of
the bitter strife which arose later.
The position of the chief thus rendered him the person of most
importance with regard to land. In his family were kept records, such
as they were; in his memory were stored facts concerning the district,
which he had received from his father, who, in his day, had received
them from his father.
Who, then, so well fitted to decide an argument, adjust disputes,
settle the right and wrong of any questions concerning land? The
deposition of such a man might have been followed by his withdrawal
from the _hapu_, perhaps from the tribe itself, an irreparable loss
to those who relied upon him for correct information respecting their
landed property.
The origin of _tapu_, that tremendous engine of power, that law above
the law, is lost in obscurity, so very ancient is the custom, and all
that we know about its curious working is derived from observations
made in the South Sea Islands, where alone it is now found in anything
like its old power.
The law of _tapu_ served as a fairly efficient, if vexatious,
promoter of law and order. Broadly stated, _tapu_ stood for two
principles--protection and punishment, and the person or thing affected
by it was a person or thing apart, not even to be touched under pains
and penalties the most severe.
Chiefs were permanently _tapu_, as it was necessary that their exalted
state should be clearly recognisable; so they were placed upon a
pinnacle of isolation which extended to their property as well as to
themselves.
Food of many kinds was permanently _tapu_; for animal food was always
scarce, and choice vegetables could be cultivated only after a tough
struggle with the land. Therefore, since one tribe frequently infringed
the rights of another it became necessary to render the common stock of
provisions secure against depredators from within. Ordinary food which
happened to come in contact with anything _tapu_, was instantly thrown
away, lest by touching or eating it some innocent person should himself
become _tapu_.
Swift retribution fell on him who with greed in his heart stole, or
even touched with itching fingers, the succulent _kumara_, if the
mark of _tapu_ were upon them. Such a fellow was stripped of his
possessions, cast out, perhaps, of the tribe, or, for the worst offence
of all, had his brains deftly scattered by order of his chief.
The plight of the poor wretch who touched the dead, accidentally or
in the way of business, was dismal in the extreme. For the dead were
_tapu_ in an extraordinary degree, and who touched a corpse became as a
leper, shunned by all, lest they, too, should be tainted. Among other
disabilities, such an one must not touch food with his hands. Did he
so, the food became _tapu_, and was thrown away from the very jaws of
the hungry one, who was consequently obliged to put his mouth to the
platter and eat like a dog, or else submit to be fed with a very long
spoon by some friend more sympathetic, or less timid than the majority.
This principle of _noli me tangere_ was also applied temporarily.
Trees from which canoes could be made were _tapu_, while stretches
of coast abounding in shell-fish, the haunts of sea-birds and rich
fishing-grounds were preserved for the common good. Many customs,
related to _tapu_, were followed in time of war by the warriors,
while non-combatants by prayer, fasting, and the practice of severe
austerities, proved how closely the idea of _tapu_ was allied with that
of religion.
_Tapu_ was simply imposed, but its removal was a serious business.
Prayers were chanted, water freely sprinkled over the person or thing
to be released, and the ovens were busy cooking food during the whole
time of the proceedings. Here it seems possible to trace a connection
between _tapu_ and parts of the Jewish ceremonial law. As sacrifices
and burnt-offerings were required before an unclean Jew could be
pronounced clean, so among the Maori it was impossible to lift _tapu_
without the simultaneous cooking of food. How, if ever, the Jews
influenced the Malays, Polynesians, and Maori, antiquaries may be able
some day to determine.
When the Pakeha first came to New Zealand, they often ignorantly
violated _tapu_, and how much they suffered in consequence depended
upon the character and temper of the community. The Maori were not
ungenerous, and in cases of inadvertence frequently made allowances
and spared accordingly. On the other hand, two great navigators,
Captain Cook and Marion du Fresne, were slain because of their trespass
on ground which was _tapu_, and sacred in the eyes of the South Sea
Islanders.
_Tapa_--to command--was in effect the law of might against right, that
Good old rule, the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.
In practice it consisted in commanding, or, as we might say,
"commandeering" anything one fancied to one's own use.
Indicating the desired object, the claimant would observe, "That
club"--or tree, or canoe, or whatever it happened to be, "is _tapa_
to me. It is my skull," or "my eye," or "my backbone. I command it to
myself."
The article thus denominated was held to belong to the claimant, since
no one could justly urge that a man's skull, eye or backbone was not
his own. Yet, if the practice were abused, an appeal could be made,
and a chief had power to undo the _tapa_ and order restitution of the
property claimed. After a battle, disputes frequently arose between
those who claimed priority in having applied the _tapa_ to articles in
possession of a foe whom they had then still to vanquish.
This was the law of _muru_, which the Maori accepted philosophically
enough, because, though vexatious, it fell with equal severity upon all.
If a man committed an offence against the community, he was punished by
the community, his fellow-tribesmen adjusting the fine and collecting
it with a generous appreciation of their individual requirements.
For example, if one accidentally killed another, he was punished for
depriving the community of a useful member. If a man carelessly damaged
public property, he was punished by the loss of his own. Even if the
damage done merely affected another private person, compensation was
assessed by means of _muru_, and, as no money circulated in those days,
the fine was exacted in goods.
The victim of his own indiscretion, sighing at the crookedness of fate,
always made provision against the day of reckoning and, having politely
inquired on what day _muru_ was to be enforced, issued instructions to
the ladies of his family to prepare the best feast possible in the time
at their command.
On the appointed day the avengers arrived, yelling "_Murua! Murua!_" An
idea of the justice of what followed may be gathered when it is stated
that _muru_ means "plunder."
Each member of the party is armed, and so is the rueful sinner who
awaits developments with sensations much resembling those of the Jew in
presence of King John and his rough-and-ready dentists.
A lull occurs in the yelling, and the dolorous knight inquires
ingenuously, "What is this, O my friends? Why do you brandish spear and
club as though to point the road to Reinga?"
"You killed my brother!" a tall fellow shouts in return. "Now I am
going to kill you. Step forward at once to be killed!"
With horrid grimaces the bereaved gentleman capers before the doomed
one, who divests himself of his mat, flourishes his spear, and replies
with great fervour, "Since you so greatly desire to be made mince-meat
of, you shall not be disappointed. I am for you!"
With that the two fall upon one another with frightful ferocity--or so
it seems. Blows are dealt and thrusts exchanged amid the continuous
howling of the champion's bodyguard, who, singularly enough, make no
offer to rush his antagonist.
Why not? Because it is point of honour that no great harm is to be
done. A gentleman is to receive punishment at the hands of his peers,
but life must be left him, though almost everything which makes it
worth the living is to be snatched from him. So, after a few bruises
and scratches have been given and taken, the mimic combat ceases.
There is a short pause while the champion recovers his breath. Then
he shouts at the top of his voice, "_Murua! Murua!_" which, freely
translated, means "Loot! Loot!"--advice which is promptly followed.
As the sack proceeds the principals chat cheerfully, the plundered
taking no notice whatever of the plunderers; for to betray the disgust
he feels would be the height of ill-breeding.
At last, when every article which their unwilling host has thought it
injudicious to conceal has been secured, the "collectors" reappear,
laughing and eagerly expectant of an invitation to dinner.
It comes. The stricken gentleman courteously expresses his delight at
this "unexpected" visit. Had he but known earlier he would have made
adequate preparation. As it is--he waves his hand in the direction of
the feast--there it is; and he bids his "dear friends" fall to.
Gorged and happy, the myrmidons of this queer law depart by and by,
having carried out the _muru_, and left behind them a sorrowful
gentleman, stripped of worldly gear. However, the unfortunate has
the consoling knowledge that he has comported himself under trying
circumstances as a man of breeding should, and also that, when
opportunity shall arise, he will be entitled to go and do unto others
as they have just done unto him.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 42: Shown by the frequency of the prefix _Ngati_, "children
of." Thus, Ngati-Porou, Ngati-Awa, etc.]
[Footnote 43: New Zealand was one of the first countries--if not
the first--to admit women to the franchise and to represent their
fellow-citizens in municipal affairs. The first instance of a woman
having been elected "mayor" occurred in New Zealand, where, perhaps,
the spirit of some old-time Maori is awake and influencing his Pakeha
successors.]
[Footnote 44: The Maori, not content with ordinary tattooing, cut
and carved intricate designs upon brow and cheek and chin (sometimes
also on the hips), thus making it easy for all to read their personal
history and the record of their deeds of derring-do. The absence of
such scars indicated extreme youth, or a lack of courage exceedingly
rare among the men of the race. Each line had its own significance; and
a celebrated chief who visited England early in the nineteenth century,
directed the artist who painted his portrait to "be sure to copy
accurately every single mark" upon his face.]
CHAPTER V
THE LIFE OF EVERY DAY
The Maori of old had two habitations--the _kainga_, or village, wherein
they dwelt in "piping time of peace," and the _pa_, or fortress,
in which they shut themselves up when harassed by war's alarms.
Fire-eaters though they were, they had their moons of peace, during
which they accomplished some astonishing results, considering their
ignorance of iron, and that their tools were fashioned out of hard wood
and yet harder stone. With incredible patience they ground and rubbed
and sand-polished, until from lumps of greenstone, jasper, or granite
they produced bevelled edge and rounded back. The head was drilled
and fitted to a hardwood handle, and there was axe or adze. Imagine
the labour of it, you who put down a piece of money and receive the
perfected tool of iron!
Axe and adze were blunt enough; yet with them the Maori hewed through
the mighty bole of the _kauri_-pine; and it was with tools of stone
that they chopped and gouged and scooped, until there lay before them
the shell of a canoe, eighty feet in length, and capable of holding
close upon a hundred men.
To work again with knife and awl and chisel, each of stone, and
presently the stern-post, ornately carved, rises in an elegant curve to
a height of fifteen feet. The prow, too, rises in a curve, but not so
high, and is adorned by a huge, grinning head, correctly tattooed, with
goggle eyes and defiantly protruded tongue.
Paddles are shaped from the tough wood of the _ti_-tree, one for each
of the rowers, who kneel in equal numbers on each side, facing the
prow, while the steersman wields an oar nine feet in length.
The canoe is finished--begun, wrought at and completed with never an
iron tool, with not one iron bolt to stay or strengthen. Yet it is
beautiful and strong and serviceable, and will skim the stormiest sea
as safely as would a gull.
The _whare_ was often rendered attractive on the outside by elaborate
carving, and quaint by the grotesque figures surmounting the gables.
It was within only a wide, low room, with roof of _raupo_-thatch[45]
and eaves within three feet of the ground. A stone-lined hole served
as a fireplace, the floor was strewn with fern upon which were thrown
the sleeping-mats, and a sliding panel formed a door, which was blocked
when privacy or warmth was desired. Furniture there was none; but this
mattered little, since the house was rarely used save as a dormitory,
or a shelter during cold or wet weather.
Within the village a piece of ground was set apart for the _marae_,
or public square, whither folk repaired for gossip or recreation when
the work of the day was done. Without the enclosure were home fields of
_kumara_ and _taro_, where the women laboured as many women labour in
the potato and turnip-fields in Scotland.
The heavy tasks as a rule fell to the men, and were undertaken
cheerfully enough, though the Maori became less careful in this respect
after years of intercourse with the Pakeha. To the men also belonged
the duty of supplying the commissariat and, while some hunted or
fished, others cleared the forest trails, upon which the undergrowth
reproduced itself with extraordinary rapidity. The question of animal
food was always a vital one in the days before the _poaka_, or pig,
rioted through the bush, and there were many days on which the Maori
were forced to content themselves with fern-root and _kanini_ berries
for the two meals in which they daily indulged.
Though they had neither books nor writings upon parchment, stone or
papyrus, the Maori were not without a literature of their own. Great
deeds of heroic ancestors, notable events of the past were immortalised
in song and story, and handed down from generation to generation. On
summer nights an eager audience thronged the _marae_, listening, rapt,
to some "divine-voiced singer," or to some other, who told with every
trick and charm of the finished orator the story of "the brave days of
old," when Ngahue fought in far Hawaiki, or sailed the sea with Te Turi
to find the land of Maui.
Always decorous, the listeners applauded discreetly, and chewed
incessantly the hardened juice of the sow-thistle, the precious gum of
the _kauri_, or the _mimiha_, bitumen from the under-sea springs of the
west. None of these was harmful like the opium of the Chinaman or the
_kava_ of the Polynesian. The Maori chewed his gum much as the fair
American chews hers, or as the youthful Scot surreptitiously sucks his
peppermint during the Sunday sermon in the kirk.
As night fell quiet reigned for a time, for night is the council-time
of the Maori. Encircled by pineknot torches, chiefs and _rangatira_ sat
together, gravely discussing the common weal, or planning great schemes
of attack or defence. One after another, each stern-visaged councillor
arose, and with dignified gesture and speech rich in metaphor
expressed his views, his fellows hearkening with respectful attention,
expecting, and receiving, the same when their own turn came to speak.
So the discussion went on until the council broke up and the senators
dispersed, stalking through the double row of armed guards who,
themselves out of earshot, had stood like bronze statues throughout the
deliberations.
When the need for quiet had passed, the warriors gathered together and
fought their battles o'er again, while those more peacefully inclined
applauded the efforts of a flautist and a trumpeter, whose instruments
were limited to five and two notes respectively.
Careless youth sat here and there, asking and guessing riddles or
playing that most ancient game, familiar alike to the English child and
the aboriginal of Australia, "cat's cradle." Youngsters stalked upon
stilts, played at "knuckle-bones," or gambled at "odd or even," and, in
strong contrast, a group of philosophers discussed abstruse questions
with a keenness and cleverness which amply proved the capacity of the
Maori brain. Some, too, there were who wandered off, as young folks
will, youth and maid together, to whisper of matters unconcerned with
logic or philosophy.
The fires burnt low, the torches sputtered towards extinction, the
various groups dissolved and, as a last good-night, the warriors
raised their voices in a swelling chant, and from a thousand throats
the chorus of triumph or defiance rose and rolled from hill to distant
hill. A few short moments later the village was hushed and still, only
the vigilant sentries giving evidence of the life which slumbered
within its crowded _whare_.
So the Maori rose and toiled and played and fought, until at last came
the time, inevitable for all, when must "the silver cord be loosed and
the golden bowl be broken," and potent chief, in common with meanest
slave, yield up his life to God who gave it.
No _tangi_ was raised for the slave; but how different when the chief
set his face to the north and walked with slow and solemn step towards
the gates of Reinga. Even as their muffled clang resounded and the
breath went out of the chieftain's body, the crowd of mourners who had
till then been repeating with fervour the "last words" of the dying
man, burst into noisy lamentations, many of the women gashing their
arms and breasts. In some instances slaves were immediately slain, so
that the dead man might not plunge alone into the waters of Reinga, or
go unattended in the next world.
The dead body was exorcised by the priests, dressed in its best, and
allowed to sit in state. The dried heads and skulls of ancestors
grinned from their pedestals at the latest addition to their ranks,
who, with face painted, head befeathered, his costly ornaments upon
him, his clubs and spears set ready to his hand, stared back at them
with unseeing eyes, a lifelike figure enough among those musty relics
of the long-ago dead.
The _pihe_, or dirge, was sung, the choir standing before the body, and
days went by, during which the long procession of relatives, friends,
subjects and delegates from other tribes paid their respects to the
mighty dead, grasping his cold hand, talking to him as though he were
alive, speaking panegyrics and chanting laments, often of singular
beauty, in his honour.
Then followed the last act but one in the drama of death. "No useless
coffin enclosed the breast" of the dead man, whose body, wrapped in
flax mats, was either buried beneath the floor of his house, or hoisted
to a high stage in the vicinity of the village and allowed to remain
there for a twelvemonth.
The year of mourning over, the dead man's effects, his valuable
greenstone clubs, other weapons and ornaments were distributed amongst
his heirs.[46] A great feast was also arranged and, while the
attention of all was occupied with eating and drinking, the priests
stole away, bearing the remains with them, to hide them for ever in
some solitary sepulchre within the scarred bosom of the hills, or deep
in the green twilight of the silent forests.[47]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 45: _Typha angustifolia._]
[Footnote 46: Some remained undistributed, _tapu_ for ever.]
[Footnote 47: In the case of chiefs of great fame, the remains were
twice or thrice exposed to the veneration of the tribe before the final
sepulture, which might then be delayed longer than is stated above.]
CHAPTER VI
GRIM-VISAGED WAR
Animated, for all one knows, by mere lust of strife, the men of Waikato
on the west soon after their arrival in New Zealand marched across the
North Island to Maketu on the Bay of Plenty, and burned the Arawa canoe.
From this outrage arose a war, the end of which was not until
generations later, and from which, as a forest conflagration from a
spark, arose other wars between tribe and tribe, until from end to end
of Te Ika A Maui men were in arms against one another.
Peace there was, but more often war; and by the time Captain Cook
visited the Islands the village was deserted and the _pa_ predominant.
Later, peace again prevailed; then wars again; and, as the quarrel with
the Pakeha developed, strife filled the land till matters were adjusted
at the end of the long struggle between Maori and colonist.
The conditions under which the Maori lived furnished them with plenty
of excuses to appeal to arms. There was always that burning question
of animal food, and no more flagrant outrage could be perpetrated by
one tribe than to poach upon the hunting or fishing-grounds of another.
A man might insult one of another tribe by rude word or inconsiderate
deed, and the aggrieved party might wipe out the injury by means of
_utu_--payment or revenge--which was more or less the _lex talionis_ of
the Romans. But the individual usually carried his wrongs to his chief,
when the matter became a tribal affair and, unless compensation were
quickly forthcoming, war resulted between the disputants. Thus, what
originated in a petty difference between two hot-headed fellows, might,
and often did, result in a quarrel which brought hundreds--perhaps
thousands--into the field.
The Maori were a military race in which every able-bodied man became a
warrior because he possessed an arm strong enough to strike. To lack
courage to deliver the blow was to expose himself to the pointing
finger of scorn. The man who shirked his military duties could not
escape exposure. His face betrayed him. If that were bare of designs,
he had small chance to establish his claim to be a man of valour, and
smaller still to live in honour among his fellows.
Few were courageous enough to be cowards in a race so uniformly brave.
Few, however much they might prefer peace, ventured to skulk at home
when the war-gong clattered and the huge trumpet brayed its summons.
The man who remained deaf to the call to arms incurred the contempt
of his fellow-men, and knew that the meanest slave would not change
places with him. A solitary life, an unlamented death, his lonely
passage to Reinga "unwept, unhonoured, and unsung"--such was the lot of
the Maori who dared to be a coward.
The Maori fought with frightful ferocity when once the battle was
joined, but went to work leisurely enough over the preliminaries,
occupying the time with councils, dances, orations and embassies from
one set of contestants to the other.
The council was presided over by the principal chief, or by the
paramount chief when a tribe's interests were involved. If age or
physical infirmity prevented him from leading in the day of battle, his
place would be filled by one of the "fighting chiefs," men of little
use in the Maori "War Office," but terrible in the field.
The council over, the _tohunga_ was sought and requested to ascertain
whether success would attend the arms of the inquirers. As this was
a very important function, the rules of Maori etiquette were rigidly
observed in dress and demeanour.
The high chief was splendidly arrayed. His fine, Roman face, scarred
with records of his daring, was set and stern; his dark hair, combed
and oiled, supported a coronet of _huia_ plumes, and from the lobe of
each ear dangled a gleaming tooth of the tiger-shark. Around his loins
he wore the customary _katika_, or kilt, while a vest of closely woven
flax covered as with mail the upper part of his body.
A collar of sharks' teeth, or of the teeth of slain foes, encircled
the massive column of his neck, and from the former was suspended his
household _heitiki_,[48] which lay like a locket upon his broad chest.
In his hand he held a long spear, elaborately carved, like the rest
of his wooden weapons, and from his right wrist dangled his favourite
_mere_, or war-club, of purest greenstone. Upon his shoulders, fastened
so as to leave the right arm free, he wore the _kaitaka_, the valuable
robe of flax already referred to.
But no matter how sumptuously garbed before the fight began, every
particle of clothing was usually discarded at the moment of onset, and
the Maori rushed into the fray naked and unashamed.
The war-dance usually followed a favourable augury, and was heralded
by a terrific commotion, which drew every inhabitant of the village to
the _marae_, in the midst of which a cleared space was occupied by a
hundred or more lusty warriors.
Stripped to the skin, their brown, muscular bodies gleaming, their
scarred faces aglow with excitement, the warriors stand in two
long lines awaiting the signal. Suddenly the long-drawn wail of a
_tetere_[49] sounds, and a hush falls upon the crowd. A moment, and
with a wild yell a magnificent savage rushes from the rear of the
column to the front, brandishing his spear and hideously contorting his
face. For a short minute he leaps and capers at the head of the column;
then, abruptly coming to rest, sings in a rich bass the first words of
the war-song.
Another short pause and the warriors behind him leap from the ground
with a pealing shout, flourish their weapons and set off at the double
round the court, while from their open throats comes the roaring chorus
of the chant.
Twice they circle the _marae_; then, forming once more in column, with,
or without, the soloist for fugleman, they dance in perfect time, but
with furious energy, gesticulating, rolling their eyes and protruding
their tongues, while the ground trembles under the heavy tread of so
many strong men.
At last, with a shout so horrible and menacing that the hearts of the
watchers beat faster as they hear it, the dance comes to an end as
abruptly as it began, and on all sides are heard prophecies of success,
since no one among the dancers has fallen under the exhausting strain.
For some time after the opposing forces had come within striking
distance of one another, jeers and insults were freely exchanged. The
chiefs on either side would harangue their men; but rarely were the
initial speeches so inflammatory, the early gibes so stinging as to
precipitate the conflict. It was almost a point of etiquette to measure
the stabbing power of that unruly member, the tongue, before proceeding
to test the keenness of spear-point, the smashing capacity of club.
But the tongue was put to another use; for, while eyes were rolled
and faces contorted in hideous grimaces, _Arero_, The Little, was
poked farther and farther out of the mouth with telescopic power of
elongation, till it rested almost upon the broad, scarred chest below
its proper frontier, the lips. The visage of a Maori at such a moment
was indescribably hideous, and would probably have scared away the
enemy, had it not been that _their_ faces were equally appalling.
_Arero_, the tongue, having played its part in facial distortion,
was now drawn back into its proper territory and again put to its
legitimate use, abuse of the enemy. Once more the wordy war raged,
till some taunt too savage, some sneer too biting, some gesture too
insulting, brought the long preliminaries to a sudden, dreadful close,
and the men of war with startling swiftness broke ranks, and with howls
of fury clashed together in mortal combat.
For a few moments all other sounds were drowned by the rattle of
spear-shafts and the crash and crack of stone axes and clubs, mingled
with a ferocious roaring; but a yell of triumph soon rang high above
the din, "_Ki au te Mataika! Mataika! Mataika!_"[50] The combatants
for a single instant held back, while hundreds of envious eyes glared
towards the spot whence came the cry. The next, as a huge warrior,
seizing his opponent's hair with his left hand, dragged back the head
and with one shrewd blow clubbed out the brains, the roar of battle
swelled again, and the fight raged with redoubled fury.
"_Vae victis!_" growled the old Roman, and these brown men with the
stern, Roman faces made good the sinister words. A defeat meant not a
rout, but a slaughter of those who fled and were overtaken, a massacre
of those who lay wounded, awaiting the death-stroke with a composure
not less superb than that of the stricken gladiators in Rome's arena.
The lives of the wounded were too often taken to the accompaniment of
shocking barbarities and, when the breath was out of their bodies,
their heads were hacked off and borne away in triumph, to grin from
spiked palisades at the foe who refused to respect them even in death.
The victors were careful to decapitate their own dead, whose heads were
carried home with every mark of respect and handed over to the nearest
relatives of the deceased. It was no disgrace to be slain in battle;
but if your head were not returned to the bosom of your family, then
your own, and with it the family _mana_, or honour, was gone.
Were a man forced to flee, it was considered an act of the greatest
friendship if he delayed to decapitate a dead or wounded comrade, so
that, though the latter's body might be rent in pieces, and very likely
swallowed, his head might suffer no dishonour, and the family _mana_ be
saved.
The heads thus rescued were subjected to prolonged exposure to air and
steam and smoke, after which they underwent treatment at the hands of
experts. The final result was that the head retained a wonderfully
lifelike appearance, the _moko_ marks remaining plainly visible. The
heads were set up in places of honour, with that ceremony which these
paladins of the South Seas invariably observed, to be handed down from
generation to generation along with stirring tales of the valorous
warriors upon whose shoulders they had once sat.
We are learning that our brown hero was by no means faultless. He was
not above insulting his vanquished foe, and saw no reason why he should
not do a brave and helpless man to death with revolting tortures. The
extinction of life did not satisfy him; he must mutilate the bodies of
the slain and spurn the dishonoured corpse.
Surely his appetite for revenge must now be glutted; his ingenuity can
suggest nothing more in the way of _utu_; his passion-inflamed mind
devise no further stroke of insolent hate.
Alas! The violent climax is yet to be reached; the abysmal depth of
degradation to be plumbed; the savage nature to be laid bare in all its
hideousness.
The pity of it! This man, so strong, so brave, so keen of intelligence;
this man with brain so clever and hand so deft that he can fashion that
wonderful thing, a war-canoe, with nought but tools wrenched from the
unwilling earth; this man who is a loving husband, a fond father; who
in future years is destined to take his place beside the white invader
of his dominion; this man can sink to the level of the beast, which,
having slain, must fall to and eat. Lower, indeed, he descends; for the
brute kills that it may satisfy its hunger, but the Maori that he may
inflict the crowning dishonour upon his dead foe and upon the children
of the slain.
Cannibalism, if not a respectable, is a very ancient practice, for
Homer and Herodotus mention the _anthropophagi_; but it is impossible
to say when it originated, and the why and wherefore of the horrid
custom can be still less easily come at. Some have argued that it began
in a craving for animal food; but these seem to have lost sight of the
fact that there are in Africa cannibals who live in regions teeming
with game, just as in the South Sea Islands there are cannibals who
till modern times were forced to content themselves with an almost
purely vegetable diet. If the same motive animated both of these in
their adoption of the practice, that motive can obviously not have been
a hankering after animal food.
Neither does the name throw any light upon the origin of the custom;
for the word "cannibal" is presumed to be a corruption of "Caribal,"
that is, "pertaining to the Caribs," a West Indian tribe of man-eaters,
discovered by Columbus in 1493.
The Malays, or some of them, were cannibals, and the Maori offshoots
of that race indulged in the habit in those far-off days before
they adventured to New Zealand. Their traditions shew that they had
abandoned the practice before, and that they did not resume it for
several generations after their emigration. Even then they were
cannibals side by side with the fact that they were warriors and, in
the beginning at least, consumed their species less from appetite than
from a desire to humiliate the kindred of the vanquished.
The Zulus, who used to eat but little meat, were accustomed when
in view of war to gorge themselves with the flesh of beeves. Then,
intoxicated, as it were, with the unaccustomed nitrogenous food, they
swung into battle, careless of disaster or death. The Maori, on the
other hand, after days of preparation, during which their rule of life
was ascetic, urged on the battle fever by rhetoric and oratory of a
very high order. They showed so far only their intellectual side; when
once the fight was over, cramming themselves with loathsome food, they
sank below the level of the ravening brute.
It must be granted, then, that the Maori did not wholly abstain from
human flesh. Against this--save for some notable exceptions--they were
not habitually cannibals when at peace. After the shock of war they
swallowed portions of their dead foes, as much to incorporate the
others' courage with their own as from any radical hankering after the
ghastly dish. Let it go at that.
There is at length a lull in the strife. The stronger are weary of
dealing blows, the weaker faint with taking them. The time is come when
both may rest awhile, if only to husband their strength, so that some
day they may fight again. After all, one cannot be for ever upon the
war-path. The fern-root is maturing, the _kumara_ are ripening in the
fields, the eels fattening in the creeks. Home-voices are calling, and
fierce men of war grow sick with longing for sight of wife and child.
Yes; there has been enough of war. Let peace prevail; if not for ever,
at least until rage, cool now, has had time to blaze up once more;
until arms, stiff and sore with hammering skulls and splitting hearts,
again renew their strength. Yes, peace is good. Let us have peace.
So a herald went forth, bearing a leafy bough, a sign that his mission
was _Hohou i te rongo_--to make peace. _Takawaenga_, or "go-betweens,"
had been busily engaged over the matter for some days past, and the
herald's very presence proved that the result of his visit was a
foregone conclusion.
Still, the Maori must always be dramatic, so the herald was met with
great respect and ceremony, and his argument seriously considered
with much show of dissent. Then, when the orator had listened with
becoming patience to numerous speakers on the other side, and exhausted
every trick of voice and gesture on his own, all opposition suddenly
collapsed, and peace was concluded amid general rejoicing.
Not many captives were taken in war as a general rule; but, if a man's
life were spared, he became a slave. Save that such a man lost all
social status, and was set to tasks to which he had been unaccustomed,
his lot was not necessarily very hard. He might, perhaps, be exchanged
for some captive taken by his own tribe; but, having once become a
slave, he usually preferred to remain one; for he was treated with
rough kindness and consideration. Curiously enough, if he returned to
his own tribe, he was invariably slighted because of the experience it
had been his misfortune to undergo.
Peace ratified, preparations were made for returning home and, as they
had left their village with ceremony, so the victors marched into it
again with all the pomp and circumstance of war.
Some few paces in front of the column a single Maori banged lustily
with a heavy stick upon a very small drum, while immediately in his
rear another evoked a succession of jerky notes from a flute formed
from a human thigh-bone. Next in order marched a grim company, who bore
aloft upon rough-hewn pikes the severed heads of foemen. Close behind
this grisly vanguard stalked, with heads erect and dignified bearing,
the "Fighting Chiefs," their stern, Roman faces heavily scored with
records of their valour, and after them strode the Captain-general,
"pride in his port, defiance in his eye," a very "lord of human-kind"
as he "passed by." Behind the great leader swaggered the warriors,
marching not in step, but with a firm tread and swinging gait,
impressive enough. Last of all, laden with spoil, or carrying the arms
of their masters, the _tutua_ and slaves brought up the rear.
As the army came within sight of the village, the men broke into a
roaring chorus anent the land of their birth, that dearly loved land
which they fondly prophesied would be theirs till the end of time.
The battle-scarred veteran who has led them in so many victorious
campaigns turns at the sound, and with a single proud gesture indicates
the village. It is enough. The buglers blow discordant blasts, the
garrison yell shrilly, and with a thunderous roar of triumph the
impatient warriors surge forward, breast the slope and charge furiously
into the _marae_. They have returned victorious; they are once more at
peace--and at home.
NOTE.--The Maori science of defensive warfare in their _pa_ is dealt
with in Part III.
[Illustration: Victors in the fight]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 48: An ornament in the form of an image. Regarded as a most
valuable heirloom and, probably, as a talisman.]
[Footnote 49: A wooden trumpet, six feet in length.]
[Footnote 50: The first man to be killed in a fight was called the
_mataika_. "I have the _mataika_!" was the cry of the successful
slayer, and duels often arose after a battle, owing to disputes among
the claimants to the honour.]
PART II
THE COMING OF THE PAKEHA
CHAPTER VII
THE DUTCHMAN'S LOSS
I
It wanted a couple of hours to sunset. All the way from the rim of the
world the blue Pacific waves heaved slumberously towards the shore,
thundered against the iron rocks, and rolled lazily eastwards into the
gathering night. The long cloud-shadows chased one another across the
fern, the silver-winged gulls circled the blue bay, ready to chorus a
harsh "good-night," and the sinking sun, flinging a challenge to the
coming darkness, set the sky ablaze.
Night, swift, inexorable, was not far away; there would be no moon,
and the _Patupaiarehe_, imps of evil, wander in the dark in search of
mischief. Luckless the Maori who walks through forest glade or over
fern-clad hill when they flit on their wicked way.
So, lest they should be caught by the tricksy sprites, the Maori, who
were chatting in the _marae_, rose to disperse. Suddenly, one who had
been looking carelessly about him, uttered a loud yell.
"_He! He!_" he cried. "_Titira! Titira!_" (Look! Look!).
The clamour which followed brought the chief--a splendid figure in his
_kaitaka_ and coronet of _huia_ plumes. Hurried question and excited
answer gave him the reason of the commotion, and he, too, looked out to
sea.
A cry escaped him. Amazement, incredulity, fear were in the tone. "A
whale with white wings![51] What can it mean? It is magic or----"
He broke off, staring at his men. His lips were trembling, his eyes
round. Great chief though he was, fear wrapped him as a garment.
None answered. Some looked under their lids at the oncoming Thing; some
fastened their gaze upon the chief, and every man there muttered a
_karakia_, if so he might avert impending doom.
On came the marvel, growing ever more distinct, and upon the polished
decks the astounded Maori could see beings who looked like men, though
their outward seeming was strangely different from any men whom the
Sons of Maui had ever encountered.
Then a voice was heard, calling something in a strange, harsh tongue. A
whistle shrilled; a score or so of the odd forms raced from end to end
of what the bewildered Maori now decided must be a canoe of some sort,
and with magical swiftness the "white wings" collapsed and lay folded
upon the long spars. Another call, a loud, rattling noise, something
fell with a mighty splash into the sea, and the mysterious vessel came
to rest.
One minute of tense silence. Then a scream went up from the watching
Maori.
The strangely garbed forms were human. But their faces! _Their faces
were white!_
In the extremity of their terror the Maori fled into their _whare_ and
covered their heads. It was now only too plain that the _Patupaiarehe_
were abroad upon that awful night of nights.
Yet worse was to come upon the morrow.
II
On the 14th of August, 1642, the distinguished circumnavigator, Abel
Janssen Tasman, left Batavia in his yacht _Heemskirk_ with a fly-boat,
_Zeehaen_ (Sea-hen), dancing in his wake, to investigate the polar
continent which Schouten and Le Maire, his countrymen, claimed to
have found, and which they had named Staaten Land. It was on the 13th
of December in the same year that, after discovering Tasmania, the
commodore came one radiant evening within long sight of what he calls a
"high, mountainous country."
This was the west coast of the Middle Island, then for the first time
seen by the eyes of white men, or so it is reasonable to believe; for
the claims made by France and Spain to priority of discovery are based
upon wholly insufficient grounds.
A few days later Tasman cast anchor in the bay to the west of that bay
which bears his name, and at whose south-eastern extremity the town of
Nelson now flourishes. Tasman himself gave a name to the bay in which
he anchored, but not until he was about to leave it. A glance at the
map will make it clear that both of these bays wash the northern shore
of the Middle Island, _Te Wai Pounamou_, "The Waters of Greenstone."
III
The sun had not yet set when Tasman's anchors splashed into the bay
and the sight of the strange white faces sent the Maori scurrying into
their _whare_. An hour must elapse before the long-lingering day faded
into night, and an hour is time and to spare for brave men to recover
their confidence, however badly their nerves have been shaken. So it
came about that, before nightfall, the chief and his warriors issued
from their _whare_, and low voices muttered questions which no one
could answer.
One thing, however, had become clear in that time of fear and
hesitancy. So at length:
"They are men like ourselves," the chief said reassuringly. "There
is no doubt about it, for I have been watching them from my
_matapihi_.[52] Their faces are white and their canoes differ from
ours, but they have no desire to quarrel. On the other hand, they
continually signal, inviting us to visit them. I believe them to be
friendly. My children, let us take a nearer look at these Pakeha. Fear
nought. Atua fights for the Maori. Come!"
Accustomed to obey the word of their chief, the Maori manned a couple
of canoes and paddled out towards the ships.
But the chief was aware that, for all their calm exterior, fear--that
worst fear of all, fear of the unknown--tugged at his children's
hearts, and he had no intention of trying them too far. So at his word
the huge _tetere_ brayed, "in sound," says Tasman, "like a Moorish
trumpet," the Maori shouted, splashing the water with their paddles,
but giving no hostile challenge, and the sailors crowded their
bulwarks, making signs of amity and displaying attractive articles to
the brown men.
But twilight was fading now, and the chief hastened ashore to see
his _hapu_ safely housed, and to set a guard, lest these queer white
fellows should land during the night. The _tetere_ brayed again an
unmusical "Lights out!" and with a great clamour of tongues the Maori
withdrew behind their stockade to discuss the most surprising event of
their lives.
Then the day died and the curtain of night came heavily down, to rise
upon the tragedy of the morning.
IV
The day was not far advanced when a single, small canoe rapidly
approached the ships, where officers and men ran eagerly to the rail to
observe the oncoming Maori.
But Abel Tasman knew nothing of the addiction of the Sons of
Maui to forms and ceremonies, nor did the latter allow for their
visitor's ignorance. Consequently, there arose at the very outset a
misunderstanding, which was to bring about fatal consequences.
One of the thirteen occupants of the canoe must have been the
herald,[53] come to announce that his chief would immediately visit the
strangers. The rowers lay on their oars within easy distance of the
_Heemskirk_, while the envoy delivered his message.
Making no attempt to discover the Maori's meaning, the Dutchmen rather
stupidly "kept up a great shouting throughout his oration," while they
displayed food, drink and trinkets to the admiring eyes of the rowers,
who were sorely tempted to take risks and clamber aboard. But loyalty
to their chief restrained them, and with dignified gestures and in
musical speech they signified their regret at being obliged to decline
the Pakeha's invitation. Then, conceiving their message understood,
they paddled back to the shore, much to the disappointment of the
Dutchmen.
No sooner did the solitary canoe swing away from the ship than seven
others put off from the shore. As they drew near, six of them slackened
speed, while one came on confidently to the _Heemskirk_.
After a momentary hesitation, half-a-dozen Maori clambered up the
side with, according to Tasman, "fear writ upon their faces." This is
probable; for here was a clear case of _omne ignotum pro magnifico_;
but that these were brave men is proved by the fact that, "with fear
writ upon their faces," they showed a bold front to the cause of that
fear, and boarded the _Heemskirk_.
Scarcely had the feet of the brown men touched the deck than Tasman
seems to have taken fright and, as far as one may judge, lost his head
and committed a deplorable error.
[Illustration: The fight in Massacre Bay]
He was, he says, aboard the _Sea-hen_ when the Maori boarded the
_Heemskirk_ and, without awaiting developments, he manned a boat with
seven men, whom he sent off to the yacht with a warning to guard
against treachery.
Fatal mistake! The kettle of misunderstanding was full to the spout,
and it now boiled over. Tasman feared that the six attendant canoes
meant to attack; the Maori, observing the hurrying boat, instantly
imagined that their comrades were to be detained on board the yacht as
hostages.
Stirred to action by the cries of their alarmed friends, who had also
observed Tasman's action with apprehension, those in the canoes dashed
to intercept the boat.
Whether by accident or design, the boat crashed into one of the canoes,
and the Maori, their worst fears confirmed, struck to kill, and did
kill outright three Dutchmen, mortally wounding a fourth. One poor
corpse they carried off, and the Maori on the ship leapt without delay
into their own canoe and raced for the shore.
"We shall get neither wood nor water from this accursed spot," said
Tasman, "for the savages be too adventurous and bloody-minded." So he
pricked off the place upon his chart, naming it "Murderers' Bay,"[54]
weighed anchor, and made off in disgust.
While he was yet in the bay, a fleet of two-and-twenty canoes, crowded
with men, put out after him, with what intention is not known. Tasman
does not appear to have feared an attack, for he tells us that a man in
the leading canoe carried a flag of truce. The Maori really held in his
hand a spear with a pennon of bleached flax; but, if Tasman believed
this to be a flag of truce, his action was the more reprehensible.
For he stopped the pursuit, if pursuit it were, by delivering a
broadside which probably equalised the loss he had sustained. At all
events, the man with the flag went down, and the Maori, terrified by
the noise of the discharge and its deadly effect, turned and sped to
the shore.
So began and ended in bloodshed the first authentic meeting of Maori
and Pakeha. Had Tasman not been so quick to take alarm, had he allowed
his visitors time to realise his friendly intentions, it is highly
probable that New Zealand would to-day have been a Dutch colony instead
of a Dominion of the Empire.
Away went the Dutchman, nursing his wrath and jotting down in his
journal all sorts of uncomplimentary remarks about the "bloodthirsty
aborigines," and in due course rounded the north of the North Island,
naming one of its prominent headlands "Cape Maria Van Diemen," in
compliment to the daughter of his patron, Anthony Van Diemen, governor
of the Dutch East Indies.
A little farther north he made the islands which he charted under the
name of "The Three Kings," since he discovered them upon the Epiphany,
and he again endeavoured to obtain "rest and refreshment." But he was
disappointed once more, for the same cautiousness which had led him so
precipitately to launch the boat on that unhappy day in Massacre Bay,
now caused him to sheer off from The Three Kings. Small wonder, though,
that he did not stop there to investigate.
"For we did see," he records in his journal, "thirty-five natives of
immense size, who advanced with prodigious long strides, bearing great
clubs in their hands."
"Valentine," "Jack," or any other historic destroyer of the race of
giants might well have been excused for showing a clean pair of heels
in face of such odds. Thirty-five of them! It was too much for Tasman,
who, without more ado, bore away for Cocos, where he obtained the "rest
and refreshment" of which he stood so much in need.
So Abel Tasman never set foot in New Zealand. Having mistaken the
southern extremity of Tasmania for that of Australia, he now fell into
the error of believing the land at which he had touched to be part of
the polar continent, or Staaten Land. Months later, the mistake was
corrected, and Tasman's newest discovery received the name by which it
has ever since been known--New Zealand.
In this manner came the first Pakeha to the country of the Maori,
and fled in fear, learning nought of the land or of its people. The
Children of Maui watched for the return of the men with the strange
white faces; but they came not, neither Tasman nor any other. So the
visit of the Pakeha became a memory ever growing fainter, until at
last it died, not even tradition keeping it alive.
Then, one hundred and twenty-seven years after Abel Tasman had found
and seen and gone away, there came a greater than he, one not so easily
turned back--the captain of the _Endeavour_, James Cook of undying
memory.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 51: Captain Cook's ship was thus characterised by the Maori
who first caught sight of it.]
[Footnote 52: Window.]
[Footnote 53: This, at least, is the writer's view.]
[Footnote 54: Now Massacre Bay.]
CHAPTER VIII
THE BRITON'S GAIN
In the year 1741 a lad was apprenticed to a haberdasher in a small town
near Whitby in Yorkshire. His name was James Cook, and he was from
the first an example of the square peg in the round hole. So loose
was the fit that the peg presently fell out and rolled away. In other
words, young Cook, not being cut out for a haberdasher, got himself
apprenticed aboard a collier. His ability to hand, reef and steer was
so much greater than his aptitude for wielding a yardstick that, as
soon as his time was out, he was raised to the position of mate.
In 1755, before he was twenty-seven, this remarkable youth joined the
King's navy as an ordinary seaman. Observe what he accomplished before
ten years were out by his own industry.
Strictly attentive to duty, he rose rapidly, and thrice in succession
was master on a sloop of war, the last occasion being when Quebec was
wrested from the French. That done, he surveyed and charted the St.
Lawrence from Quebec to the sea, although "up to that time" he had
"scarcely ever used a pencil, and had no knowledge of drawing." But
he had "read Euclid" ever since he joined the navy, and for recreation
enjoyed "the study of astronomy and kindred sciences." Think of it--the
haberdasher's boy, the collier's mate!
The ten years are not yet past. Our hero helped in 1762 to recapture
Newfoundland from the French, and before 1763 was out he was back in
those cold seas, surveying the coasts. Another twelvemonth saw him
appointed Marine Surveyor of Newfoundland and Labrador, under the
orders of his old captain, Sir Hugh Palliser.
Mr. Cook's astronomical studies now began to bear fruit, and he
received in 1768 his commission as lieutenant and the command of an
expedition to the South Seas to observe the transit of Venus. With
this and other ends in view, Cook, now forty-one, left England in the
_Endeavour_, accompanied by the great botanist, Joseph Banks, and other
men of science.
The narrative of the voyages of this famous circumnavigator is so
easily accessible to all who care to follow "our rough island story,"
that there is no need to epitomise it here. It is sufficient to say
that Cook disproved all which had been previously held proved with
regard to the "polar continent," and in so doing came into direct and
notable relation with the country whose history we are tracing.
It was the 6th of October, 1769, when the lookout on the _Endeavour_
sighted the bluff of Kuri--North Island--now known as "Young Nick's
Head." Supposing the land to be part of that "Terra Australis
Incognita" which he had come to investigate, Cook cast anchor two days
later in the Bay of Turanga, or, as he saw fit to designate it owing to
the inhospitality of the natives, "Poverty Bay."
At Otaheite, where he had observed the transit of Venus, Cook had
shipped a chief named Tupia, who on many occasions proved of the
greatest use. He had already voyaged hundreds of miles in the great
canoes of the Tahitians, and his father had been an even more intrepid
sailor. It was Tupia who pointed the way to this island and that,
and who, owing to the limitations of his own knowledge, related his
father's experiences to Cook, assuring him that land lay still farther
to the south.
It was Tupia, too, who landed with his leader on the shore at Turanga,
and addressed the natives in Tahitian, a language which proved
sufficiently like their own to enable them to understand most of what
was said.
But though Cook offered presents, and though Tupia charmed never so
wisely with his Tahitian tongue, the Maori would have none of the
Pakeha. They no doubt feared these white visitors. Te Tanewha, a chief
who was a boy when Cook paid his first visit, described many years
later the astonishment of the Maori at the approach of what they
took to be "a whale with wings." Then, as the _Endeavour's_ boats
were pulled ashore, the bewilderment of the natives deepened; for it
appeared to them that the Pakeha had eyes in the back of their heads.
This, of course, was due to the position of the rowers, which was
exactly the reverse of that assumed by the Maori in propelling their
canoes.
The appearance of the natives became threatening, and some of them
tried to make off with one of the calves of the "whale with wings,"
that is, with the ship's pinnace. Tupia warned them that they ran the
risk of being severely dealt with, but the words of a man of their own
colour moved them not at all. Their hostile demonstrations continued,
and Cook--who was determined to pursue his researches--very reluctantly
drove them back with violence.
Cook was so kindly, so humane, so unused to oppress another merely
because his skin was coloured, that his action caused comment even in
his own day. That the great navigator himself regretted the impulse
which had led him to depart from his usual magnanimous methods, is
evident from the excuses he afterwards put forward in explanation of
his conduct.
During the next six months Cook circumnavigated the islands,
discovering the strait which bears his name between the North and the
Middle Island. Stewart Island he presumed to be the southern extremity
of the Middle Island and, as regards the country, this was one of the
very few errors he made.
Fully alive to the warlike disposition of the Maori, Captain Cook yet
recognised their generosity, their agreeable behaviour to strangers who
did not presume too far, and the unusual gentleness of their attitude
towards their women. "The Englishman who marries a Maori," he tells us,
"must first obtain the consent of her parents and, this done, ... is
obliged to treat her with at least as much delicacy as in England."
In many passages Cook shows how clearly he perceived the superiority
of these "Indians" over ordinary savages. Moreover, despite certain
pronounced faults, and the prevalence of one odious custom, he readily
admits their chivalrous nature.
Yet he occasionally fell into the common error of crediting the race
with the disposition of the individual, so that, if one lied or
thieved, the natives in that particular part are set down as "lying and
thievish." But, though they opposed his efforts to explore the interior
of the country, and so disappointed him, Captain Cook's experience
among the Maori left him little to complain of; while the failings they
displayed might well have been recognised as, first, the faults of
their age and race, and second, the faults common to all men, white,
brown, yellow, or black.
Still, for all his criticisms, Captain Cook was never personally harsh
in his dealings with the Maori, and it would have been well had his
subordinates imitated more exactly his fine magnanimity. The following
account of an Englishman's hasty temper, and the cool judgment, not to
say generosity, of the Maori chiefs, is very instructive.
On one occasion, when a party of Maori visitors were leaving the
ship, Lieutenant Gore missed a piece of calico, which he was possibly
endeavouring to exchange for native articles. Confident that a certain
Maori had stolen the stuff, Gore deliberately fired at the man as he
sat in the canoe, and killed him. The lieutenant was right in his
belief, for, when the canoe reached the shore, the blood-stained
calico was found beneath the dead man; but his action was that of a
savage--worse, since he, no doubt, claimed a higher order of mind. The
only excuse that can be offered for Gore is that he lived at a time
when even children were hanged for stealing trifles, and he may have
believed himself entitled to mete out this rough-and-ready justice.
What followed? The Maori--admittedly savages--did not at once return
and clamour for revenge; though an eye for an eye and blood for blood
was one of the strongest articles in their creed. No; the chiefs took
the matter in hand, calmly and dispassionately judged the dead man and
found him guilty of theft. Therefore, they determined that _utu_ should
not be exacted on account of the killing of their tribesman. That
they were perfectly sincere, and did not seek to disguise sentiments
of hatred and desire for revenge under a mask of forgiveness, is
entirely proved by the fact that Captain Cook landed after this unhappy
occurrence and went about among them just as if nothing had happened.
It is right to say that Captain Cook was no party to his subordinate's
impetuous action, for violence was foreign to his methods. Says one of
his biographers--"It was impossible for any one to excel Captain Cook
in kindness of disposition, as is evident from the whole tenor of his
behaviour, both to his own men and to the many savage tribes with whom
he had occasion to interfere."
So convinced was Captain Cook of the advantage this beautiful country
must some day prove to Britain, that he took nominal possession of
the islands in the name of King George the Third. Yet it was not
until 1787, eight years after the death of Cook, that New Zealand
was included by royal commission within the British dominions, while
another quarter of a century elapsed before Europe, at the Peace of
1814, recognised Great Britain's claim.
How good a use Captain Cook made of the six months he spent in New
Zealand before he sailed to gather fresh laurels in Australia, any one
may read for himself in the story of his voyages. On each occasion
he introduced useful plants and animals into the islands, and it was
due to him that the animal food which the Maori had always lacked,
became so readily procurable in the shape of pigs, which soon after
their introduction ran wild and multiplied. The sweet potato was there
already; but it is to Cook that New Zealand owes the ordinary potato,
the turnip, cabbage, and other vegetables and fruit.
Te Tanewha described Captain Cook as a reserved man who "constantly
walked apart, swinging his right arm from side to side." This has been
held to mean that, whenever Captain Cook landed, he scattered the seeds
of useful plants, in the hope that they would grow and fructify.
There were further misunderstandings when Cook revisited the Islands
in 1779, the worst of them being wholly due to the wicked action of
an English sailor who first robbed and then shot a Maori. With the
slaughter of the natives which followed Cook had nothing to do; more,
the great navigator, who was as true and generous a gentleman as ever
stepped, completely absolved the Maori from blame.
This was happily the last difficulty; for Cook arrived at a better
understanding with the Maori and a clearer conception of the fine
character which underlay their faults. The natives, too, showed
an ever-increasing confidence in their famous visitor, whom they
affectionately styled "Cookie." Notwithstanding their regard, they
never allowed him to penetrate far inland.
Had Cook not been the just and temperate man he was, he might have
pierced the interior with an armed force, composed of his own men and
aborigines, and depopulated the land.
During the period of Captain Cook's visits the Maori were constantly at
war, and the unwillingness of the coast tribes to allow him to proceed
inland was probably due to their fear that he would aid the chiefs
there, return, and exterminate them. So they first obstructed the
progress of the explorer, and then made certain grim, but exceedingly
practical, proposals to him.
These in effect were that Captain Cook should join forces with this
tribe or that, proceed inland, and duly exterminate--everybody. This
excellent scheme, properly carried through, would have left certain of
the coast tribes supreme until civil strife began again to divide them.
But what if Cook had turned upon them in their turn?
Fortunately this was not Captain Cook's way; but that he recognised
what was at the bottom of all these requests for help is clear from his
own words:--
"Had I acted as some members of almost every tribe with whom we had
dealings would have had me act, I might have extirpated the entire New
Zealand race."
Could any words more distinctly show the good disposition of Captain
Cook, and at the same time prove how plagued the Maori were with
internecine wars?
The day came at length when this great and good man, who did so much
for Britain, must say a last farewell to the country towards which he
seemed so singularly drawn. For it was written that he should never
again see the Waters of Greenstone or the land of his birth, but should
fall a victim to his own humanity at the hands of savages whom he was
endeavouring to protect.
Such was the admiration which this great navigator and good man
inspired that, when war was declared between England and France in
1779, the French Minister of Marine issued orders to the navy that, if
encountered at sea, the ship of Captain Cook was to be treated with
courtesy. "For," said he, "honour, reason, and even interest, dictate
this act of respect for humanity; nor should we treat as an enemy the
common benefactor of every European nation." The Americans, then at
the height of their struggle for freedom, had already anticipated this
generous action by the mouth of their famous citizen, Benjamin Franklin.
Captain Cook was dead before knowledge of this splendid tribute to his
services and to his virtues could reach him; but, being dead, he was
not forgotten, for the whole world mourned his loss and honoured his
memory, as it has done ever since.
When Captain Cook died Britain was just awaking to a realisation of
the evils of slavery, and beginning to recognise and endeavour to
obviate the fact that, when and wherever the white man appeared among
the coloured races, the latter invariably suffered. How intensely
Captain Cook realised this, how earnestly he set himself to afford a
good example to those who should come after him, and how his countrymen
appreciated his aims and his success, these lines from Hannah More's
poem on "Slavery" show:--
Had those advent'rous spirits who explore,
Thro' ocean's trackless wastes, the far-sought shore,
Whether of wealth insatiate, or of power,
Conquerors who waste, or ruffians who devour;
Had these possessed, O Cook, thy gentle mind,
Thy love of arts, thy love of human-kind;
Had these pursu'd thy mild and gentle plan,
DISCOVERERS had not been a curse to man!
CHAPTER IX
CLOUDS AT DAWN
As Captain Cook sailed from Doubtless Bay in the North Island to pursue
his survey of the coast, Admiral de Surville, of the French navy, cast
anchor therein. Unlike his great rival, De Surville remained only long
enough to quarrel with the natives and to kidnap the chief who had
hospitably entertained him.
Three years later, in 1772, Captain Marion du Fresne, with Captain
Crozet as his second in command, anchored in the Bay of Islands. Du
Fresne, or Marion, as he is usually styled, was received with great
friendliness, and for a month Maori and Pakeha excelled one another in
politeness and generosity. Then, quite unexpectedly occurred a shocking
tragedy.
Marion landed one morning with sixteen officers and men, intent upon
pleasure, and with no foreboding of evil. Night fell, morning broke
again, and found them still absent. Yet Crozet felt no suspicion,
for there had been no quarrel. But there had been a clear sign that
something was gravely wrong; only neither Marion nor Crozet was
familiar enough with the Maori mind to perceive it.
The light brightened and, ere the day was many hours old, twelve men
went ashore for wood and water. There was no appearance of unrest;
everything seemed at peace. So the day wore on.
Suddenly all was violently changed. The restful quiet vanished in a
whirl of wild commotion. What had happened? Who was the terrified
creature who, dripping wet, with torn clothes and blood-streaked face,
wearily dragged himself over the rail and dropped exhausted upon the
deck?
He was the sole survivor of the twelve who had gone so confidently
ashore; and he told a dreadful tale.
The natives on the beach, he said, received the boat's crew with their
usual kindliness, chatting and laughing till the sailormen dispersed
and got to work. Then the blow fell. The wretched Frenchmen had scarce
time to become aware of their murderers ere club and spear had done
their work, and all but one lay dead.
This one hid himself, but could not hide from his sight the horrid
sequel; and he told with shaking voice how the Maori had dismembered
his unhappy comrades, taken each his load of human flesh and hurried
from the scene.
Incredible all this sounded in face of that pleasant month of
dalliance; yet the proof was there in that terrified wretch, and
incredulity gave way to wrath and sentiments of vengeance. The
prolonged absence of the commander now took on a sinister aspect, and
Crozet, too, with sixty men, was gone inland to procure a _kauri_-pine.
With such a force he could defy attack; but he must be advised of what
had happened.
A boat crowded with armed men was pulled ashore, and the march began to
the spot where Crozet was making a road for the hauling of the giant
pine. One can imagine his feelings when his comrades arrived with their
intelligence--the ghastly certainty, the terrible hypothesis.
Sorrowful, but grim, the company marched back to the boats, unmolested
by the mob of natives who shouted the dreadful news that Marion du
Fresne and his escort of sixteen had all been killed and eaten.
Not a word said Crozet until he reached the beach. Then, as the dusky
crowd surged forward, he drew a line upon the sand with the butt of a
musket. "Cross that and die!" he cried. No Maori dared to brave the
dreaded "fire-tubes," and the Frenchmen embarked and pulled out from
the beach.
Then began Crozet's revenge. Safe now from attack, he poured volley
after volley into the mob of Islanders, until the last of them had
fled, shrieking, beyond range. This was not enough. Day followed day
and Maori were shot and villages burned, until Crozet, his vengeance
only partially satisfied, turned in wrath and disgust from the land he
had begun to love.
It all sounds very dreadful. It seems an act of atrocious treachery on
the part of the Maori to have masked their hideous design under an
appearance of friendship; and this was Crozet's view. But was it the
correct view?
The sign which he and his unfortunate commander had failed to read was
this: the Maori, after a month of uninterrupted intercourse, _suddenly
ceased to visit the ships_. It was equivalent to the withdrawal of an
ambassador before the declaration of war. Captain Cook, if he had not
understood, would at least have noticed the sign and been on his guard.
Crozet professed to know of no cause of quarrel, yet the Maori had
found one, though not until many years later did the truth come out.
The French, both officers and men, had carelessly--in some cases
wantonly--intruded upon sacred places, destroyed sacred objects,
treated with disrespect certain sacred persons. In other words, they
had violated _tapu_, and the Maori of that day viewed such behaviour
as unpardonable and only to be atoned for by death. Bad as the horrid
business was at the best, it is well to remember the old advice, "Hear
the other side."
Crozet's utterances against the Maori were charged with such bitter
execration, that for decades no French ship ventured near the island
homes of those fierce and terrible cannibals. More, the lurid story
spread across the Channel, effectually checking any desire on the part
of the British for closer acquaintance with the wild men of the south.
The reputation of the Maori still had power nearly ten years later to
scare off all but the boldest intruders. Even the worst of criminals
were held undeserving of so outrageous a fate as exposure to the chance
of being devoured by cannibals; and a motion to establish convict
settlements in New Zealand was strongly denounced in the House of
Commons and defeated.
So New Zealand, fortunately for herself, never knew the convict stain,
and rogues were packed off to Australia with leave to reform if they
could. Some, perhaps, did. Others, pestilential ruffians who could not
be tamed even by five hundred lashes on the bare back, were weeded out
and sent to Norfolk Island, another of Captain Cook's discoveries,
lying some three days' sail to the north of New Zealand.
This charming island ought also to have escaped the convict infamy,
for it was already occupied by honest settlers. Oddly enough, it was
this very occupation, associated with the needs of commerce, which
helped to overcome the shyness with which men regarded New Zealand,
and eventually induced them to people her beautiful bays and fertile
valleys.
The new product, the now famous _Phormium tenax_ or New Zealand flax,
samples of which had aroused the greatest enthusiasm in England, set
manufacturers longing for a substance which would lend itself to so
many useful purposes.
The manufacturers had to go longing for many years; for the prospect
of forming the _pièce de résistance_ at the dinner-table of a Maori
chief failed to attract traders, who left New Zealand severely alone.
Then came the settlement of Norfolk Island, and men of commerce were
immensely cheered; for the much-desired _Phormium tenax_ was found
growing there, wild and in profusion.
But the Norfolk Island people failed utterly to manipulate the fibre
as cleverly as the brown men to the south of them, and there was
little use in exporting the fibre in the rough. Besides, their failure
rendered them uncertain whether they had the right plant.
Twenty years after the death of Marion the effect of his tragic story
had not worn off; but instruction being absolutely necessary, and as
only Maori could give it, a couple of them were coolly kidnapped and
carried off to Norfolk Island.
But the biters were bit. One Maori is very like another in the eyes of
the Pakeha, and the kidnapper ignorantly carried off an _ariki_ and a
_rangatira_, men utterly unused to manual work. During the six months
they spent among their abductors not a word had these two to say upon
the all-important subject of cleansing flax-fibre.
"It is women's work," they declared with lofty contempt. "What should
_we_ know of it?"
Governor King had some compunction at the manner in which things had
been managed, and at last redressed the wrong. He had treated the chief
and the gentleman with scrupulous courtesy and unvarying kindness
during their enforced stay, and now, after heaping presents upon
them--not the least of which were a bag of seed corn and a drove of
pigs--he took them back with honour to the Bay of Islands.
Generous themselves, the Maori responded heartily to Captain King's
advances, and their behaviour, together with his own perception of
their unusual intellectuality, induced the Governor to write home
glowing accounts of the New Zealanders, and warmly recommend the
establishment of friendly relations with them. For this good man was
far-seeing, and recognised the capacity for civilisation which lay
beneath the crust of savagery. Therefore, in agreement with Benjamin
Franklin's previously expressed opinion, he strongly advised that
shiploads of useful iron articles be sent to induce the Maori to
barter, and not beads and such gewgaws, which they most surely despised.
So "out of evil came forth good" and, as the news of the better
disposition of Maori towards Pakeha spread, it was not long before it
began to take effect. And here also Commerce had her say.
Ever since the days of Cook a few bold fellows had ventured upon an
occasional visit to the Dangerous Land in search of whales; for the
regular fishery had not come so far south. Others now began to follow
these adventurers, feeling their way to the good graces of the coast
tribes. There were no more massacres, whales were found in plenty, and
word went forth presently that seals, too, abounded on the coast of
this new and wondrous land.
The news brought more hardy fellows in pursuit of fortune, until,
whereas in 1790 scarce a white man dared show his face off the coast,
the earliest years of the nineteenth century saw a regular trade
established between the whalers and the Maori. The whalers brought the
delighted Islanders iron nails, fish-hooks, knives, axes, bracelets of
metal and many other articles which pleased them well. The Maori in
return brought pigs, fresh vegetables, flax and tall, straight trees
for masts and spars.
Always brave and bold, delighting to ride the waves in their canoes,
and in some cases taking a positive delight in danger, the coast Maori
showed the keenest interest in whaling, regarding it as splendid sport,
to enjoy which they readily shipped as harpooners.
There is no doubt about their aptitude; none about their enjoyment in
the pursuit of the monstrous sea mammal. More than one tale is current
of impatient Maori, fearing to miss the whale even at close quarters,
hurling themselves astride the creature and driving the harpoon deep
into the yielding blubber as the animal dived in a frenzy of terror.
Then from the reddened foam that crested the tumbling waves the brown
men would emerge, clamber aboard the boat and sit dripping, but happy,
while the line ran out like lightning as the stricken whale raced to
its death.
So there were bold fellows on either side, each compelling the other's
respect and admiration by acts of high courage. In this way confidence
grew and friendship followed; so that some of the whites took to
themselves Maori women, and dwelt with the tribes to which their wives
belonged.
Coarse though this particular variety often was, there is no doubt that
these adventurous Pakeha-Maori (or Strangers turned into Maori) sowed
the earliest seeds of civilisation among the Maori, though it was long
before the plant became acclimatised and brought forth good fruit.
It is often the fate of a new country to receive at first the very
worst elements, and this was the experience of New Zealand. As soon
as it became known that a man might enter her gates without thereby
qualifying for the cooking-pot, an eager crowd of depraved humanity
rushed jostling through. The sealers and whalers were rough, but not a
few were honest fellows, while, as a class, they were refined gentlemen
beside the mob of escaped murderers, thieves, and panderers to moral
filth, which overflowed from the convict-swamped shores of New South
Wales. Had not the Maori, despite their grave faults, been capable
of much better things, they could never have shaken free from the
garments of impurity in which some of the earliest settlers endeavoured
to clothe them. But there was good stuff in the Maori, and, though
they fell often, they continually rose again. One innate virtue they
possessed--that of sobriety. It was rarely that the Pakeha could induce
them to indulge in the "fire-water"--"stink-water" was their name for
it--which has been the ruin of more than one coloured race.
But many years were yet to elapse before the Maori threw off the worst
of their own bad manners, much less improved upon those of their
white instructors, and scenes of violence and bloodshed were to be
enacted before the sons of Maui should dwell together in peace among
themselves, or bend their stubborn necks beneath the yoke of the
Pakeha. From time to time there were terrible outbreaks, and one of the
worst of these was that which is evilly remembered as "The Massacre of
the _Boyd_."
As early as 1805 an English gentleman had induced an adventurous Maori
to accompany him to London, and not a few chiefs had since then paid
visits to Sydney, while others of lower rank had embarked under the
masters of vessels which touched at the Islands. These last were, of
course, subject to the same discipline as the sailors; but, free and
independent as they had always been, this seems to have been a hard
lesson for them to learn. Hence arose misunderstandings, and from one
such was developed the tragedy of the _Boyd_.
On her voyage from Sydney to London in 1809 the ship was to call at
Whangaroa, near the Bay of Islands, to load wood for masts and spars.
Consequently, several Maori who were stranded in Sydney embraced the
opportunity to work their passage back to their own country.
Among these was Tarra, a chief's son, and he, too proud or, as he
averred, too ill to work, refused to do his duty. Starvation was tried
as a means of cure; but this failing, young Tarra was twice tied up and
soundly flogged.
Boadicea, bleeding from the rods of the Romans, had not more
indignation than had Tarra when he showed his scars and called upon his
tribe to avenge him upon those who had inflicted them.
Ready enough was the response, for the law of the Maori required them
to take revenge for every injury. The lure was spread, the master of
the _Boyd_ went ashore at Whangaroa with part of his crew, and every
man of them was slain and eaten.
Even then Tarra's vengeance was not glutted. With his tribe at his
back he boarded the _Boyd_ and killed every person on the ship with the
exception of four. A woman and two children hid themselves, and Tarra
spared the cabin-boy because of some kindness the youngster had once
done him.
Singular contrast! The savage, who could go to the most appalling
extremes to satisfy his hate, was, even at the very height of his
murderous wrath, capable of gratitude.
This awful massacre set back for years the clock which had seemed
about to strike the hour for beginning Maori civilisation, while the
resentment of the whites led to a slaughter as wholesale as that which
it was intended to revenge.
On hearing of the massacre of the _Boyd_ a chief named Te Pahi, whose
daughter was wedded to an English sailor, hurried to Whangaroa, and was
instrumental in saving the lives of the woman and two children. His
good deed done, Te Pahi returned to the Bay of Islands, where he lived.
Terrible danger menaced him. In some unexplained way he had got the
credit of having engineered the _Boyd_ affair, and the crews of
five whaling ships, accepting the rumour for truth, condemned the
unfortunate chief unheard, and took bitter vengeance upon him.
Their task was easy, for the village was unfortified and the Maori
wholly unsuspicious. Fully armed, the whalers fell upon the innocent
people, sorely wounded the chief, and slew some two-score persons
without regard to age or sex. Te Pahi himself escaped in the confusion,
only to be killed not long afterwards by some of his own race because
of the help he had given to the survivors of the _Boyd_. Doubly
unfortunate was poor Te Pahi.
Thus bad began and worse remained behind. During the next decade
numbers of tribesmen fell beneath the weapons of casual white visitors,
while the Maori, on their side, smote with club and spear, and gathered
as deadly a toll.
The country seemed drifting back into that state of savagery whence it
had promised a short time before to emerge. It might have done so, but
that at this juncture occurred an event which laid the true foundations
of civilisation, and heralded that peace which, though long in coming,
came at last.
CHAPTER X
RONGO PAI![55]
In spite of the tragedy of the _Boyd_, in spite of the war of
individuals which vexed the coast--though murder was added to murder,
revenge piled upon revenge,--more Pakeha filtered into New Zealand,
content to brave death for the chance of obtaining a home and wealth.
On their part, more Maori deserted their _hapu_ for the great world
outside their little islands and, needless to say, were gazed at with
shuddering curiosity. Such as these, taught by experience that there
existed a race superior to their own, convinced their countrymen of the
advantages to be gained by permanent friendship with the British Pakeha.
So these played their part in watering the tree of civilisation, whose
roots now began to take firm hold of the soil; while the white men,
ever improving in type and conduct, helped along the great work.
As yet there was no attempt at systematic colonisation. Scattered over
the Islands and wholly dependent upon the good will of their hosts,
the Pakeha kept as friendly with the natives as circumstances would
allow, while they saw to it that musket or rifle stood ever handy to
their grip.
The taste which the Maori had acquired for wandering outside their own
country at length brought about a remarkable conjunction, destined
to bear most importantly upon the future of New Zealand. It was
nothing else than the formation of a friendship between a Christian
Englishman of singular nobility of character and a Maori of sanguinary
disposition, a warrior notable among a race of warriors and, withal, a
cannibal of cannibals.
In the first decade of the years when George the Third was king there
was born in Yorkshire a boy who was brought up as a blacksmith. For
some time he followed his trade; but, having a strong inclination
towards a missionary life, he was ordained a clergyman of the Church of
England, and in due course found himself senior chaplain of the colony
of New South Wales.
This man, whose name must be ever honoured in the history of New
Zealand, was Samuel Marsden, who was the first to desire to bring, and
who did actually bring the tidings of the Gospel to the land of the
Maori.
There were missionaries at work in Tahiti, in the Marquesas and in
Tonga; but New Zealand, the land of the ferocious warrior and savage
cannibal, had been esteemed an impossible country, or, at all events,
as not yet prepared for the sowing. So it was left to itself.
Then came a day when Samuel Marsden, walking through the narrow streets
of Sydney, stopped to gaze at a novel sight. Not far from him stalked
proudly three splendid-looking men, types of a race with which he was
unfamiliar.
They were not Australian aboriginals. That was instantly evident. Their
faces were strangely scarred, their heads, held high, were plumed with
rare feathers, and the outer garment they wore, of some soft, buff
material, suggested the Roman toga. There was, indeed, something Roman
about their appearance, with their fine features, strong noses, and
sternly compressed lips.
Mr. Marsden was from the first strongly attracted to these men and,
being informed that they were New Zealand chiefs, come on a visit to
Sydney, the good man grew sad. That such noble-looking men should be
heathen and cannibals inexpressibly shocked him, and he determined then
and there that what one of God's servants might do for the salvation of
that proud, intellectual race, that, by the grace of God, he would do.
A man so deeply religious as Samuel Marsden was not likely to waste
time over a matter in his judgment so supremely important. The chiefs
readily admitted the anarchy induced by the constant friction between
brown men and white, though it was not to be expected that they should
realise at once their own spiritual darkness. Mr. Marsden was not
discouraged, and set in train a scheme whereby a number of missionaries
were to be sent out immediately by the Church Missionary Society, to
attempt the conversion of the Maori to Christianity.
Twenty-five of these reached Sydney, where men's ears were tingling
with the awful details of the massacre of the _Boyd_, and judged the
risk too great. So they stayed where they were, and the conversion of
New Zealand was delayed for a season.
The residence of meek and peaceable men among such intractable savages
was deemed to be outside the bounds of possibility; but Marsden
firmly believed that the way would be opened in God's good time, and
waited and watched and prayed, possessing his soul in patience. The
opportunity which he so confidently expected arrived in 1814.
Some ten years after the birth of Samuel Marsden another boy was born
on the other side of the world. Hongi[56] Ika was his name, a chief and
a chief's son of the great tribe of the Nga-Puhi in the north. Marsden
had swung his hammer over the glowing iron and beaten out horse-shoes
and ploughshares. Hongi, too, swung his hammer; but it was the Hammer
of Thor. And every time that Hongi's hammer fell, it beat out brains
and broke men's bones, until none could be found to stand against
him. Yet Hongi had a hard knock or two now and then and, being as yet
untravelled, gladly assented when his friend Ruatara--who had seen King
George of England--suggested a visit to Sydney.
Hongi found plenty to interest him, and also took a philosopher's
delight in arguing the great questions of religion with Mr. Marsden,
in whose house he and Ruatara abode. Marsden knew the man for what he
was, a warrior and a cannibal; but so tactful and persuasive was he
that, before his visit ended, Hongi agreed to allow the establishment
of a missionary settlement at the Bay of Islands, and promised it his
protection.
So the first great step was taken, and Marsden planted his vineyard. He
was a wise man and, knowing by report the shortcomings of the land he
desired to Christianise, took with him a good supply of animal food,
and provision for future needs as well, in the shape of sheep and oxen.
With a view to the requirements of his lieutenants, he also introduced
a horse or two.
What impression the sight of a man on horseback made upon the
Maori may be gathered from the experience of Mr. Edward Wakefield
twenty-seven years later at Whanganui. In this district, which is on
the opposite side of the Island to that on which Mr. Marsden landed,
and considerably farther south, the natives had never seen a horse.
Result--"They fled," writes Mr. Wakefield, "in all directions, and, as
I galloped past those who were running, they fairly lay down on their
faces and gave themselves up for lost. I dismounted, and they plucked
up courage to come and take a look at the _kuri nui_, or 'large dog.'
'Can he talk?' said one. 'Does he like boiled potatoes?' said another.
And a third, 'Mustn't he have a blanket to lie down on at night?' This
unbounded respect and adoration lasted all the time that I remained.
A dozen hands were always offering him Indian corn (maize) and grass,
and sowthistles, when they had learned what he really did eat; and a
wooden bowl of water was kept constantly replenished close to him; and
little knots of curious observers sat round the circle of his tether
rope, remarking and conjecturing and disputing about the meaning and
intention of every whisk of his tail or shake of his ears."
It was for long all endeavour and little result. But other missionaries
arrived, new stations were erected in various parts of the north, and
the Wesleyans, seven years later, imitated the example of the Church
Missionary Society and sent their contingent to the front.
To the fighting line these went indeed; for they settled at Whangaroa,
where the sunken hull of the _Boyd_ recalled the horror of twelve years
before. Tarra himself was still there, the memory of his stripes as
green as though he had but yesterday endured the poignant suffering. He
rendered vain for five long years the efforts of the missionaries, and
from his very deathbed cursed them, urging his tribe to drive them out;
so that they fled, thankful to escape with their lives--for they saved
nought else.
The missionaries of the Church Missionary Society nine years later
endured a similar hard experience, and were forced to flee from their
stations at Tauranga and Rotorua. A bishop and a company of priests,
sent by Pope Gregory XVI., arrived at Hokianga in the year 1838, and
these, too, presently learned what it was to suffer for their faith.
But in spite of hardships--whether stripped of their possessions,
whether driven from their homes, whether death met them at every turn,
the missionaries, no matter what their creed, persevered. They looked
not back to the evil days which lay behind; but faint, yet pursuing,
pushed onward, until the North Island was sprinkled with the white
houses of their missions, over which floated the flag of the Prince of
Peace, emblazoned with His message, "_Rongo Pai!_"
Then came the crossing of Cook Strait, and the spiritual conquest
of the Middle Island. New missionaries constantly arrived, fresh
recruits ever enrolled under the banner of the Cross; until, a bare
two-and-twenty years from that Christmas Day when Samuel Marsden
preached his first sermon in a land where Christianity was not even a
name, four thousand Maori converts knelt in the House of God.
This was not accomplished without strenuous effort. The difficulties
and dangers which confronted the earliest _mihonari_ would have driven
back all but the most earnest and faithful men. The record of their
sufferings and struggles would of itself fill a volume. Indeed, only
the least suggestion has been made here of what they bore for Christ's
sake. But their works do follow them, gone to their rest as all of them
are; and what prouder epitaph can be theirs than this: They came; they
saw; and they conquered at last!
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 55: Good Tidings!]
[Footnote 56: By his own tribe pronounced "Shongi."]
CHAPTER XI
THE WARS OF HONGI IKA
It was necessary to steal a march on time in order to give a connected,
though imperfect account of the foundation of Christianity in New
Zealand. Return we to Hongi Ika and his doings.
If Mr. Marsden hoped to turn the philosopher-warrior-cannibal from the
error of his ways, the good man must have been grievously disappointed.
Hongi remained a pagan; but he never broke his promise to the
missionary. He was a terrible fellow, but he was not a liar. His word
was sacred, and he regretted on his deathbed that the men of Whangaroa
had been too strong for him when they drove the Wesleyan missionaries
from their station.
Leaving Mr. Marsden and his colleagues at Rangihoua, Hongi returned to
his trade of war, and for five years or so enjoyed himself in his own
way. Then, tiring again of strife, his thoughts turned once more upon
foreign travel.
This time his ambition soared high, and with a fellow chief he sailed
for London under the wing of a missionary. He was exceedingly well
received, for the horror and fright with which the New Zealanders had
been regarded was greatly diminished in 1820, and Britons were again
looking longingly towards a country so rich in commercial possibilities.
So Hongi found himself a "lion," and with the adaptability of his
race so comported himself, that it occurred to few to identify the
bright-eyed little fellow with the ample forehead and keen brain with
the lusty warrior and ferocious cannibal of whom startling tales had
been told.
Even His Majesty, George the Fourth, did not disdain to receive the
"Napoleon of New Zealand," and being, perhaps, in a prophetic mood,
presented the great little man with a suit of armour.
Hongi would have preferred a present of the offensive kind in the shape
of guns and ammunition; for the Nga-Puhi had early gauged the value of
such weapons in settling tribal disputes, and had managed to acquire a
few, though not nearly enough to meet the views of Hongi Ika.
The king had set the fashion, and his subjects followed suit so
lavishly, that, if Hongi had chosen to lay aside his dignity and open a
curio shop, he could have done so. The little man was overjoyed. He was
rich now, and he gloated over his presents as a means to an end. What a
war he could wage, if he could only find a pretext. Pretexts did not,
as a rule, trouble Hongi; but the eyes of the great were upon him, and
it would be just as well to consider appearances. As he recrossed the
ocean his active brain was at work planning, planning. Ah, if he could
but find a pretext!
Hongi had been absent for two years, and with right good will the
tribes of the north-east wished that he might never return. However,
with the dominant personality of the little man lacking to the
all-conquering Nga-Puhi, there was no knowing what might happen; so
the tribes around about the Thames river, whose frith is that thing of
beauty, the Hauraki Gulf, took heart of grace, marched to the fight,
and slew, among other folk, no less a person than Hongi's son-in-law.
Here was indeed a pretext. Hongi clung to it as a dog to his bone. In
Sydney he had melted down, so to speak, his great pile of presents
into three hundred stand of arms, which included a goodly share of the
coveted _tupara_, or double-barrelled guns. Ammunition was added, and
thus, with a very arsenal at his command, Hongi Ika came again to his
native land.
He came armed _cap-à-pie_; for he wore the armour which the king had
given him--and the good _mihonari_ stood aghast at sight of him. "Even
now the tribes are fighting," they groaned. "When is this bitter strife
to cease?"
Pretext, indeed! To avenge his son-in-law was all very well. _Utu_
should be exacted to the full. But here was a pretext beyond all
others, and the wily Hongi instantly seized upon it.
"Fighting! Are they?" He grinned as only a Maori can grin. "I will stop
these dogs in their worrying. They shall have their fill of fighting."
He grinned again. "That will be the surest way, my _mihonari_ friends.
I will keep them fighting until they have no more stomach for it, and
so shall there be an end." He muttered under his breath, "because
their tribes shall be even as the _moa_."[57] As the _moa_ was extinct,
the significance of the addition should be sufficiently clear.
Hongi kept his word--he always did that--and sailed for the front in
the proudest of his fleet of war-canoes, with a thousand warriors
behind him, armed with _mere_ and _patu_ and spear, while in his van
went a _garde de corps_ of three hundred picked men, fondling--so
pleased were they--the three hundred muskets and _tupara_ for which
their chief's presents had been exchanged.
Southward, through the Hauraki Gulf, he sails into the estuary of
the Thames, into the Thames itself. One halt and the Totara _pa_ is
demolished, and with five hundred of its defenders dead in his rear
Hongi sweeps on, southward still, to Matakitaki. Four to one against
him! What care Hongi Ika and his three hundred musketeers? It is the
same story--fierce attack and sudden victory, ruthless slaughter of
twice a thousand foes, and Hongi, grinning in triumph, ever keeps his
face to the south and drives his enemies before him as far as the Lake
of Rotorua.
At Kawhia, on the west, there lived, when Hongi scourged the land,
the hereditary chief, Te Rauparaha, a notable fighter, but a better
diplomate. On Te Rauparaha men's eyes were now turned. He will know how
to deal with the proud Nga-Puhi. Hongi's triumphal progress is nearing
its end.
No. Hongi, at Mauinaina, is too close. Besides, he is a demon. He
carries a charm which renders him invulnerable. That shining headpiece,
that sparkling plate upon his chest--what are they, if not charms to
keep him whole and sound? At Totara did not some strong arm deal him a
buffet which would have scattered the brains of any mere man? Yet he
did but stagger, while all around heard the sullen clang which was the
howl of the evil spirit protecting his head. At Matakitaki was not a
spear driven against his breast which should have split his heart and
let out his villainous blood? Yet the point was blunted against the
chest charm, and the spearman, poor wretch, slain. These things being
so, who can stand against Hongi?
Not Te Rauparaha. The bold raider's nerves give way, and with black
rage and hatred in his heart he gathers his followers together and
flees southward to Otaki, giving as he goes the measure he has
received, and leaving a trail of blood and fire behind him.
Hongi "has made a solitude and calls it--peace"; he is satisfied for
the time being with what he has done and won, and must go home with his
slaves and his heads and his loot, to enter his village in triumph like
a general of old Rome.
Te Rauparaha, fleeing south, takes vengeance for the wrongs done him by
Hongi upon all who come in his way. To be sure, it is not their affair;
but Te Rauparaha cares nothing for that. Vengeance he wants; so hews a
bloody path from north to south, till stayed by the rippling streak at
the end of the land. Beyond that lies Te Wai Pounamou, The Waters of
Greenstone, the Middle Island, washed by the Tasman Sea.
Te Rauparaha's smouldering rage blazes up again. What! Shall that strip
of water stop him? Not while he has an arm to strike, and there is a
canoe to be had for the striking.
So again the fearful drama--murder and rapine. The canoes are seized,
the owners left stark upon the beach. Then across the strait, where a
wondering crowd await his coming, not without apprehension. They have
reason.
"Who is it that comes?" "It is Te Rauparaha!" In a moment the chief is
among them. Blood flows again. Te Rauparaha is once more the victor.
Will it never end?
Not yet. Hongi Ika comes not here to stop fighting by fighting, and Te
Rauparaha has learned the lesson of the _tupara_, for he now has guns.
Once more tearing a leaf from Hongi's book, he springs at the cowering
population upon the great plain. Some he slaughters, some he enslaves;
some, frantic with terror, braving the heaving Pacific, speed eastwards
to Wari Kauri (Chatham Islands) six hundred miles away.
Again we have been obliged to fly ahead of time in order to give full
impression--not a complete picture--of these sinister happenings; for
the wars of Hongi in the north, and Te Rauparaha's sanguinary progress
to the south were not over and done with in a month or a year. It was
in 1821 that Hongi started upon his self-imposed mission to cure like
with like, and for the next twenty years--long after the death of
Hongi--quarrel was piled upon quarrel, war led to war, till the whole
of the north was involved.
We left Hongi marching home in triumph, unconcerned that his hammering
of the north had turned loose in the south a devil in the shape of
Te Rauparaha. He had sustained no serious losses, and for some time
continued pre-eminent. But his many and powerful foes had by now
appreciated the reason of his success, and provided themselves with
firearms. From that time Hongi, though victorious, paid more dearly for
his victories.
Hongi, when in battle, as a rule shone resplendent in the armour which
George the Fourth had given him, and which was supposed to render him
invulnerable. The belief received justification from the issue of
Hongi's last fight at Hokianga in 1827.
For some reason the great chief wore only his helmet upon that fatal
day.
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
When on the field his targe he threw.
Ill fared it with Hongi when he rushed into the fight without his
shining breastplate; for hardly was the battle joined when a bullet
passed through his body, and the day of the great Hongi, the Lion of
the North, was done.
[Illustration: Hongi's last "word" to his people]
Fifteen months later, as he lay upon his death mats at Whangaroa,
feasting his glazing eyes upon the array of clubs, battleaxes, muskets,
and _tupara_ set around the bed, he called to him his relatives, his
dearest friends, and his fighting-chiefs, and spoke to them this
word:--
"Children, and you who have carried my arms to victory, this is my word
to you. I promised long ago to be kind to the _mihonari_, and I have
kept my promise. It is not my fault if they have not been well treated
by others. Do as I have done. Let them dwell in peace; for they do no
harm, and some good.
"Hear ye this word also. The ends of the world draw together, and men
of a strong race come ever over the sea to this our land. Let these
likewise dwell in peace. Trade with them. Give them your daughters in
marriage. Good shall come of it.
"But, if there come over the sea men in red coats, who neither sow nor
reap, but ever carry arms in their hands, beware of them. Their trade
is war and they are paid to kill. Make you war upon them and drive them
out. Otherwise evil will come of it.
"Children, and you, my old comrades, be brave and strong in your
country's cause. Let not the land of your ancestors pass into the hands
of the Pakeha. Behold! I have spoken."
With that the mighty chief Hongi drew the corner of his mat across his
face and passed through the gates to the waters of Reinga.
So died Hongi Ika, aged fifty-five, or thereabouts, who had made his
influence felt from his youth until his death, and whose words and acts
deeply swayed the fortunes of his country. Paradoxical as it may sound,
these combined with the spread of Christianity to render colonisation
possible, while they helped to foment the discontent with which
Hongi's successors viewed the coming of armed forces, and the gradual
absorption of their land by the Pakeha.
In the first place, Hongi protected the missionaries. In the second
place, during his wars and the wars they induced, more than twenty
thousand Maori fell in the score of years occupied in civil strife.
Concerned with their own wars, and with numbers thinned, the Maori left
the white settlers time and opportunity to increase, whereby they grew
daily better able to resist the power of the brown men when this was at
last sternly directed against them. In the third place, Hongi's dying
advice was without the shadow of a doubt the part cause of Honi Heke's
outbreak at Kororareka fifteen years later, and of the strife which
immediately followed it.
After the death of Hongi the leading spirits among the warriors in
the neighbourhood of the Bay of Islands were the chiefs Pomare and
Kawiti--the latter a thorn in the colonials' flesh for many a long
year; while the Waikato tribe boasted a leader of no ordinary parts in
Te Wherowhero, whose descendant, the Honourable Mahuta Tawhiao Potatau
te Wherowhero, sits to-day in the Legislative Council of the Dominion
of New Zealand.
Te Wherowhero had himself captained the Waikato on that day when Hongi
decimated them and cooked two thousand of their slain to celebrate
his victory, and a memory so red would not, one would have said, be
likely soon to pale. Yet Te Wherowhero led his men not against his old
enemies, but against the men of Taranaki.
Both Waikato and Taranaki owed Nga-Puhi a grudge, and reasonable men
would have combined against a common foe. But the Maori were ever
unreasonable where war was concerned, holding tribal grudges more
important than unification of the nation; so, instead of combining
against Nga-Puhi, Waikato and Taranaki warred the one against the other.
This disunion among the tribes materially assisted the colonists in
their own long struggle for supremacy; for the "friendly" Maori often
helped their cause not so much from love of them, as from hate of some
tribe in opposition to British rule.
Even a particular tribe sometimes divided against itself. A civil
strife of this nature broke out in 1827 among the Bay of Islands folk.
It was a small affair, and is mentioned only to illustrate the chivalry
with which the Maori could behave on occasion.
A European settlement had been established at a charming spot, known as
Kororareka. There were decent people there, and a missionary station
stood hard by; but for the most part drunkenness and profligacy
prevailed, while Pomare, whose village lay close at hand, pandered to
the vices of the whites in return for the coveted _tupara_.
Bad as many of the settlers were, they were white men; so when news of
the war reached Sydney, Captain Hobson's ship was ordered to Kororareka
to afford the residents what protection they might require.
But when H.M.S. _Rattlesnake_ entered the Bay, her decks cleared for
action, guns frowning through their ports, bare-armed, bare-footed tars
at quarters, lo! all was peace. Captain Hobson at once went ashore to
make inquiries, and was amazed at the information he received.
Not one white settler had been inconvenienced, much less injured. The
contending parties, fearing lest one side or the other might be forced
back upon the settlement, and so bring disaster upon its inhabitants,
had by mutual agreement transferred the theatre of war to a spot too
remote to allow of such a contingency.
After this, who shall say that the Maori were deficient in generosity,
destitute of chivalry?
NOTE.--Mr. Augustus Earle, Draughtsman to H.M. Surveying Ship
_Beagle_, in 1827, relates that the pagan Maori in the Bay of Islands
used to rise at daybreak on Sunday to finish their canoe-building
and other work before the whites were astir, thus showing their
respect for the reverence in which the Pakeha held the Day. Mr. Earle
adds: "It was more respect than we Europeans pay to any religious
ceremony we do not understand. Even their tabooed grounds would not
be so respected by us, if we were not quite certain they possessed
the power instantly to revenge any affront offered to their sacred
places."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 57: Maori proverb.]
CHAPTER XII
VARIOUS RULERS
These wars and rumours of wars had small effect in stopping
immigration. Most of the settlers were British; for, though no
systematic colonisation had as yet been attempted, the right of Great
Britain's sovereignty over New Zealand had been recognised at the Peace
of 1814.
New South Wales being the nearest approach to a centre of civilisation,
the Government in Sydney watched the interests of the settlers on the
eastern edge of the Tasman Sea; but, because of the distance between
the two countries, the New Zealand settlers had really to protect
themselves from annoyance as best they could. The Maori, predominant in
power, found little difficulty in safeguarding their own interests.
Apart from the efforts of the missionaries, what did most to keep the
peace was the desire of commercial adventurers to tap the resources of
the country. On their side, the Maori were anxious to bargain with the
Pakeha for guns, and very soon learned that any serious breach with the
white men was followed by interruption of profitable intercourse.
The Pakeha at first took shameful advantage of the natives, purchasing
a shipload of flax for a few old muskets, while a fig of tobacco was
esteemed by the latter worth almost as much as a gun. But the Maori
were never fools, whatever else their failings, and they quickly
grew instructed in the commercial value of the articles they had for
disposal, for which they were prompt to demand a more adequate return.
The one point in which they seemed hopelessly to fail was in estimating
the value of land. This was because they and the white men approached
the subject from absolutely different standpoints, and what the Pakeha
concluded they had bought, the Maori imagined they had leased. For
the most sacred article in the creed of the Maori was, perhaps, that
precluding them from parting in perpetuity with the land which had
descended to them from their ancestors.
An abominable traffic in which the baser sort of white men engaged was
that in human heads. The marvellous preservation of the heads of dead
Maori had excited great interest among scientists, and European museums
clamoured for specimens. But the loss of the head of one of its male
members brought a peculiar grief and shame to a Maori family, for it
meant also the loss of _mana_, or reputation. Consequently, the demand
for heads greatly exceeded the supply.
But if there were base men among the Pakeha, so were there among the
Maori, and such fellows made nothing of filching the heads of other
persons' ancestors or defunct relatives, and selling them to the
sailors frequenting the coast.
This was bad enough; but, since theft could not accomplish enough,
murder stalked upon its heels, and many a wretched slave was slain in
order that his head might grin from the shelf of a museum, or "grace"
the library of some curio-hunter.
Efforts were made to stop the disgusting traffic with its lurid
accompaniments; but the offenders were not easily reached and, had New
Zealand remained uncolonised, the Maori race might by this time have
become extirpated by a gradual process of decapitation. Fortunately, as
the white population grew more respectable and responsible, their own
sense of what was due to themselves choked off the practice.
Such a shocking story reached the ears of Governor Darling in Sydney,
that he issued a proclamation, threatening those engaged in the trade
with heavy fines and exposure in the public prints.
Theft and murder accounted for a certain number of heads; but the
conquerors in battle presently began to offer them in exchange for--as
always--guns and ammunition. In the year 1830 a tribe living on the
shores of the Bay of Plenty defeated certain Nga-Puhi, and sold
such heads as were in proper condition to the master of the next
vessel which touched at Tauranga. The brig proceeded to the Bay of
Islands--whence had come the original owners of the heads--and was
boarded by some of the natives there. The skipper, who seems to have
been drunk, appeared on deck, carrying a large sack, and the Maori
shrank back, growling and muttering, as the besotted Pakeha tumbled
out of the bag a dozen human heads. Worse was to come. Some of the
Maori present were related to those who had gone out to fight and
had never returned, and a cry of bitter lamentation arose as these
recognised the faces of their dead--one a father, another a brother, a
third a son. Others, too, knew their friends, and amid a scene of the
utmost horror, the outraged Maori, wailing, weeping, howling, rushed
over the side of the ship and paddled swiftly towards their bewildered
comrades who lined the shore, marvelling at the commotion. Drunk or
sober, the brutal shipmaster knew that he had gone too far, for he
slipped his cable and fled for his life.
When His Excellency heard this atrocious story, he insisted that all
who had bought heads from this savage trader should give them up
to him, in order that they might be returned to the tribes at the
Bay of Islands. How far he succeeded in his endeavour to soothe the
grief-stricken and offended Maori is uncertain.
About the time of Hongi's visit to Europe a rage for land speculation
arose, and people of all sorts and conditions hastened to offer axes,
guns, and such merchandise as the Maori valued in exchange for broad
acres. How far this traffic went is shown by the official statement
that one million acres of land were "purchased" between 1825 and 1830
from the natives by Sydney speculators. Further, twenty-seven thousand
square miles in the most fertile part of the north were acquired
between 1830 and 1835 by missionaries.
[Illustration: A dreadful recognition]
News of these transactions excited in England a more active interest in
New Zealand, and in 1825 a Company was formed in London with the object
of colonising the latter country. Sixty people did actually emigrate,
and on arrival settled around the Hauraki Gulf; but no more followed;
the settlement melted away, and with it the aspirations of the Company.
"He who aims at the sun will shoot higher than he who aims at a
bush, though he hit never his mark," quaintly says Bacon, and Baron
Charles Hyppolyte de Thierry perhaps had this apophthegm in mind when
he proclaimed himself "Sovereign Chief of New Zealand and King of
Nukahiva"--one of the Marquesas Islands.
Baron de Thierry--a naturalised Englishman--met the Rev. Mr. Kendall
and Hongi when the pair were in England, and entrusted the former with
merchandise to the value of one thousand pounds, wherewith to purchase
for him one of the most valuable areas in New Zealand--the Hokianga
district, in which flourishes the invaluable _kauri_-pine. The would-be
sovereign was greatly disappointed to learn that his agent had acquired
only forty thousand acres of this superb country, while he was at the
same time cheered to know that the immense tract had been "purchased"
at the not excessive price of thirty-six axes!
Is it any wonder that the Maori could not later realise that they had
parted for ever with their lands for such ridiculous--to use no harsher
word--equivalents? The land was in their own opinion leased, not sold,
and the leasing of land was a common enough practice among themselves,
each party to the transaction thoroughly understanding its nature.
Baron de Thierry neglected his purchase until 1835, when he drifted as
far as Tahiti. Thence he forwarded to Mr. Busby, the Resident, a copy
of his "proclamation," along with the intimation that his "ship of war"
would presently convey him to his kingdom. The Bay of Islands dovecote
was considerably fluttered.
But Monsieur the "Sovereign Chief" did not arrive for three years, and
then he suddenly appeared in Hokianga with nearly a hundred followers.
Settlers and Maori beheld with apprehension this select company; but
when the invader claimed royal honours and nominated the master of
the vessel in which he had arrived his "Lord High Admiral," everybody
laughed--except the "Sovereign Chief and King."
The baron soon had reason to weep; for of a sudden came information
that Mr. Kendall's thirty-six axes, paid for the forty thousand acres,
had been merely a deposit. One is relieved to learn this, but it
must have been very depressing news for the would-be proprietor. For
the Royal Exchequer was very low, and as the great officers of state
could get no pay for the arduous duties they performed, they promptly
resigned. So, too, did the "Sovereign Chief," and vanished, to reappear
later, without the "purple," in the guise of an ordinary and very
excellent citizen.
The settlement at Kororareka has already been referred to as a
place in which the orgies of white and brown justified the epithet
"scandalous." It was not the only spot in this Eden over which lay the
trail of the serpent; so, for the sake of morality, as well as for
political reasons, the Governor of New South Wales, Sir Richard Bourke,
appealed to the British Government to appoint a Resident at the Bay of
Islands.
Many years had elapsed between the murder of Captain Marion du Fresne
and the visit of the next French ship. At rare intervals a vessel
dropped anchor in one of the bays; but there was little sustained
intercourse. Even as late as 1834, so bitter were their memories of
the "_Wi-Wi_" (_Oui-Oui_) that the Nga-Puhi chiefs took alarm at the
persistent rumour of a French occupation of New Zealand, and induced
the missionaries to draw up a petition to the "Gracious Chief of
England," William the Fourth, to protect them from "the tribe of
Marion."
The Maori had also begun to recognise that the British Pakeha were not
over clean-handed in their dealings with them; for, in addition to the
above, they prayed the "Gracious Chief" to prevent his own people from
depriving them of their lands.
The result of this unrest was the appointment of Mr. Busby as British
Resident. He arrived at the Bay of Islands in 1833, and led off in
great style by proposing that all New Zealand should be ruled by a
Parliament of Chiefs, and that the country should adopt a national flag
to signify its independence.
The idea caught the fancy of some; the flag arrived from Sydney in
H.M.S. _Alligator_, and was inaugurated with a salute of twenty-one
guns. The Parliament of Chiefs took shape a little later, when
thirty-five hereditary chiefs declared their independence, and received
the designation of the "United Tribes of New Zealand."
Barely a year after Mr. Busby's appointment, a "regrettable incident"
occurred, which compelled him to assume the character of "Vindex," in
which neither he, nor those associated with him, showed to advantage.
The affair gave rise to the employment of British troops for the first
time in New Zealand, and arose out of the shipwreck of the _Harriet_ at
Cape Egmont, Taranaki. The sailormen lodged for a fortnight in a Maori
village, and then a quarrel arose. A fight followed, and twelve sailors
and twice as many Maori were killed.
Since the Maori loss was double that of the ship's company, the account
could only be balanced by _utu_; so the surviving whites were held to
ransom, and Guard, the shipmaster, was sent to procure the same.
Five months later, the Government of New South Wales despatched H.M.S.
_Alligator_ with a company of soldiers on board to bring away the
prisoners. On her arrival off the scene of the disaster, Guard went
ashore, accompanied by the military, when the Maori at once gave up the
sailors. All was going well--for Guard was assured of the safety and
well-being of his wife and two little ones--when an officer, perhaps
deceived by gestures incomprehensible to him, hurled an unfortunate
chief into the boat and bayoneted him.
This wrong-headed act was not immediately followed by hostilities,
though it interrupted the progress of negotiations. Matters were at
last smoothed over, the wounded chief was sent ashore, and Mrs. Guard
and one of her children brought down to the boat. Then, as the ransom
was still unpaid, the second child was carried to the shore upon the
shoulder of the chief who had cared for it.
This chief not unreasonably requested permission to carry the child
aboard, and himself receive the stipulated payment; but, when curtly
informed that no ransom would be paid, he turned away, still carrying
the child. It is dreadful to be obliged to relate that the Maori was
shot in the back at close quarters, and fell dying to the ground with
the little child in his arms. As if this were not enough, his corpse
was insulted.
Following upon this tragedy, a shot was fired, by whom or from whence
no one could or would say. The _Alligator_ immediately began to shell
the Waimate _Pa_, and the troops played their part. When sufficient
punishment had been inflicted, the dogs of war were called off and the
ship sailed away.
Unpleasant as is the task, it is right that these dark pictures of
mistakes and injustice should now and then be shown, if only to
induce those whose duty brings them in contact with primitive races
to remember that the rights of man belong to the coloured as well as
to the white. It is not denied that the Maori treated their prisoners
with consideration, and it is pitiful to learn that Mrs. Guard
identified the chief who was the first to be slain as one who had
behaved with unvarying kindness to her and to her children. Nor is
there any doubt that the British disregarded every claim of justice
and humanity. Not even common honesty was exhibited; for, although the
prisoners were given up, the ransom agreed upon was refused.
The one bright spot in the whole affair was the decision of a committee
of the House of Commons, condemning the incident, and pointing out
that, while the Maori had fulfilled their contract, the British had
broken theirs. The committee might with propriety have said a good
deal more in the opinion of those whose view was not that of the chief
witness, Guard--shipmaster and ex-convict--that "a musket ball for
every Maori was the best method of civilising the country."
These various happenings, good and bad alike, showed that the wind blew
towards Britain and British sovereignty. This was bound to come; and
come it did at last through the agency of Kororareka of all places in
the world!
Things had been going from bad to worse in the "Cyprus of the South
Sea," and its orgies, brawls and revellings had become the scandal of
a community not easily scandalised. Law-breakers laughed at the law,
and Kororareka at last became too bad even for the Kororarekans. The
inhabitants of the better sort then drew up a set of rules and banded
themselves together under the title of the "Kororarekan Association."
The Association approached the Resident, as in duty bound; but when
Mr. Busby would have none of them they resolved to act independently of
him.
The Association went trenchantly to work in quite an American
spirit--tarring and feathering, riding obnoxious individuals out of the
town on rails, and purging the place of its worst elements. The scared
Resident portrayed it in such vivid colours that the Home Government
took alarm, and came to the somewhat belated conclusion that it was
time for Britain to assert the rights she had possessed by discovery
since 1769, and by the recognition of Europe since the Peace of 1814.
Another factor had meanwhile arisen which still further demonstrated
the necessity for expedition on the part of the British Government.
The New Zealand Association had been formed in 1836, but had received
little support; for it was suspected that their motives were not so
pure as they declared them to be. The missionaries hailed invective
upon them, the Duke of Wellington asserted in his "iron" way that
"Britain had enough colonies already," and so violent was the general
opposition that the Association was dissolved.
Another Company was formed with very little delay under the title
of the New Zealand Land Company, whose Directors determined to act
independently of the Crown, and to establish settlements wheresoever
they chose in the country which Britain seemed unable or disinclined to
appreciate at its proper worth. Their ship had actually sailed before
the astonished Government were informed by the London Directors of the
intentions of the Company.
There were some big names controlling this venture. At the head of the
list stood that of the Earl of Durham, Governor of the Company and,
until just before its formation, Governor-General of Canada. Colonel
Wakefield, one of an indefatigable family, was the Company's agent;
and the long list of Directors included the names of Petre, Baring,
Boulcott, Hutt, Molesworth, and others destined to influence the future
of New Zealand.
The Government were at last roused to action. They informed the
Directors that it was for the Crown to make colonies, not for private
individuals, and without more ado sent Captain Hobson of the Royal
Navy to New Zealand as "Consul." He was instructed to consider himself
subordinate to the Governor of New South Wales; and he carried with him
his commission as Lieutenant-Governor.
Thus, after many vicissitudes, New Zealand found herself, in the year
of grace 1839, within measurable distance of becoming a British Colony.
But she had still to run the gauntlet of one more danger, which, had
she not escaped it, must have changed the whole course of her history.
PART III
PAKEHA AND MAORI