HOW KIWI SAVED HIS CLOTHES
New Zealand is, of course, famous for its natural beauties and
wonders, among them the hot lakes and the terraces of pink and
gleaming white stone. The latter, unfortunately, were destroyed by
volcanic eruption in the eighties, but, I believe, are forming again.
On one occasion when I was located in the hot lake district several
prominent Colonial officials, with their wives, came up, and I had to
show them round. On Lake Rotorua we had two large whale-boats, and it
was arranged that the party should be taken along the lake in these,
to the island Mokoia, the scene of the romantic story of O Hinemoa and
Tutanekai (the Maori Hero and Leander). The Maori yarn differs from
the Greek, as it was the young lady who did the swimming part of the
business, and the hussy was not drowned.
Mokoia has also been the scene of ruddy war, for it was on this island
the Arawa tribe took refuge from a dreadful raid of the Ngapuhi tribe,
under that bloodthirsty monster Hongi, who, from the year 1818-1838,
raged through the North Island of New Zealand like a plague, and
destroyed over one-fourth of its inhabitants.
[Illustration: TE TARATA: THE FAMOUS WHITE TERRACES, ROTOMAHANA.]
He was one of the first Maoris who visited England, having been
brought there by Kendal to help Professor Lee with his Maori
grammar and dictionary. While in England he was much lionised, and
received many valuable gifts.
He was presented to George IV., who made him presents of a suit of
armour and other valuable articles.
On his return to Sidney he sold all his presents, with the exception
of the suit of armour, and bought 300 muskets with ammunition. While
in Sidney a grim story is told of him. At Kendal's dinner-table he met
another Maori chief belonging to a tribe hostile to the Ngapuhi. Quoth
he to his fellow-guest: "Go home, make ready for war, and prepare to
be killed and eaten." Landing in New Zealand, he swept the country
bare, killing thousands and eating all he could. At last came the turn
of the Arawa.
Sweeping down the east coast, he landed at Maketu and twice defeated
the Arawa, who retired inland and took refuge in their stronghold, the
island of Mokoia. He followed them and camped on the edge of the lake.
Every morning the Arawa, confident in their fancied security, used to
paddle past his camp and cheek him. I do not know if they used to
place their thumbs to their noses and stretch their fingers out at
him, but they poked fun at him and asked him rude questions, such as:
How did he expect to come to Makoia? Was he growing wings like a duck,
or, perchance, fins like a fish? etc., etc.
Naught would reply the grim old warrior, as he sat, surrounded by his
cannibal chiefs, on the high bank of the lake, to his enemy's
ribaldry; but he took the opportunity to tapu the splendid canoes as
they dashed past him, the jeering crews showing them off to the best
advantage.
"My skull is the bailing pot of that canoe," said Hongi, pointing to
the largest and best one. This was a most awful assertion, but it
rendered that canoe sacred to Hongi, as who, at the division of spoil,
could claim a canoe the bailing pot of which was Hongi's skull, the
most tapu part of his body.
This went on day after day, while Hongi was having his big war canoes
transported from the sea, up creeks, across land, over a range of
bushed hills, and through lakes to the scene of action.
First of all up a creek, then he had a road cut through a forest,
covering a range of hills, until he launched them on Lake Roto Ehu.
Again, he cut a road through a forest, and launched them on Lake Roto
Iti and then up a rapid creek till they emerged on Lake Roto Rua. Now,
poor Arawa, you will find out to your cost how Hongi is coming to
Mokoia!
One morning, as the Arawa were preparing for their usual daily
amusement, they saw, to their horror and consternation, the advancing
fleet of their bloodthirsty enemies. The time for jeering and laughter
had passed, some tried to escape and a few succeeded, the others stood
and fought the hopeless fight of spears and stones versus muskets. The
canoes drew near the island and Hongi opening fire on the hapless
defenders, shot them down in heaps, then, landing, killed or enslaved
all that remained of the Arawa tribe. The ovens, surrounded with the
crumbling bones of the victims, remain still to mark the spot where
scores of the unfortunate Arawa were cooked and eaten; and these, with
Ohinemoa's natural hot bath, are the two show places on the beautiful
green hill that sits like a gem on the bosom of the dark blue lake.
After we had visited Mokoia we were to descend the rapid creek up
which Hongi had brought his canoes and inspect Roto Iti. The boats
were manned by young Maoris of splendid physique, whom I dressed for
the occasion very prettily, in shirts and trousers of white cotton,
with black silk neckerchiefs. They were very proud of themselves in
these smart, unaccustomed clothes.
When we came to the shallow water, at the head of the creek, it would
be necessary for these fellows to jump out of the boat to lighten her,
and drag her over into deep water; and I warned them that as English
ladies did not like to see men without clothes on they must jump
overboard in their smart suits. The three officials went into one of
the boats by themselves, with a crew that knew no English, as they
wanted to discuss important business, and I escorted the ladies in the
other boat. We landed at Mokoia, and I showed them the bath and the
gruesome ovens, and told them the tales of love and war, and then we
re-embarked to visit Roto Iti. All went well till we reached the
shallows at the head of the creek; here the boat grounded and I
ordered the crew overboard to push her along.
All obeyed and plunged in with their clothes on, as instructed, with
one exception. This was the stroke oar, a fine young Maori named Kiwi,
who spoke broken English and was the son of a principal chief. He was
very proud of his smart new clothes, and when the other fellows sprang
into the water he sat tight. His mates called to him for help, and
seeing he did not move I ordered him overboard. But he meant to
preserve that suit. With a deep sigh he took off the black silk
neckerchief, next he stripped off that immaculate white shirt. He
looked at the water, and then at his lovely white trousers.
Then, with sudden inspiration, he touched the principal lady on the
shoulder and said in a deep whisper of despair: "You no like to see
me: you look that way." And in another moment he had whipped off his
last thread of clothing and joined his comrades in the water.
THE LOST DINNER
Some time after the New Zealand wars ended Pierre de Feugeron settled
down at a Maori village called Wairoa, situated at the head of Lake
Tarawera, and there built himself a two-roomed shanty, which he called
the Maison de Repos, and offered to entertain any tourists visiting
the wonders of Rotomahana.
Now Pierre was a miraculous cook. He could make a good dinner out of
anything, and there is no doubt he would have done well but for his
great failing, Drink--in his case spelt with a very, very big D. For
no sooner had he been remunerated by one lot of tourists than he would
at once make off to Ohinimutu, where there was a drink shanty, and
blow the lot.
He was indeed a queer character. In appearance, he was big enough, and
looked ferocious enough, for a stage brigand, wearing his hair long
and a huge beard. In reality he was as kind-hearted and simple as a
child, and, notwithstanding his past life of bloodshed and adventure,
he was just as harmless as one.
Pierre was also great on politics, in more ways than one, for his
special brand would depend on the number of tots he had absorbed.
When sober he was a Legitimist, after he had had a drink or two an
Imperialist, a few more made a Republican of him, and as he got full
up he became a Communist, an Anarchist and a ruddy Red. At this stage
he would become an awe-inspiring object indeed. Armed with a tomahawk
in one hand and a huge knife in the other, he would dance a war-dance
of the most blood-curdling description, and with rolling r's emit
horrible wild yells, in French, broken English and Maori, sufficient,
unless you had known him, to daunt the courage of Bayard himself. Yet
when the non-com. on duty considered that Pierre had _ranged_ himself
enough, he only had to send a Maori kid to him, with the intimation
that the guardroom required him, and Pierre, dropping the Bombastes
Furioso business, would immediately make a bee-line for that
hospitable abode and fall asleep, sobbing over the sorrows of La Belle
France.
Well, it was my duty to escort round the hot lakes any big pot the
Government chose to send up to me, and the Governor, once a year, used
to come round, with a large party, and visit the wonders of the
district, which, of course, included the marvellous terraces.
A noble marquis was at this time proconsul in New Zealand, and when I
received warning of his advent I also received the straight tip that
his Excellency, a _bon-vivant_, dearly loved a good dinner, so I
determined he should have nothing to complain of while under my care.
Now it was customary for the Governor to camp a night at Wairoa _en
route_ to the terraces, and also to stay another night there on the
return journey, so I determined, albeit with grave doubts, to engage
Pierre to take charge of the culinary department for the two nights we
should be there.
For the first night I had no anxieties, as I had kept Pierre closely
confined to the guardroom for the preceding fortnight; but I was very
nervous about the day that I should be at the terraces with the party,
when Pierre, perchance getting hold of some of the liquor, might raise
Cain and wreck the dinner. However, I put my trust in Providence, and
also in the discretion and vigilance of the reliable old non-com. who
would be left in charge of the camp during my absence, and to whom I
gave instructions to keep a very sharp eye on Pierre and his
movements; so, hoping for the best, I received his Excellency with
equanimity.
The first night all went well. Pierre served up such a _recherché_
dinner that the Governor sent for him to be congratulated, and in his
enthusiasm offered the old chap a drink. Alas! I dare not interfere,
though well I knew this meant trouble; for the first tot to Pierre was
like the first taste of blood to a tiger.
Pierre picked up a bottle of brandy, and pouring out a bosu'n's nip,
drank it off to the health of ze Governor, ze Great Queen Victoria,
and ze Great Napoleon, and then took himself off, but, _horrible
dictu_, he also took the bottle with him.
Unfortunately, just at that moment my whole attention was drawn from
him by a lady questioning me about his adventures, so he escaped with
his plunder without my observing the act.
I left the table as soon as possible, and sought out Pierre, whom I
found walking about on his tiptoes, looking scornfully at the
troopers, while he informed them that he himself was Pierre de
Feugeron, ze grand scout. He also demanded their attention, that he
himself, and no other man, was Pierre de Feugeron, ze grand
_cordon-bleu_, who had cooked dinners for the Emperor, and that the
great Reine Victoria had sent for him to cook ze dinner for herself.
Le Bon Dieu save ze Queen, ip ip----
He had just reached this stage when I reached for him, and ze grand
_cordon-bleu_ retired at the double to his hut; but, alas! I knew
nothing about that plundered bottle, which he had planted before my
advent.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, and after I had reiterated
my cautions to the non-com., and my warnings and threats to Pierre, we
started in canoes for Rotomahana, where the Governor and his party
enjoyed themselves thoroughly, returning in the evening to Wairoa.
Now I must confess that although I placed great faith in both
Providence and the non-com., yet Black Care sat on my soul like a wet
blanket; and this would have been considerably enhanced had I but
known that a sudden stampede of the horses had forced away the
non-com. and his men, leaving Pierre alone in camp to work his wicked
will. All the way back in the canoes the conversation turned on
gastronomy, and his Excellency, well pleased with the day and having a
forty-dollar appetite, looked forward to his dinner, and hoped it
would be as good as the one on the previous night. I hoped so too; but
coming events cast their shadows before them, and I had my doubts.
At last we landed and climbed the steep hill that led to the flat on
which the camp was pitched. Alas! while still afar off I heard the
wild war-whoops and blood-curdling yells I knew so well, and was
assured that my very worst apprehensions were more than justified.
I at once pushed on, the Governor accompanying me, and on our reaching
the camp there was our _cordon-bleu_, armed as per usual, dancing a
war-dance that would have excited the envious admiration of a crazy
Hau Hau.
The Governor paused for a moment, and stood aghast in astonishment at
the horrible-looking object before us, then full of pluck, for of
course he did not know how utterly harmless the old fellow was, rushed
up to him and said soothingly: "Pierre, how goes the dinner?"
Pierre briefly answered that the dinner had gone to a place where it
must have been overcooked and spoilt long ago.
But quoth his Excellency: "I am so hungry."
"And a ruddy good job too," howled Pierre. "It is good for kings and
governors to be hungry. I myself am Pierre de Feugeron, the great
Communist. I myself am Pierre de Feugeron, the noble anarchist, and I
scorn to cook the dinners of kings and governors."
Then seeing the rest of the party, who by this time had arrived and
were regarding him with awe and astonishment, he at once consigned the
Governor and the rest of us to the same place as he had committed the
dinner, and was proceeding with his _pas seul_ when some Maoris,
acting on my instructions, took a hand in the game. Exit the noble
anarchist, to be tied to a tree for the night, to regain his loyalty,
while I had to bustle about to knock up an impromptu dinner for my
sorrowing and shocked guests.