A Journey to the King's Country.--An Experienced
"Whip."--Volcanic Hills.--A New Zealand Forest.--A Strangely
Afflicted Boy.--Lake Rotorua.--Ohinemutu.--Funeral of a
Maori Chief.--Wailing and Weeping.--Moonlight on the
Lake.--Wonderland.--Spouting Geysers and Boiling
Pools.--Savage Mode of Slaughter.--Maori Houses.--Chivalry
and Cannibalism.--Savage and Civilized Life.
Here in Auckland we were also in the vicinity of the Hot Lake District
of North New Zealand, and a week was devoted to a visit to the
remarkable points of interest connected therewith. To accomplish this,
one goes from the capital of the Province a hundred and thirty miles to
Oxford, and thence thirty miles by stage to the native town of
Ohinemutu. This route carries the traveller in a southeast course, and
leads into the very heart of the North Island, among the Maori tribes.
The cars took us over a level country, which however is bounded on
either side, five or six miles distant, by lofty serrated hills,
presenting a confusion of irregular forms. These hills contain an
abundance of mineral wealth in the form of gold, silver, iron, coal, and
manganese. Many low-lying marshy fields of native flax were observed,
and the Waikato River was three times crossed in its winding course.
Large plantations containing several thousand each of young pine-trees
of the American species were seen, covering gentle slopes and many broad
acres of level land, where Government is endeavoring to establish
artificial forests throughout wide reaches of unwooded country. These
trees grow more rapidly here than they do even in their native soil.
Miles upon miles of this level country were covered only by the
low-growing ti-tree and the ever present ferns; the former, being a sort
of tall heath, was in some places in bloom, producing an effect as if a
light fall of feathery snow had lodged upon the delicate branches.
Flocks of sheep and lambs were numerous, but the population was sparse.
The whole landscape was lighted up here and there by the bright yellow
leaves of the wattle-tree, which contrasted strongly with the black
beech, the deep green of the cabbage-palm, and what is called the
white-pine, which is totally unlike any pine we ever saw. Several
miniature villages were passed through, where a few small European
houses clustered in the neighborhood of the railroad depots, consisting
of a blacksmith's forge, a grocery-store, a one-story inn, and three or
four dwellings. There was plenty of water everywhere. Now it was a small
and pretty stream, and again it was a large river's course. At one rural
hamlet a rustic water-wheel was revolving, splashing and sparkling in
the sunshine with a noisy, gleeful sound, telling how easily and
thoroughly these fields might be irrigated. We passed through what is
called the Waikato Pastures, a rural district where herds of
fine-looking cattle were browsing, and where cheese-making is a
flourishing industry. Some coal mines were being worked upon the route,
connected by side-tracks with this main branch of the railroad; the
coal, it was plain to see, was a good article for domestic use or for
manufacturing purposes. Small Maori encampments, composed of a dozen
lodges each, were scattered along our way, the lazy, tattooed
natives--men and women--lingering about the stations with blackened
pipes in their mouths, smoking the rankest sort of tobacco, while they
kept up a chattering like Benares monkeys. Why Maori women and savage
squaws generally are so fond of wearing men's hats, with a feather stuck
into them, we cannot understand; for though serving the purpose of a
head-covering, they are far from being ornamental. The awkward Maori men
looked doubly outre in their ill-fitting European clothes.
Oxford is the somewhat pretentious name given to the hamlet where the
railroad ends, containing five houses, one of which is the Oxford
Royal,--a neat but circumscribed inn, affording us a sleeping apartment
measuring exactly seven feet wide by nine in length. The stage-drive
from here to Ohinemutu--the centre of the geysers, boiling springs, and
mud caldrons, and also of the Maori reservation--is by a road a little
over thirty miles in length, which we do not hesitate to pronounce to be
the hardest to travel that it has yet been our misfortune to encounter.
The patient reader will bear witness that we do not often parade the
hardships of travel, but it makes our bones ache to recall those seven
hours of staging; and yet they were by no means without their
compensation. It was the author's good fortune to sit upon the box with
an experienced and admirable "whip,"--Harry Kerr by name,--who was fully
equal to his business. The vehicle was an American stage, the harnesses
on the horses were American made, and the stage line was owned by an
American,--a resident in New Zealand for many years, during which time
he has held a mail contract throughout the country. We travelled
lightly, there being no other passenger, and four stout horses forming
the motive power; but had not the stage been constructed of the best
seasoned material, and put together in the most thorough manner, it
would have been left upon the road in fragments before it had completed
the trip. The traveller under such circumstances is always more or less
dependent upon the intelligence of the driver who takes him through a
new country, and we cheerfully acknowledge our indebtedness on this
occasion. We can well understand why Harry Kerr is a favorite in the
Auckland district.
On leaving Oxford the journey takes one at first through a section of
country where the hills were thrown about in the wildest fashion during
the ancient volcanic period, causing them to present a grotesqueness of
aspect which is quite beyond description. Here the bowels of the earth
vomited forth their fiery secretions of molten lava, and as it cooled,
it formed itself into countless ridges and hills, no two of which are
alike. The road wound over hills, down into gulches, and skirted
precipices where to have deviated a few inches only from the proper
track would have been instant destruction. As we rose to the summit of
some elevation loftier than the rest, the view became expansive. From
one of these summits was seen, nearly one hundred miles away on the far
horizon, the broad, bold, snow-covered mountain Ruapehu, ten thousand
feet high. The last portion of the journey from Oxford to Ohinemutu took
us through one of the grandest forests in all New Zealand, extending
eighteen or twenty miles without a human habitation or any sign of life,
save the flutter of an occasional bird.
In this forest, mingled with tall columnar trees of various species,
were seen frequent examples of the fern-tree thirty feet in height and
of surpassing beauty, spreading out their plumed summits like an
Egyptian palm, while the stem had the graceful inclination of the
cocoanut-tree. Well has the fern-tree been called the forest Houri. The
picturesque effect of the birches was also remarkable, flanked by the
massive outlines and drooping tassels of the rimu, the soft luxuriance
of the undergrowth adding charms to the whole. For miles of the way on
either side of the road the forest was impenetrable even to the eye save
for the shortest distance, presenting a tangled mass of foliage, vines,
and branches such as can be matched only by the virgin forests of Brazil
or the jungles of India. Ground-ferns were observed in infinite
variety, sometimes of a silvery texture, sometimes of orange-yellow, but
oftenest of the various shades of green. Here too we made acquaintance
with the sweet-scented manuka, the fragrant veronica, and the
glossy-leaved karaka,--this last the pride of the Maoris. A dark-colored
shrub, with leaves like the orange-tree, their under side being of a
quicksilver hue, was pointed out to us by the driver, which though
poisonous, as he declared, to horses, sheep, and cattle, is nevertheless
eaten by them with avidity whenever they chance to come upon it. Its
first effect is to intoxicate them, and it will ultimately prove fatal
unless an antidote is given. Many specimens of the lofty rimu-tree were
seen, about whose tall white stems a parasitic vine was slowly and
treacherously weaving itself, clasping and binding the upright body with
such a marvellous power of compression as literally to strangle it,
until ultimately the vine becomes a stout tree in place of the original.
The most noted and destructive of these vegetable boa-constrictors is
the gigantic rope-like rata, whose Gordian knot nothing can untie. The
tree once clasped in its toils is fated, yielding up its sap and life
without a struggle to cast off its deadly enemy. Many trees were
observed whose stems bore branches only far above the surrounding woods,
laden with bunches of alien foliage,--parasites like the mistletoe.
Indeed, this forest seemed like vegetation running riot; and with its
clumps of abnormal foliage, fixed like storks' nests in the tops of the
trees, it recalled similar effects seen on the banks of the St. John's
River in Florida.
Midway in these almost impenetrable woods, where the soil was literally
smothered by vegetation and a wilderness of undergrowth, we came upon a
lonely cottage, with a large barn and some outbuildings attached, which
had been established by the owner of the stage line; and here our four
jaded horses were changed for fresh ones.
At this isolated spot we saw a remarkably handsome boy between six and
seven years of age, large and well-formed for one of his years, wearing
only a blouse reaching to his knees,--otherwise being entirely without
clothing. It was instantly apparent that he was mentally deficient, and
his eccentric gambols caused us to make further inquiries. It seems that
his mother, an intelligent Englishwoman, four or five months before the
boy was born had been so terribly frightened by a furious bull as to
throw her into convulsions, from which she was with difficulty restored.
The eccentricities of the child began to exhibit themselves as soon as
he had reached a twelvemonth, and from that period his actions became
more animal than human. He cares only for vegetable food, living mostly
on potatoes. The use of the knife and fork he utterly ignores, taking
his food from the plate with his mouth, not using his hands. He smells
of every new thing or person when first presented to his notice. He will
not abide clothing beyond the blouse already spoken of, and when he is
restrained in any purpose butts with his forehead like a bull. The boy
has never uttered any words distinctly, though he makes half-articulate
sounds of assent and negation. Sometimes he walks about with his head
extended before him, mooing like a bovine, and on such occasions he
takes no notice of any words addressed to him or any attempt to divert
him. He is quite mischievous, but not viciously so; it is necessary to
keep wire screens over the glass windows, which he would otherwise put
his head through when he desired to get into the open air. He was
running about the space before the house and roadway when we saw him,
and submitted to our kindly caress, even uttering sympathetic sounds in
response, while his large black eyes looked into our own with a
half-pleading, half-grateful expression. The father told us that the
favorite amusement of the boy was tossing small articles high into the
air and seeing them fall to the earth. Having this in mind, we
commissioned Harry Kerr to purchase a strong ball for the unfortunate
child, and to bring it to him on the return trip. The health of the boy
has always been perfect, and his strength is equal to that of a youth of
twice his age. He has brothers, one older and one younger than himself,
both of whom seem to be of even more than ordinary intelligence, and all
are over-fond of the unfortunate one.
After leaving the forest and crossing a volcanic mountain, the road
winds across the broad reach of table-land which borders Lake Rotorua,
whose waters lay shimmering under the warm and brilliant tints of the
afternoon sun. We drove for three or four miles along the side of this
beautiful and romantic sheet of water, concerning whose one island the
Maoris have many curious legends, prominent among which is one nearly
identical with that of Leander and the Hellespont,--possibly antedating
that classic story, and thus proving that "there is nothing new under
the sun." This lake is justly celebrated for its scenic beauty and
remarkable surroundings, being about ten miles long by eight or nine in
width.
As we approached the quaint little settlement of Ohinemutu, over which
floated a heavy sulphurous cloud of steam, a motley cortege was met,
consisting of men, women, and children decked in all the gay colors
which delight the Maori heart. Their heads were dressed in gorgeous
feathers, yellow wattle-blossoms, and other fantastic ornaments, their
faces rendered hideous by tattooing. Each of the women had an infant
upon her back, held in position by a tawdry shawl arranged in the form
of a sack and tied across the breast. These natives called to mind the
feather-crowned Crow Indians of the Yellowstone Valley, both races
living in a wonderland of geysers, boiling springs, and sulphurous
vapor. This display proved to be a funeral procession in honor of a dead
chief named Rotohika. Curiosity led us to follow the procession to the
grave near at hand, where the ceremony was brief but peculiar. Two of
the dead chief's wives knelt by the coarse wooden box which supplied
the place of a coffin, and made sacrifice of their long dark locks of
hair, cutting them from their heads and placing them in the box
containing the body of the deceased. The box was then lowered into the
grave, each relative throwing a shovelful of dirt upon it, and others
followed, quickly filling up the cavity. The throng then returned to
their huts with manifest eagerness, to participate in a grand feast.
After the burial is completed the grave is placed under what is termed
"tapu,"--or in other words the spot is made sacred, to be avoided
always; to tread upon it is considered a desecration.
We were told that formerly the burial ceremony of a chief involved the
sacrifice of at least one human life. If the tribe had a prisoner of war
on hand, his life sufficed. After sprinkling his blood upon the grave,
his body was roasted and eaten at the grand feast which followed. The
Maori "wakes" his dead after the Irish fashion, the revel lasting as
long as the money holds out, and almost any excess is condoned on these
occasions, which are characterized by the strangest and most weird
dances, the wildest shouts and wailings, the most fantastic distortion
of body and limbs that can be conceived of. On the occasion at which we
were present the performers, especially the women, seemed to us for the
time being to lose their reason, and to become maniacs, exciting one
another to a state of frenzy. To listen to the native _tangi_, or wail
for the dead, one would think it represented the most natural and
heart-broken grief, accompanied as it is by a copious fall of tears; but
this is all pretence. It is wonderful how these Maori women can summon
such perfect showers of tears at will; we saw them shed Niagaras of
brine, which of course deceived no one. It was as purely a mechanical
operation as is the work of a hydraulic ram. A wail of grief is started
by some one among the mourners, when it is taken up and continued for
hours by the others, now one and now another prolonging the note with
unabated vigor. Though realizing that this is so largely mere pretence,
one cannot listen to the sad note of the _tangi_ without a corresponding
sense of sorrowful emotion. The present occasion being the decease of a
great man among them, drew forth the most exaggerated expressions, and
the wailing was at times almost deafening.
The Lake House, presided over by the intelligent and lady-like Mrs.
Graham, afforded us every comfort as well as admirable service, hardly
to be anticipated in so isolated a spot. The window of our chamber
overlooked Lake Rotorua; and as the moon was at its full on that first
evening of our arrival, the scene was indescribably lovely. It was an
inspiration to stand on the shore of the lake, beholding the heavens
above, and their reflected glory in the mirror-like waters below. The
wailing, singing, and dancing among the natives had ceased; the
performers had rolled themselves in their blankets, and worn out with
excess were sleeping; the night and its peace were over all,--and yet
it was as light as mid-day. One certainly feels inclined to give New
Zealand moonlight precedence over anything of the sort elsewhere. How it
silvered the unruffled surface of the lake! So calm, so intense, so
dazzlingly brilliant were its shining waters that they seemed to put the
stars out of countenance. With a couple of tawny, tattooed natives we
took a long, lazy row upon Rotorua at midnight, "the dusky hour
friendliest to sleep and silence," permitting the boat at times to float
after its own fancy, while we dreamed a dream of peace. So quiet were
the scene and the hour that both oarsmen leaned upon the thwarts and
slept. It was enchantment verified; one was loath to break the spell by
arousing the sleepers and turning shoreward. By and by the silence, only
slightly broken by the light dip of the oars, became almost oppressive,
and we said, "Give us a song, men! a Maori song;" and those rough,
dark-hued rowers broke forth in a low, weird chant as we glided smoothly
over the water, seeming to be the only adjunct needed to fill the
measure of that midnight hour.
And yet it is difficult to say which was the more inspiring,--the sweet,
suggestive hours of the moon's reign, or those of the delicious break of
day across the lake, so quickly followed by the sunrise. How responsive
were the waiting waters to every fresh hue and color of the returning
morn! The moonlight had recalled many thoughts of the past, memories
both sad and joyous; while the sunlight was full of hope, promise, and
present grandeur. Those of our readers who have seen at the foot of the
Maritime Alps, on the shores of the Mediterranean, the change of night
into morning, will most readily understand what the break of day really
is over Lake Rotorua.
Once fairly within the area of this south land of varied wonders, the
most active volcanic region of the Antipodes, nothing seems too strange
to be true; geysers, fumaroles, boiling springs, and dry stones burning
hot beneath one's feet, as though the surface of the land covered
Nature's chemical laboratory, are all regarded by the visitor as quite
the proper thing,--in fact, just what is to be expected. Even the scores
of naked Maori bathers, of both sexes, outrage no sense of propriety in
this weird atmosphere of Ohinemutu. One seems to be surrounded by a race
upon whose semi-civilization the era of clothes has not yet dawned. The
Maori inhabitants of Wairoa, the native town which was so recently
buried with all its people by a volcanic outburst, had no more reason to
anticipate any immediate danger than have these natives on the banks of
Lake Rotorua. Indeed, so far as external evidence of subterranean
volcanic force is concerned, the inhabitants of Wairoa had not one half
the threatening tokens about them that exist here at every turn.
Sulphur, alkaline, and iron-impregnated pools of inviting temperature
induce one to indulge in frequent baths, and it seems but natural that
the natives in their semi-nude condition should pass so much of their
time in the water, both sexes mingling in this pleasure as they would do
in the ordinary avocations of life. Near to the shore, where the lake
is shallow, a boiling spring forces its way to the surface of the
surrounding cold water, telling of a submerged fiery caldron underlying
the lake at that particular point. It was, however, no more significant
than the scores of other steam-holes and spouting geysers which force
themselves to the surface all about this sulphurous region. In short,
the town of Ohinemutu is built on a thin crust, roofing over, as it
were, a vast fiery furnace, whose volcanic eccentricities form the
marvel of the locality.
Here then the traveller eats, drinks, and sleeps above a series of
suppressed volcanoes. One could not but recall the fate of Lisbon and of
half-exhumed Pompeii. Many of these springs and geysers are so hot that
a mere touch of the water will blister the human flesh as quickly as
contact with red-hot iron. Others are of a temperature suitable for
boiling vegetables; and still others by artificial means--that is, the
introduction of cool surface-water--are rendered of a temperature
suitable for bathing purposes. One must walk cautiously among these
boiling mud-pits, open springs, and steam-holes; a misstep might prove
instantly fatal. Caldrons lie on either side of the path, within a few
inches of where one may be walking all unsuspiciously. A Maori child
lately disappeared while playing near some sulphurous jets. A full-grown
aboriginal met the same fate not long ago; he had been partaking too
freely of intoxicants, and sank into the Stygian darkness without
uttering a cry. One coolly records these facts; but what an awful fate
to encounter!
The natural conclusion as to the cause of these remarkable phenomena
would seem to be that the waters of the lakes, rivers, and springs
descend by various channels to the fiery regions below, and are returned
by the force of the steam thus created, bringing up with them the debris
which is deposited about the surface. Of the hundreds of these boiling
springs only a score or so have been analyzed; no two, however, exhibit
the same properties. The various chemical combinations seem to be
without limit, and bathing in them is considered to be a specific for
some skin-diseases as well as for rheumatic affections. There can be no
doubt but that all the virtues possessed by similar springs in Europe or
America are equally combined in these of New Zealand, and the list of
remarkable cures which they have accomplished is annually increasing.
White faces are here the exception; dusky, bronzed ones, the rule. This
is the real home of the natives, and for ages has formed the chief
settlement of the Arawa tribe. Nothing could possibly be more grotesque
than to see groups of the native women--from the wrinkled old grandams
to the girls of a dozen years--bathing at all hours in the warm,
steaming pools without any apparent thought of undue exposure. It is
their daily, almost hourly resort. As a rule, a blanket forms their only
covering; and if they are cold, day or night, they at once resort to the
hot springs for warmth. Their chief occupations are literally bathing,
and smoking tobacco,--the women using the pipe even more freely than the
men. Of regular occupation they have none. A few potatoes are planted
and allowed to grow without cultivation, and these with pork form their
chief food. Some small lake fish are added to their diet occasionally;
but this amounts to very little, as a lake so under volcanic influences,
so impregnated by sulphur springs and super-heated waters, as is
Rotorua, is not a favorable place for fish breeding.
The revels incident upon a funeral are often kept up for a week or more.
To conduct the ceremonies with due eclat for the death of the late chief
of whom mention has been made, much extra food was necessary to
entertain the visiting representatives of other tribes, men and women,
who had come to Ohinemutu. We chanced to witness the preparing of a
portion of the feast on the second day after our arrival. A native
seized a large pig by the hind leg, in the midst of the animals feeding
about among the fern-roots, and pulled him backwards toward the lake.
The animal took matters very coolly, much to our surprise, and made no
noise about it. Maori and pig thus backed into the water until the man
was waist-deep, when he suddenly seized the other hind leg of the animal
and threw him upon his back, at the same time putting his foot upon him,
thus holding the pig under water for the space of a couple of minutes,
until life in the animal became extinct. With the aid of one or two
companions, the native then proceeded to chop the pig into small pieces
with an axe and a hatchet. A large camp-kettle stood hard by, in which
some herbs and a few potatoes with spring water had been placed. Into
this kettle the crude, unwashed portions of the carcass were thrust
until it was full to its brim, and then a sheet-iron cover was pressed
on the top and held down by a couple of large stones. A small fire of
chips built upon the hot stones on which the kettle stood in the open
air, soon set the pot to boiling, and in half an hour's time the mess
was quite sufficiently cooked for Maori taste. It was then devoured
eagerly by the hungry mourners who sat round the pot without any attempt
at ceremony, and, so far as we could discover, without the use of knives
or plates; hands and fingers seemed to be all-sufficient. The natives
sometimes partake of bread, when they can get it; but potatoes
constitute their chief diet. The little cooking in which they indulge is
usually performed by the boiling springs, in which they suspend their
potatoes in small wicker nets; and for baking purposes they use the
red-hot stones that are to be found in plenty in this vicinity. These
broad flat stones are the identical ones on which the natives in the
past used to roast their prisoners of war before eating them. It is
impossible to bear one's hand on them for an instant; the wonder is that
stones subjected to such constant heat do not become calcined and break
in pieces.
There are no means for building fires inside the native cabins, which
have little or no furniture; in place of using chairs, the natives squat
upon their hams, like nearly all savage races, and most of the Eastern
tribes. Their beds are composed of dried fern-leaves, sometimes raised a
few inches above the level of the earth floor; but quite as often
nothing but the fern-leaves intervene between the body and the ground.
The _wharry_, or cabin, is always the same, and contains but one
apartment, with a low doorway and an overhanging thatch of dried ti-tree
interwoven with long grasses. There is no matting or flooring of any
sort upon the ground within the cabin. Ohinemutu is built over a region
so heated by internal fires that the earth is dry and warm,--too warm we
thought. There is one compensation, however, for the risk of thus
building one's home over burning sulphurous regions,--no insects or
vermin can exist in these ground-floor huts, which the uncleanly habits
of their occupants would otherwise tend to make swarm with such
parasites. In these cabins there is sometimes seen a rude attempt at
ornamentation in carving, but the images are grotesque, and to us were
quite unmeaning,--consisting generally of hideous heads with blood-red
lolling tongues and dwarf-shaped bodies. The natives have very little
idea of decoration, except tattooing and the wearing of a few personal
ornaments.
There is a green stone--nephrite--native to New Zealand, which is prized
by the women for personal wear, and which admits of a high degree of
polish. This stone in various shapes is worn as ear-rings, amulets tied
about the neck, or made into beads; it is sometimes worn
bracelet-fashion about the wrists or ankles. There is another and less
common ornament worn by the Maori women; namely, a small pink or white
feather thrust through the cartilage of the nose, the ends hanging down
on either side, shading the upper lip like a moustache. This recalled
the brass and silver rings worn through nose and lips, as seen in South
Africa and the Straits Settlements. The young women of the tribes that
are brought most in contact with the whites are giving up the tattooing
process upon their faces; but those of middle age, or older, are defaced
by blue lines about the lower lip and the chin. The pride of the women
is to wear a short skirt of some high-colored material, and to wrap
themselves in a blanket of the "loudest" pattern,--flaming red or yellow
being preferred. The men affect more the dress of Europeans.
The Maoris differ in many essential particulars from most savage races
with whom we have chanced to meet. Unlike the American Indian, the Maori
is neither treacherous nor deceitful. He does not, like our American
savage, foster a spirit of secret revenge, but when his enmity is
aroused it is openly displayed and exercised, man-fashion. This has been
a tribal trait with the Maoris for centuries. Before declaring war the
Maori always gives his enemy fair notice. But for ages he has been
accustomed to go to war upon imaginary grievances; or, to put it more
clearly, his great object was to make prisoners, and when made, to cook
and eat them.
The early Maoris, even so late as sixty years ago, looked upon war--what
we should call civil war; that is, fighting one tribe with another--as
being the only legitimate object of life. No two tribes, however nearly
allied, were proof against an ever present liability to fall out with
each other and engage in internecine strife. An authentic anecdote was
told to us illustrative of this propensity to fight where no principle
whatever was involved. A certain chief of a tribe living near Rotorua
received a message from a neighboring chief which he construed into an
insult; and he indignantly declared that the sender would not have
ventured upon such a message had he not known and counted upon the
superiority of the weapons of war which he possessed, which, it seemed,
embraced a number of European fire-arms. When this imputation of
unfairness and cowardice came to the ears of the first chief, he divided
all his weapons into two lots, and sent for his rival to come and choose
between them. This done, of course there was no further excuse for not
fighting. The tribes fought a long and bloody battle, followed on both
sides by a great feasting upon each other's prisoners! Here was united,
most indisputably, a spirit of chivalry with that of ferocity. In these
days, however, the Maoris have settled down to a life of quiet, and
could hardly be more peacefully inclined; they are now as lazy and
listless as the Arabs.
It is surprising how well these Maoris got along without civilization.
It is fully as surprising to see how they wilt and fade away with it.
Whether the white man has been upon the whole of any advantage to them
is certainly an open question. They originally possessed a language
composed of a copious vocabulary, and also a complete social system that
answered their purpose. Their houses, rude as they were, kept out the
heat of the summer sun and retained the necessary warmth in winter,--and
this in a degree quite superior to European houses. Their food-supply,
eked out by cannibalism, was ample though not varied, while their
natural condition involved few necessities. Their wars promoted a
condition of robustness as well as a spirit of enterprise and activity.
But with civilization came rum, tobacco, and laziness. Far be it from us
to argue in favor of the savage life above that of the civilized; but to
judge these savage races correctly or fairly, we must look at them from
their own standpoint, not from ours.