



Produced by MFR, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed
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  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 <DW64>, 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 <DW72> 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 , 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 <DW52> 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 <DW52> 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  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




CHAPTER XIII

GREAT BRITAIN WINS


We are arrived at a pass when the good ship _Tory_ is hurrying
southwards, bearing to the goal of all their hopes the preliminary
expedition of the New Zealand Land Company. On the track of the _Tory_
follows in dignified pursuit Her Majesty's ship _Druid_, proud of her
distinguished burden, the first Lieutenant-Governor of the Colony
that is soon to be. The air is filled with rumours of the impending
formation of a colony by France; and, indeed, a French ship presently
flies in the wake of the _Tory_ and the _Druid_, bound, they say, for
Akaroa in the Middle Island, where many thousands of goodly acres are
already in one Frenchman's hands. New Zealand herself, precious object
of the desire of so many, sits upon her sea-girt throne and lifts
anxious eyes to the scales of Fate, watching the quivering balance. One
arm must soon descend, weighted with her destiny. Which?

Fortunately for New Zealand, Britain had a fair start of France in
the race for possession. Unfortunately for many colonists, then
and to be, the New Zealand Company ran well ahead of the British
Government in the race for the acquisition of land. Most fortunately
for all concerned, Her Majesty's representatives were men not afraid
to undo the tangle caused by the early dealings in land. They were men
determined to adjust upon an equitable basis all land transactions
between the white population and the brown. They were men who insisted
that the Maori, ignorant at first of the value of that with which
they parted so lightly, should not be driven from their ancestral
possessions for the price of a few old muskets, a handful of red
sealing-wax, or even an orchestra of Jew's-harps and tin bugles.

It would be improper to refer otherwise than delicately to a past so
recent. Something must be said, but not without consideration for the
feelings of others. Moreover, the subject of the proceedings of the New
Zealand Land Company is so difficult and involved, that, save in the
briefest manner, it does not fall to be dealt with in a history of this
nature.

While the _Tory_ was ploughing through girdling oceans north and south,
the Directors of the New Zealand Company were doing all they could to
attract a good class of emigrants. They described in glowing terms the
situation, scenery, and climate of the country, eulogised their system
of colonisation, and offered, by lottery, land at popular prices, which
included the passage out of the emigrant and his household.

Fifty thousand acres in the North Island were at first offered by the
Company for purchase, and over eleven hundred emigrants--purchasers,
labourers, and their families--sailed within six months for New
Zealand, full of hope in the future.

The startling feature of the story is that the Company had no title to
land in New Zealand, nor any right to sell it. The significant lines
did not occur to them, "The man that once did sell the lion's skin
while the beast lived, was killed with hunting him."

After a voyage of four months, the _Tory_ dropped anchor in Port
Nicholson on the 20th of September, 1839. The shores of Cook Strait
had been for many a year the scene of fighting among the Maori and, as
first one and then another tribe came uppermost in the struggle, the
question of the actual ownership of the land became decidedly matter
for argument. It will be remembered that, by Maori law, conquest of
land constituted ownership. True; but if the conquerors of to-day were
likely to be turned out to-morrow by the recently vanquished, or by
another set of combatants, it does not need much demonstration to show
that intending purchasers would require to be very careful as to the
soundness of their own right and title, or entirely careless of any law
but that of possession.

The Company's agent stayed not to inquire as to Maori disputes
regarding land. He ascertained through an interpreter the names of
this cape, that river, those islands, and yonder mountain, and asked
the chiefs Epuni and Wharepori of the Ngati-Awa, who had come aboard,
whether they would sell the entire landscape.

"Yes," answered the chiefs, who had little better title to the land
than had the Company who had sold it before buying it. And so, for
a collection of articles which included blankets, guns of various
sorts, axes, spades, and fish-hooks--not to speak of Jew's-harps,
soap, trousers, pencils, sealing-wax and cartridge-paper, the Company
acquired (justly, perhaps, in their opinion) a territory about the size
of Ireland, embracing both the east and west coasts of New Zealand.

This astonishing bargain, begun on the deck of the _Tory_, took some
months to complete, and by that time the agent had taken formal
possession of the fine bay known as Port Nicholson--Poneki in the Maori
tongue--and planned out the settlement of Britannia at the entrance
to the charming valley of the Eritonga, better known now--if not so
musically named--as the Hutt river.

Fast in the wake of the _Tory_ followed the _Aurora_ with the first
instalment of immigrants, whose feelings may be imagined, when they
realised that nobody could give or sell to them the right and title
to the lands they desired to call their own. They learned this much
in March 1840 from the Maori themselves, when, owing to its faulty
position, the settlement on the Hutt was abandoned, and the town of
Wellington founded upon the flats of Thorndon and Te Aro, which lay in
a more sheltered bay of the great basin of Port Nicholson.

Other emigrants from England and elsewhere soon arrived; the first
steamer puffed and churned its way into the harbour; and the astounded
Maori demanded anxiously whether "all the tribes had left England and
come to settle among them?" They were not disinclined to welcome the
settlers; but Puakawa and other chiefs strongly objected to part with
their lands, which they averred had been sold by people who had no
right to dispose of them.

This was sad hearing; but, if a Company choose to "buy" twenty million
acres from some fifty people whose right to sell them is hotly
disputed, it is to be expected that the ten thousand or so who claim
ownership of those acres will have something to say on the subject.

Mercifully for the settlers, the Maori near Wellington had no objection
to their lands being occupied, but merely wished to make it clear that
they had not been sold outright. So the settlers became aware before
long that the Company's purchases were not good, and that, if they, the
immigrants, bought land of the Company, their own title to it would
be equally not good, and would in the natural course of events become
liable to investigation.

But why this concern about right and title? On the one hand are white
men desirous of acquiring land, and, on the other, <DW52> men who
have felt the touch of civilisation without having been greatly
influenced thereby, and who, while undeniably owning the land, use
but little of it. Why bother about their rights? Why not oppose to
the protests of the brown man the impudence of the white man, whose
argument has too often been, "What I desire I take, and what I have I
hold"?

Because--and it is with keen pleasure that one can write this
truth--the story of colonisation in New Zealand is honourably
distinguished from that in some other portions of the globe, by the
righteous attitude of most of the early settlers towards the native
population in possession, and by the fact that the rights of the
original owners of the soil were clearly recognised, and forcibly
insisted upon by those in power. And the same principle is at work
to-day.

True, there were many who shamelessly swindled the Maori out of their
land; but with a number of these the Crown eventually dealt very
effectually. True, also, there were not wanting those who--as ever in
a new country--advocated lead and steel as the best means of combating
objections to land transfer, and, incidentally, of "civilising" the
Maori. But of such there were too few thoroughly to leaven the lump,
and the general attitude of the white men was one of honest desire to
deal justly with the brown. Serious differences arose, but the guiding
principle was there and, despite wars and contentions, there was never
abroad that spirit of hatred which has marked some contests between the
white and the <DW52> races. Pakeha and Maori as a rule fought out
their quarrel fairly, with the result that they now live at peace, the
white men respecting and caring for the needs of the brown, the brown
men content to recognise the superiority of the white, and taking an
intelligent share with them in the ruling of their ancient heritage.

The Maori have been represented for many years in the Parliament of
New Zealand by men of their own race; men, too, directly descended
from powerful chiefs who strenuously opposed the Pakeha's rule. The
newspapers announced a few months ago[58] that a full-blooded Red
Indian had for the first time in the history of the United States taken
his seat in Congress. Comment is needless.

Whatever their title, the Company's settlers remained where they were
for the present, and for the better ordering of matters in which all
were concerned, quickly formed a "Provisional Government," with the
energetic and sunny-tempered Colonel Wakefield as its first president.

So, leaving the Company's settlers in Wellington to argue questions of
title with their keen-witted opponents, let us follow the fortunes of
Lieutenant-Governor Hobson from the time of his arrival in Sydney.

Having paid his respects to his chief, Sir George Gipps, Governor of
New South Wales, Captain Hobson sailed for the Bay of Islands, where he
arrived on the 29th of January, 1840. He immediately exhibited three
documents, which gave the settlers plenty to think about.

The first was his commission as Lieutenant-Governor over _whatever
parts of New Zealand might be thereafter added to Queen Victoria's
dominions_; the second asserted Her Majesty's authority over all
her subjects then resident in New Zealand; the third--note it
well--proclaimed that the Queen would acknowledge no titles to land
other than those derived from Crown grants, that to purchase land from
the natives would after that date be illegal, and that a Commission
would investigate all land purchases already made.

While Lieutenant-Governor Hobson was familiarising the Kororarekans
with this last intimation, the agent of the New Zealand Company at
Wellington continued to acquire land from the Maori, irrespective of
native right and title; while immigrants as eagerly besieged genial
Colonel Wakefield for town lots and country lands, careless of _his_
right and title and, apparently, of their own insecure tenure.

So, with Captain Hobson proclaiming himself Governor over territory
yet to be acquired; with the Company selling, and the immigrants
buying, land to which neither had a proper title, the materials for the
production of a very difficult and unpleasant situation were apparent
even to inexperienced eyes.

They were so apparent to Captain Hobson, that he took with creditable
promptitude two decided steps. First, he convened at Waitangi--the
lovely "Weeping Water" in the Bay of Islands--a meeting of powerful
hereditary chiefs, to whom he proposed an agreement, historically known
as the Treaty of Waitangi.

The chiefs of the United Tribes of New Zealand by this treaty ceded
to Queen Victoria the sovereignty of their territories, and agreed
to sell lands to no other purchaser than the Crown. Queen Victoria,
in consideration of this cession of sovereignty, agreed to extend
her royal protection to the Maori, and to confer upon them all the
privileges of British subjects.

[Illustration: Signing the Treaty of Waitangi]

This important treaty was not carried through off-hand. Shrewd chiefs
opposed it, though the greater number present argued in its favour,
among them Hongi's veteran lieutenant, Tomati Waka Nene (Thomas
Walker), afterwards our strong ally. No conclusion was come to until
next day, when forty-six prominent chiefs signed the treaty in presence
of a great following.

Forty-six being a small proportion of the number of chiefs of rank in
the North Island, Governor Hobson circulated the treaty by the hands of
trusted agents. The first signatures were appended early in February,
1840, and over five hundred chiefs had signed before the end of June,
very few of them accepting the presents offered by the agents, lest it
should be considered that they had been bribed into taking so important
a step.

Thus encouraged, the Governor executed the great measure which caution
had bidden him postpone, and on the 21st of May, 1840, proclaimed Queen
Victoria's sovereignty over the Islands of New Zealand. To make matters
sure, sovereignty over the Middle Island was separately proclaimed on
the 17th of June.

Governor Hobson now took his second step. The proclamation of the
sole right of the Crown to purchase land from the natives plainly
gave him control of the acquisitions of the New Zealand Company; the
proclamation of the Queen's sovereignty over the Islands justified him
in repudiating the Provisional Government formed at Wellington. Of the
latter he made short work, sending Mr. Shortland, R.N., the Colonial
Secretary, and a company of soldiers to haul down the Company's flag
and replace it by the standard of Britain. The act was natural and
inevitable; but it made the Company and their representative very
bitter against Captain Hobson.

The declaration of sovereignty over the Middle Island came none too
soon; for the French emigrant ship _Comte de Paris_, convoyed by the
frigate _L'Aube_, arrived less than two months later at Akaroa, and
fifty-seven immigrants disembarked. The British flag had been hoisted
forty-eight hours earlier by Captain Stanley, R.N., and when, in face
of this, the French frigate landed six field-pieces, the captain
of H.M.S. _Britomart_ thought it time to protest. He protested so
effectually, that the French commander acknowledged his immigrants to
be settlers in a British Colony, reshipped his twenty-four pounders,
and the incident closed.

Thus New Zealand, after long delays, became a British Colony, with
her status established not only before her own motherland, but in
the eyes of Europe as well. It remained for her to shake off the
partial allegiance she owed to New South Wales, and then, with all the
confidence of youth and sturdy independence, go proudly down the path
of the future to the high destiny which awaited her.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 58: Autumn, 1907.]




CHAPTER XIV

INDEPENDENCE AND ARGUMENT


Most people agree that the method adopted by the New Zealand Company
in their anxiety to acquire land might have been improved upon, but
few will deny them the credit which is theirs in the matter of actual
colonisation. They were the first to colonise systematically; they
were careful in the selection of their colonists, striving after the
finer types of manhood; and they planted settlements with extraordinary
rapidity, considering the difficulties of transit and transport.

It was the destiny of the Islands of the South to be colonised by the
people of Great Britain and, since this was so, it was best that the
infant colonies should be cared for by those capable of the task.
Australia--in part--and Tasmania suffered from the obnoxious policy
which used them as pits into which was swept the refuse of the British
people. From this fate, its terrible results, and the long purification
it necessitated, New Zealand happily escaped. That she did so was in
no small measure due to the efforts of the Company, whose powerful
Directors strenuously opposed the project in their day, just as the
humane impulse of the British had opposed it in cannibal days.

The Company were very active in the first year of their existence.
A twelvemonth after the founding of Wellington they had three new
settlements to their credit and, before two years were out, they had
added a fourth. There might have been a fifth, but, owing to the
inability of the Company to furnish titles, only one shipload of
immigrants disembarked at Manukau, and the idea of forming a settlement
there was abandoned. Manukau is six miles west of, and almost opposite
to, Auckland, to which it forms a second harbour, the land portage
between the two inlets being barely a mile across.

Afraid to purchase land without a title, yet receiving from the Company
the offer of no other in that locality, a couple of hundred immigrants
removed themselves to Whanganui, on the west coast, one hundred and
twenty miles north of Wellington. If the Company owned the land which
the settlers took up there, the latter were hardly allowed to possess
it in peace; for Whanganui was for years after its settlement in a
state of unrest, and the pages of its history contain the record of
at least one dreadful tragedy. The beautiful river--the Rhine of New
Zealand--enters the sea close by the town, forming a waterway by which
the Maori of the interior could easily approach and as easily withdraw;
a condition of things of which they took full advantage in turbulent
times. The Company's settlers called the town they founded "Petre," but
the picturesque Maori name has survived.

The Company presently turned their attention to the Middle Island, and
there decided upon two hundred thousand acres of land bordering Tasman
Bay and its neighbourhood. The lots were eagerly bought in England;
Captain Arthur Wakefield, R.N., a brother of the tactful Colonel, was
appointed commander of the expedition and resident agent, and two
shiploads of emigrants sailed for the new settlement, which was to be
named Nelson.

While these preliminaries were being arranged, more immigrants arrived
at Taranaki, or New Plymouth, the "Garden of New Zealand," where the
Company claimed ownership of sixty miles of coast by a stretch of
twenty miles inland. We saw this place when we stood with Te Turi and
his followers and gazed from afar at the snowpeak of Mount Egmont.
Hither, too, came Hongi and his conquering Nga-Puhi and, after him,
Waikato's champion, Te Wherowhero of the red robe, who between them
made an end of the men of Taranaki, enslaving those they left alive.

Even while the new arrivals were parcelling out the land and grumbling
at the lack of a good harbour, back came the manumitted slaves, ancient
owners of Taranaki, and stood aghast to see what changes time had
wrought. Their feeble protest availed them nothing. Whether the Company
had purchased the land or not, Governor Hobson now owned it under the
Crown's right of preemption, and the poor men of Taranaki were forced
to hide their twice diminished heads.

The ships bound for the Middle Island had by this time arrived at
Wellington, whence, after some delay, the immigrants were carried
across the strait to Tasman Bay. The native chiefs courteously received
them; but, when Captain Wakefield promised gifts as soon as the land
bought by the Colonel should be occupied, the Maori stood silent.
Had they said aught, it would probably have been a Maori version of
_Timemus exules, et dona ferentes_.

However, they professed to welcome the white men; whereupon the agent
smiled, the anxious would-be settlers cheered, surveyors were landed,
and the town of Nelson was founded on the 1st of February, 1842.

Do you who read remember how, when Hongi pressed him hard, Te Rauparaha
of the Ngati-Toa fled headlong with his tribe along a path of blood
to the south, and how he crossed the strait, and burned and slew and
ate? He is still a force to be reckoned with, this Te Rauparaha. He
is getting on in years, and lives with his tribe in the neighbourhood
of Otaki on the west, north of Wellington. But he can look thence
across the strait towards the lands he conquered not so long ago, and
dissentingly shakes his head as the Nelson-bound ships pass on their
way, while he openly expresses his disgust at the coming of so many
more Pakeha.

As Captain Wakefield parted from the little warrior-diplomatist with
the twinkling eyes and broad forehead, no prophetic vision came to him
of the fearful scene to be enacted a year later in the valley of the
Wairau, when the price of the land was to be exacted in blood--his own.

As at Wellington, as at Whanganui, as at Taranaki, so at Nelson
disputes soon began between Maori and colonist, the theme being
ever the ownership of the land. Words led to blows, blows to sullen
mutterings of _utu_ and, so far as the Company's settlers were
concerned, it seemed as if harmonious intercourse and continued
agreement with the natives were outside the range of possible things.

While this bickering was going on, Governor Hobson had founded a town
at his end of the North Island. Auckland he named the city in embryo;
_Akarana_ the Maori called it; and from first to last the Company had
nothing to do with it. They were, in fact, extremely jealous of its
progress.

The site of a capital had not been selected till then. The seat of
government was where the Governor happened to reside; but a spot was
chosen at the head of the beautiful Hauraki Gulf, where the British
flag was hoisted on the 18th of September, 1840, and the Governor's
residence established at what has grown to be the splendid city of
Auckland.

A finer or more charming situation could hardly have been found than
this on the right of the Waitemata, or "Glittering Water," with the
superb Hauraki Gulf to the east, the harbour of Manukau to the west,
and waterways in all directions to the south. How wise was this choice
of a site is proved to-day by the great and prosperous city, in touch
with all the world, which now gives a home to eighty thousand of
Britain's sons.

There was clamour over the Governor's selection. Wellington urged
its elder birth, its central position, its magnificent harbour; but
Captain Hobson abode by his choice. Russell, hard by Kororareka, made
bitter plaint; for the glory of becoming the chief city of the State
had been dangled before it, and visions of political prominence had
intoxicated it. Now that its chance was irretrievably gone, the fickle
crowd deserted it and pitched their tents in Auckland. So Russell
wilted away. Once again it was to blaze into brief, and rather ghastly,
notoriety, and then to sink into oblivion.

While these rival cities were in the making, Captain Hobson rigorously
enforced the right of the Crown to be the sole purchaser of land from
the natives, and set going the examination into purchases already made.
As usual, the innocent suffered with the guilty, and many who had
bought land in perfect good faith found their purchases diminished by
half, or altogether invalid.

These were consequently ruined; but their sufferings did not affect the
forward movement. Systematic colonisation had begun, and in the capable
hands of the Anglo-Saxon was bound to go on. A check here, a dispute
there, a few hundred ruined in the process, never yet stopped the
expansion of the British Empire, and, unless the character of her sons
changes greatly, never will.

Queen Victoria's sovereignty over the islands was formally proclaimed
in 1840 and, before the end of 1842, eleven thousand settlers had cast
their fortunes in the colony, distributing themselves among the eight
settlements of Wellington, Auckland, Nelson, Taranaki (New Plymouth),
Russell (or Kororareka), Hokianga, Whanganui, and Akaroa, which was
largely French.

The long civil war originated by Hongi was now over, the Maori were
looking favourably upon the white men, and were growing inclined to
adopt their ways and imitate their methods. Yet, though Christianity
and its milder influences were spreading, the brown men had still to
tread a long path before they reached the goal of civilisation. The
Pakeha appreciated this, and noted with apprehension that the Maori
seldom visited the settlements unless armed with the guns which the
folly or greed of commercial adventurers had placed within their reach.

Yet "ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew," and, as
ship followed ship, bringing new settlers, every day saw the Pakeha
grow stronger, though the natives were still predominant.

A new country is usually "go-ahead," but New Zealand was remarkably so,
nor has she in this respect ever fallen short of her beginning.

Within a year of her "declaration of independence," though things were
very much in the rough, there was promise of that colonial splendour
which has since--in the short space of sixty-eight years--been amply
fulfilled.

The difficulties were grave indeed. The land question was a source
of constant friction, and of ready money there was little or none.
Notwithstanding fairly substantial help from the mother country, in
spite of the newly imposed customs dues and the sale of Crown lands,
the new country's imports surpassed the exports nearly ten times over.
No wonder money was scarce and, owing to the paucity of meat other than
pork, food very dear.

But these drawbacks could not stifle enthusiasm, and in each of
the towns--now rapidly casting behind them the character of mere
settlements--growth was steady, and the energy of the inhabitants
astonishing.

The mineral wealth of the colony was attracting attention--iron,
copper, manganese, coal and lime were known to exist; the great variety
of magnificent timber trees promised to become an important source of
revenue, and New Zealand flax had already established a reputation
which it has never lost. The character of the land in parts was such
as led some even then to prophesy that New Zealand would become one of
the grazing grounds of the world; though it is doubtful if the prophets
foresaw the immense revenue which was to be derived later from the
exportation of meat for consumption by the hungry folk in the northern
hemisphere. With the future so rose-tinted, it is no wonder that
the shadows of the present had little power to depress the sanguine
colonists.

The Legislative Council had lost no time in passing beneficial Acts,
the citizens were inclined to be law-abiding, and trade, of a sort,
flourished. The architecture in the towns was not exactly classic;
but all looked confidently forward to the time when the weather-board
house with from two to six rooms should be replaced by the mansion,
and the tiny general store make way for the splendid palace of the
merchant prince. Compare pictures of a street in Auckland or Wellington
in 1842 with photographs of the same street to-day, and admit that the
expectation has been fulfilled.

The children who had accompanied their parents to the new land were
not allowed to run wild, and education was not entirely neglected. The
power of the Press, too, had already made itself felt by the issue of
nine newspapers. These had neither the dignity nor the imposing size
of the mighty dailies of to-day, being for the most part smaller than
a single page of any of them, while one, at least, was printed in a
mangle! Yet there they were and, if most of them died, they have left
descendants to be proud of.

Keeping in view that these forward steps of the infant colony were made
within one year of her assumption of independence, that the colonists
had to struggle against real financial troubles, that, in many cases,
their claim to the land they had bought was disputed, and--most
sinister obstacle of all--that they were face to face with a proud,
intellectual, warlike race, not altogether friendly, and outnumbering
them by five to one,--keeping all this in view, is it not admirable
that those strenuous men of yesterday and their worthy descendants of
to-day should, in little more than half a century, have raised New
Zealand from a tiny colony of eight scattered settlements to a dominion
of the Empire?

We have seen how Governor Hobson opposed what he held to be the
illegal acts of a Company engineered by men not likely to take blows
"lying down." The Directors in England represented their case as just,
and claimed some twenty million acres as fairly purchased. The British
Government accepted their statement, allowed the claim, and on the 12th
of February, 1841, gave the Company a Royal Charter of Incorporation.

The Company were jubilant. It now mattered not if grumbling Maori
should declare that their lands had been unfairly acquired, and aver,
as they did aver, that the purchases of the Company were "thievish
bargains"; the power of Britain was behind the Company, who could
henceforth defy opponents of whatever colour.

Not quite. There was Governor Hobson to be reckoned with, and his
counterblast was terribly effective. He refused--under the proclamation
of the previous year--to give the Company Crown grants for any of their
purchases.

The long wrangle began again, and the upshot of it all was that,
after interminable argument, the British Government peremptorily
extinguished the Company's title to all land acquired from the Maori,
and a commissioner was appointed to examine all claims of purchasers of
land from the Company. There could be only one result to action of this
sort. The Company fought hard for existence, but in 1850 surrendered to
the Imperial Government their charter and all their interests in the
Colony of New Zealand, and died hard after a turbulent life.

We have anticipated somewhat, for we are still at the point where the
Company received a Charter of Incorporation. But the exultation of the
Company was as nothing beside that of the young colony on the 3rd of
May, 1841, when New Zealand, till then but an extension of New South
Wales, was declared by the Imperial Government independent of the
older colony, and given permission to steer her own course through the
difficult shallows of organisation to the distant ocean of completion
and greatness.

In the first flush of joy at escaping from control, very little heed
was taken of difficulties. It seemed as if the infant State had only
waited for its independence in order to make a forward bound; for all
that pertained to the old order of things was, as far as possible,
swept away.

The three islands were renamed New Ulster, New Munster, and New
Leinster. The Governor became Commander-in-Chief of the one hundred
and fifty men of the 80th Regiment who formed the "standing army."
Two Councils were nominated--an Executive and a Legislative, with His
Excellency at the head of each; a Chief Justice was appointed and the
great offices of the Law filled; while the then predominance of the
Church of England was recognised by the creation of a bishop, whose see
was the colony.

The first bishop, Dr. Selwyn, was a remarkable man, and it is probable
that among all the English clergy no one could have been found so well
suited for the pioneer work and rough experiences inseparable from
the lot of the first Bishop of New Zealand. He was in very truth a
missionary bishop, and his athletic youth and manhood had served to
prepare him for the duties he was now called upon to perform, which
were by no means confined to the wearing of lawn sleeves, gaiters, and
apron.

Dr. Selwyn's Eton training stood him in good stead in the wilds,
and very soon after his arrival in May, 1842, he convinced men that
he was a man as well as a divine. Who worked with Selwyn must work
with all their might; nor did he shirk his own share. He worked with
his coat off, literally as well as metaphorically, though no man
living possessed a finer dignity of appearance and manner. Hardy
settlers, Maori inured to effort and fatigue, confessed that, when
they accompanied the stalwart _pikopo_ (bishop) on his expeditions by
mountain, bush, or river, it was their legs, not his, which first gave
out, their muscular frames which clamoured for rest, while his was as
yet untired.

As an example of his energy, it is only necessary to point out that,
within five years of his arrival, he founded, built, and got into
first-rate working order at Auckland the College of St. John, for the
education of youth of both races, and had already instituted those
pilgrimages among the islands which later made his name so famous and
beloved.

The rejoicings over New Zealand's improved status were barely over
before there were ominous signs that contact with his white brother
had not yet completely softened the Maori. Moreover, a dispute between
two Maori tribes, occurring, as it did, under the very shadow of the
new Executive, showed that the chiefs were not yet wholly prepared
to acknowledge the sovereignty of Britain, nor to tolerate the
interference of the Pakeha in their own quarrels.

Taraia, a chief of a tribe in the neighbourhood of the Thames river,
having successfully assaulted the _pa_ of a Tauranga tribe, cooked and
ate the bodies of two of the slain chiefs, after the old manner of the
Maori at the conclusion of a successful battle.

The Tauranga folk were Christians, while Taraia and his party were not.
Returning home, drunk with success--the Maori were not often drunk with
the products of grape or corn--Taraia and his people desecrated the
small church in their neighbourhood. The Christian congregation were
gathered together for evening prayer when, to the horror of all, two
hideous objects rolled into their midst, came to rest and grinned up at
them. They were the heads of the chiefs who had been slain at Tauranga.

Bloodthirsty as he must appear to those long since emerged from
savagery, Taraia's behaviour at the _pa_ of Erongo was neither savage
nor illegal from his point of view. He merely claimed _utu_, as his
race had done from time immemorial, his contention being that, whatever
the law of the white man, the Maori had their own law and meant to
abide by it. He actually put his views before the Governor, who was
about to despatch a punitive expedition, and demanded by what right
His Excellency proposed to interfere in a purely native quarrel.
"Your wisest plan will be to let the matter drop," advised Taraia,
"considering how very few Maori chiefs in the interior have signed the
Treaty of Waitangi and admitted the sovereignty of Queen Wikitoria."

This was a palpable hit; the Governor altered his mind, and sent
missionaries instead of soldiers. Taraia readily expressed his
willingness to compensate the Tauranga people for the slaughter of
their relatives; "but first," said he, "let them compensate me. Did
they not eat my mother?" The argument was incontrovertible, and the
dreadful incident closed.

Taraia's defiance took on a new significance when it was realised
how many chiefs were opposed to the dominion of the Pakeha. Besides,
numbers of Maori in the north remembered the words of the dying Hongi,
and viewed with sullen disapproval the transference of so much land
to the white men. Captain Hobson had neither the will nor the power
to operate upon a large scale and so enforce submission, and his
disappointment at the failure of his hopes was keen indeed.

The Governor's pacific demeanour pleased nobody; and even in Auckland,
where his attitude towards the Company had at first won him general
esteem, men now turned upon him and blamed his policy for almost every
disagreeable thing which happened. "He will neither allow the Company
to buy from the natives, nor will he himself buy," they snarled; and
petitions, representations to the Home Government, and even threats of
personal violence, made the Governor's life miserable.

He was not long so tried, for he died on the 10th of September, 1842,
and after his death some, at least, had the grace to be ashamed of
their behaviour towards a man who had honestly striven to do his best
in a most difficult situation. The Maori, with clearer vision than the
self-swayed Pakeha, saw the good that was in Captain Hobson. It is
significant that, when petitioning Her Majesty for a new Governor, the
friendly chiefs wrote, "Give us a good man, like him who is dead."




CHAPTER XV

TE RAUPARAHA AND HONI HEKE


Captain Hobson was succeeded as Acting-Governor by Lieutenant
Shortland, R.N., the Colonial Secretary, whose administration was
marked by one awful tragedy, which stained blood-red the short chapter
of New Zealand's history with which he was concerned.

At Nelson, as over the whole of the Company's domain, disputes
constantly arose between Maori and Pakeha. The Company's settlers
appealed to the law, which had little choice but to decide against
them; the natives went about their operations in a manner peculiar to
themselves.

Finding it impossible to prevent the newcomers from occupying land
which they insisted had been bought, the Maori took to destroying the
habitations of the invaders, though they rarely used violence towards
individuals, and scrupulously abstained from theft. It was unlikely
that this system of incessant pin-pricking by either side would result
in anything but poisoned wounds, and the fears of those who had
anticipated this result presently received fearful justification.

The turbulent Te Rauparaha was, by right of conquest, one of the great
landowners on the southern side of the strait, and with him was his
son-in-law, Rangihaeata, a chief of fierce, untamed passions, obsessed
by an intense, almost insane, hatred of the Pakeha, and the last man
to submit tamely to their aggression. Rangihaeata had, too, a bitter
grievance against the whites, since a woman related to him had been
killed by a settler, whom the Supreme Court acquitted of wilful murder.
With two such men in opposition to the business-like unsentimental
Company, a peaceful solution of the difficult land question was not
likely to be found.

Some sixty miles east of Nelson is the fertile valley of the Wairau,
abutting on the shores of Cloudy Bay. Having distributed the town
sections at Nelson, the Company decided upon this valley as suitable
for country lots, and sent their surveyors to fix boundaries and
prepare the land for delivery to colonists. Though instantly warned off
by the natives occupying the land, the Company's officials proceeded
with their work.

What makes the singular persistence of the Company in this case so
difficult to understand is the fact that Te Rauparaha and his ally,
Rangihaeata, were at that very time attending the Court of the
Commissioner of Land Claims at Wellington, and they had agreed to meet
this high functionary a few days later at Cloudy Bay, in order that the
dispute about this particular valley might be adjusted. Naturally, on
hearing of the presence of surveyors on the land they regarded as their
own, the two chiefs hastened across the strait and gave the officials
the choice between suspending operations, pending the Commissioner's
decision, or being turned off.

As no attention was paid to them, Rauparaha and Rangihaeata burned down
the hut of the chief surveyor; but, in order to show that they had no
desire to deal unjustly with men who were, after all, only carrying out
their employers' orders, the two Maori collected the property of the
operators and rendered it to the owners. A warrant against the chiefs
for robbery and arson was immediately issued, and Mr. Thompson, the
police magistrate, determined to execute the same in person.

A day or two later Mr. Thompson started for the Wairau with fifty
persons, including the Company's agent, Captain Wakefield, R.N.;
Captain England, J.P.; Mr. Richardson, Crown Prosecutor; Mr. Howard,
the Company's store-keeper; Mr. Cotterell, assistant surveyor; an
interpreter, four constables, twelve special constables, and some armed
labourers. The aspect of the expedition was aggressive, and from the
Maori point of view constituted a _taua_, or war-party.

As the boats conveying the force up the Wairau river came within
hostile country, all through the long day Maori scouts watched their
course, and runners continually sped to the headquarters of the chiefs,
carrying the news of the approach of Pakeha with guns.

On the following day, Friday, the 16th of June, 1843, the Maori
camp was reached and, as usual, was found to have been chosen with
consummate skill; for its front was protected by a fairly deep, if
narrow stream, while the flanks and rear were covered by dense scrub.

The white men--whose boats had been left some six miles in their
rear--halted upon the left bank, opposite to the watchful Maori.
Puaha, a Christian native, who had all along attempted to dissuade Mr.
Thompson from bearding Te Rauparaha in his den, made a last effort to
induce the magistrate to turn back, but was impatiently waved aside.
The escort were then formed in two divisions under Captain England and
Mr. Howard, their instructions being that no one was to fire without
orders.

Athwart the stream lay a large canoe and, being permitted to use this
as a bridge, Mr. Thompson, Captain Wakefield and others crossed over.
The magistrate then produced his warrant and called upon Te Rauparaha
to surrender and yield to his authority.

"Why so?" demanded the chief.

"For burning the surveyor's hut," was the answer.

"I will not," replied Te Rauparaha. "The huts were my property, and
whatever within them belonged to the surveyors I was careful to
restore. I do not wish to fight, as you must know, since I have already
referred my claim to the Commissioner for adjustment."

"Then I shall compel you to come with me," Mr. Thompson cried
excitedly. "I have the means, you see," and he pointed to the escort
across the stream.

Te Rauparaha growled. "Nevertheless, I will not go," he began, when
Rangihaeata, his passion in strong contrast to Te Rauparaha's
coolness, burst into view and dared Mr. Thompson to do his worst.

"Advance with your men, Captain England," shouted Mr. Thompson, "and
teach these----"

Before he could say more every Maori there leaped to his feet, and with
defiant shouts vanished into the bush.

Then followed one of those fatal errors by which great catastrophes
have often been precipitated. As Mr. Thompson's party hurried
towards the canoe-bridge, the escort rushing down to meet them,
some one--probably highly excited and unconscious of what he was
about--fired a shot.

Not a Maori was to be seen; but from the dark scrub came a rattling
volley, which was instantly responded to by the whites. The action
at once became general, and men fell on both sides of the stream.
According to the natives' version, one of the first to be slain--by
a chance shot--was one of Rangihaeata's wives, and this misfortune
inflamed to madness the already incensed chief.

The escort was mostly composed of civilians who had never seen a shot
fired in anger, so that it is less remarkable that they should have
yielded to panic fear and fled, leaving their comrades to shift for
themselves. Had they even for a few minutes shown a bold front, the
affair would probably have ended disastrously, but not so tragically.

But the chance was gone; and when Rauparaha and Rangihaeata--the battle
fever on them now--rushed pell-mell over the canoe and made for the
deserted leaders, these had no choice but to throw down their arms and
yield to a superior force.

Te Rauparaha, who was somewhat in advance, checked his rush as he noted
this, and Mr. Thompson, extending empty hands, called out, "Let there
be peace!"

Diplomatist that he was, Te Rauparaha, even in the flush of successful
fight, probably realised the danger to the Maori cause which further
violence must entail; for he came to a halt with a growl, "It is peace!"

But Rangihaeata dashed by him, yelling, "This is the second time the
Pakeha have wounded me by slaying my relatives. Rauparaha, remember my
wife, your daughter!" flung himself at Captain England and slew him
with one stroke of his tomahawk.

Then the rage of the Maori broke forth in all its dreadful force.
Rangihaeata, an enormously powerful man, went mad with battle fury
and with his own hand killed Captain Wakefield, Mr. Thompson, Mr.
Richardson, Mr. Cotterell, John Brooks, and others, while his men
rushed right and left among the defenceless crowd and smote to slay.

Twenty-two of Mr. Thompson's expedition were slain in this terrible
affair, seventeen of them in the massacre which followed the fight.
A few days later a Wesleyan clergyman, escorted by two boats' crews
of whalers, arrived at the scene of the tragedy, and buried the dead
who had fallen in the fight where they lay on the banks of the Tau
Marina. For the others, who had gone down before the murderous rage of
Rangihaeata, another resting-place was chosen on a gentle rise, whence
can be seen the valley of the Wairau, cause of all the trouble and its
melancholy end.

There could be only one issue to an affair of this sort. The prestige
of the white men was lost for the time being, and the Maori mind
became inflamed with hope that the Pakeha would realise the futility
of further contention, and leave the land to those who had originally
owned it.

The colonists were divided in opinion as to the apportionment of the
blame. In and about Nelson there was, of course, only one view; but the
local authorities were elsewhere censured for their too precipitate
action. The Acting-Governor, reporting the affair to the British
Government, distinctly stated that Mr. Thompson had acted not only
without his sanction, but in direct opposition to his instructions;
that the measures taken were in the highest degree unjustifiable,
inasmuch as the question of ownership of the Wairau land was unsettled,
and actually on the point of being considered by the Commissioner.

All this is true; but no one will feel disposed to blame the rash
Englishmen, considering the price they paid for their indiscretion,
while, all other sentiments apart, nothing bad enough can be said of
Rangihaeata for his savage slaughter of a band of helpless men--men who
had flung down their arms and begged for peace.

When the news of the Wairau fight and massacre reached England, a
condition of mind was produced something similar to that which
followed the arrival of Crozet in France after the murder of Marion.
Emigration was for a time suspended; for Te Rauparaha's threat, that if
reprisals were attempted, they would be countered by the massacre of
every settler in the colony, did not encourage those who had thought of
making New Zealand their home.

To all this confusion of circumstance was added the distress of
something very like a financial crisis. The colony had no money, and
lenders were nowhere forthcoming. There were many brave hearts who
faced these and other difficulties staunchly enough; but even these
admitted that New Zealand, as a settler's country, was in a parlous
state, and that very little capital except Hope remained upon which to
come and go.

It was hardly to be expected that those who had acquired land under
the Company should see eye to eye with those who argued that, even
after an affair so shocking as that of the Wairau, the Maori had still
a claim to receive justice at the hands of the Pakeha. So, when the
new Governor, Captain Robert Fitzroy, R.N., personally inquired into
the incident, seven months after its occurrence, it was not wonderful
that the address which the colonists presented to him at Wellington
should have been charged with the gall of bitterness. Nor was it
surprising that the natives, on their part, should have accused their
white neighbours of studied hostility towards them. Lastly, when it
was understood that the Governor laid the weight of the blame upon the
Company and their settlers, and almost exonerated Te Rauparaha and
Rangihaeata, the indignation of the former knew no bounds, and was
expressed in language both foolish and unjust.

Captain Fitzroy undoubtedly decided according to his conscience, and
with a view to safeguard the interests of the colonists, whom he
correctly judged to be too weak to risk a conflict with well-armed
natives, thoroughly versed in their own methods of warfare.
Unfortunately, the Governor's choice of words when conveying his
decision, while it irritated the whites, conveyed to the Maori an
impression that fear, not policy, had dictated clemency, and their
bearing in consequence became arrogant.

The Maori were now alive to the value of their land, and of money as a
purchasing agent. Skilled mind-readers, they played upon the Governor's
fears, and compelled him to allow the colonists to buy land direct from
them instead of through the Crown. Captain Fitzroy yielded; but, as he
endeavoured to compromise by extracting a tax on every acre purchased,
the Maori did not make as much as they had hoped to make, and the
unfortunate Viceroy again managed to please nobody. What between the
Maori, who used him for their own ends, and the colonists, who called
him mad, the Governor's lot was anything but happy.

For all their shrewdness and intelligence, the Maori were not yet
sufficiently educated in the ways of the Pakeha to appreciate the
niceties of civil government, which, it seemed to them, drove away the
flourishing trade which had been theirs while yet their ports were all
in their own hands, and when every port was free. These sentiments,
skilfully fostered by unscrupulous traders, paved the way for an
outbreak. And as Kororareka had furnished excuse for the establishment
of British sovereignty, so it now provided an occasion of war, and
witnessed the first determined act of opposition to the power of the
British rule.

It was a bitter blow to traders, who had been accustomed to traffic
without let or hindrance in the Bay of Islands, to find Kororareka
flaunting the British flag and demanding customs dues. Nor were the
Maori any more contented; for they had now to pay a higher price for
tobacco, blankets, and other luxuries which they had once acquired so
cheaply. Therefore, since political economy was still beyond them, they
looked elsewhere for the explanation of the change, and found it--in
the flagstaff on the hill outside Kororareka.

The flag which floated there was indeed the symbol of British
authority, and on that account sufficiently hated by the more
intelligent of the patriotic Maori, who desired to preserve their
independence; but among the ignorant natives there were not a few who
were convinced that the flagstaff itself was the very cause of the
customs dues and the irritating restrictions placed upon trade.

Therefore, when Honi (John) Heke, who had married the beautiful
daughter of the famous Hongi Ika, announced his intention of cutting
down the hated staff, he did not lack volunteers to help him in what
he, at least, intended as a deliberate defiance of Britain. For Honi
Heke was far too astute to look upon the flagstaff as anything but
what it was--a wooden pole.

Under the old Maori law a woman who married beneath her raised her
husband to her level; wherefore Honi Heke, though not himself a chief,
became elevated to the ranks of the aristocracy upon his marriage with
the "daughter of a hundred earls." The upstart was not received with
open arms by the true nobility, though they tolerated him for his
father-in-law's sake. Had he been one of themselves, and thus able to
command their allegiance, Heke, skilled as he was in war, might have
brought the hated Pakeha face to face with fearful odds and, perhaps,
changed the course of history in New Zealand.

Heke, like his predecessor Hongi, was a born soldier. In his boyhood he
fell into Mr. Marsden's hands, who took him to Sydney and endeavoured
to teach him a trade. But trade was not for Heke, who was often found
in the barrack-square feasting his eyes upon the soldiers, and keenly
watching their drill. Association with Mr. Marsden and the tuition
he received from the missionary enabled Heke to read and write, and
developed a mind already dangerously rich in qualities which make for
leadership.

Returning to his native land, Heke joined himself to Hongi, who,
finding him an apt pupil, gladly instructed him in a sterner science
than any which good Mr. Marsden had taught him. So pleased was Hongi
with his protégé that he gave him his daughter in marriage, and it
was upon Heke that the great chief's dying eyes were turned when he
faltered out his last advice to his followers and bade them beware of
the Pakeha in red. Deep into Heke's heart sank that advice, and it was
with Hongi's "word" upon his lips that he struck his first blow against
the might of Britain.

But he had a yet more sinister word of his own for the ears of the
Pakeha, hardly recovered from the shock of the Wairau massacre. "Is Te
Rauparaha to have all the honour of killing the Pakeha?" he exclaimed
as he marched his men to the flagstaff hill. "We shall see!"

This insulting speech was, perhaps, uttered deliberately, in order to
sting the Kororarekans into resistance, and thus provide Heke with
excuse and opportunity to rival the southern leader. If that were so,
he was disappointed; for, at the earnest insistence of the Police
Magistrate, the residents looked on from afar while Heke and his two
hundred malcontents hewed down the obnoxious staff and carried off the
signal balls, used to communicate with shipping outside the bay.

Wroth at this reception of his policy of conciliation, Captain Fitzroy
sent an urgent appeal for help to the Governor of New South Wales. The
answer came at once and, less than five weeks after the fall of the
flagstaff, one hundred and fifty men of the 99th Regiment, with two
field guns, landed at Kororareka and encamped there. H.M.S. _Hazard_
presently lent all the sailors who could be spared, and the little army
prepared to invade Heke's country.

And now the little influence which Hongi's son-in-law possessed over
the great chiefs was speedily and fortunately demonstrated. Instead
of flocking to his aid, the high chiefs besought the Governor not to
engage in war, and offered to keep Heke in order for the future. They
probably overestimated their power in this direction; but the Governor
was satisfied, and Thomas Walker Nene and twenty-three other chiefs of
note made orations at a great _korero_,[59] and declared their loyalty
to Queen Wikitoria.

The flagstaff was then re-erected, the borrowed troops returned to
Sydney, Kororareka was again made a free port and, as the year 1844
drew to a close, the country reeled to the very edge of the pit of
bankruptcy.

Extraordinary efforts were made to avert this calamity. Auckland,
like Kororareka, was declared a free port, thousands of pounds' worth
of debentures were issued and declared a legal tender and, as a last
resource, the Governor abolished the customs dues all over the colony.

It seemed as if no one, either on the spot or in England, quite knew
what to do for or with New Zealand and, to crown all the trouble,
the sempiternal land question once more poked up its ugly head. The
natives grew suspicious and resentful; settlers were ejected and their
homes destroyed, on the ground that they occupied debatable land, or
land actually claimed by the Maori, and everywhere was unrest and
apprehension.

Heke, who knew very much better, pointed to the flagstaff at Kororareka
as the cause of all this worry and, barely six months after his first
exploit, back he came with his merry men, and for the second time
levelled the detested pole. Though he was not expected--as he had been
on the first occasion,--the signal station was guarded by friendly
natives. These, however, belonged to the tribe of the turbulent Heke;
so they merely made a show of resistance, and retired to protest that
it would have been a sin and a shame to shed any man's blood for the
sake of a bit of wood. So Honi Heke triumphed for the second time.

The belligerent operations at Kororareka had so far been in
themselves, apart from their consequences, somewhat farcical; but the
"curtain-raisers" were over, and tragic drama was to be presented after
an interval of little more than a month.

  NOTE.--The private soldiers, who found a nickname for everybody,
  styled Honi Heke "Johnny Hicky." From this arose an absurd story that
  Heke was an Irishman, who had taken service with the Maori in order
  to avenge his country's wrongs!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 59: "Palaver."]




CHAPTER XVI

THE FALL OF KORORAREKA


Governor Fitzroy once again appealed to New South Wales for aid and, on
the very day on which the soldiers sailed from Sydney, Heke opened his
campaign and scored his first success at Kororareka.

A serious attack does not seem to have been anticipated; but a stockade
had been erected for the benefit of the women and children, some light
guns had been mounted, and the place garrisoned by half a company of
regulars and a number of settlers. In addition, H.M.S. _Hazard_ was in
the bay, her guns trained upon the approaches to the town.

Heke first gave evidence of his presence by capturing Lieutenant G.
Phillpotts of the _Hazard_, though he almost immediately released the
gallant officer, in proof, he said, of his pacific intentions. Then,
in spite of the watch kept upon his movements, the Maori warrior
out-generalled the watchers, and sprung a surprise upon the town.

Late on the night of the 10th of March, 1845, two columns of Maori
under Heke and old Kawiti--Hongi's fighting chief--landed at Onoroa and
Matavia, close by Kororareka. Heke ambushed his men amid the deep fern
in rear of Signal Hill, almost within touch of the blockhouse, while
Kawiti disposed his party about the Matavia Pass, on the opposite side
of the town. So quietly were these manoeuvres executed, that neither
the soldiers in the upper blockhouse, nor the sailors under Captain
Robertson of the _Hazard_ on the Matavia side, nor the civilians in the
stockade and lower blockhouse had any idea that they were ringed round
by a cordon of fighting men under two of the most experienced warriors
of their day. Not by the slightest sound did the Maori indicate their
presence; not even for the sake of capturing one of the officers who
walked through their lines, wholly unsuspicious of their proximity. It
was Heke's intention to surprise his foes, and he succeeded perfectly.

As day broke, cloudy and raw, on the 11th, the lieutenant of the
regulars went to the barracks to turn out his men. His second in
command, a young ensign, who was in charge of the upper blockhouse, by
the flagstaff, thereupon left his post under guard of a corporal and
fifteen men, and proceeded with a few soldiers to complete an earthwork
overlooking Onoroa Bay. Captain Robertson occupied a similar position
on an opposite hill overlooking Matavia Bay.

No sooner was the ensign out of sight than a sham attack was begun on
the Matavia side, and the young soldier very properly fell back towards
the blockhouse. At the same moment the corporal, believing his officer
trapped, left three or four men in the blockhouse, and raced with the
rest to the ensign's support. He soon realised that the firing was
from the Matavia side of the town, wheeled his men and hurried back
towards Signal Hill.

But a cloud of Maori sprang without the least warning from the fern
and, yelling discordantly, began to harass the little company. Others
rushed the blockhouse and slew the few defenders, while their heavy
fire convinced the corporal that to regain the place was impossible,
and that his wisest move would be to join forces with the ensign.
He effected this; but when the officer endeavoured to retake the
blockhouse, he was not only held off by the captors of the post, but
had much ado to break through the Maori who were stealing round to cut
him off from the lower blockhouse.

The action had by this time become general, and the British, though
fighting bravely, were getting the worst of it, owing to inferiority of
numbers and lack of ammunition.

The British fought sturdily and with dogged persistence, after their
usual fashion, and the Maori, brave themselves, never hesitated to give
credit to their valorous foes. For years after this historic engagement
they told the story of Captain Robertson's fight, how he felled with
his own hand five stalwart Maori, one of them a chief of note. Then the
gallant sailor dropped to the ground, sorely wounded, while Lieutenant
Barclay very reluctantly fell back just in time upon the town, and
thence reached the lower blockhouse.

For the Maori had seized the barracks and, surging round the
blockhouse, threatened to make an end. But the "Tommies" and the "handy
men" were not yet done with, and these, sweeping out without orders,
cleared their front of the triumphant foe.

"So all day long the noise of battle rolled"; but nightfall saw the
town evacuated, and the women and children safe on board the _Hazard_
and other ships in harbour, whose crews had looked on wonderingly at
the success of primitive warriors against disciplined soldiers. Numbers
must always count for something; but the "way of the Britisher," which
is ever to underrate a foe, particularly if he be of dark complexion,
accounts for the success of the Maori that day.

Victory was no sooner assured than the Maori swept down upon the town,
looted and burnt it to ashes. Yet so generous--or so stupid, from
the soldiers' point of view--were they that they allowed many of the
townspeople, with whom they considered they had no quarrel, to take
what goods they could and go unhindered. It was as if they had said,
"Our dispute is with the authorities. Go you in peace, and learn that
the savage Maori can be as chivalrous as the civilised Briton."

Were there present at the sack of the town any of the grosser sort of
Maori, who might have been inclined to defy their chiefs and commit
those excesses too often associated with the victory of the savage,
there were yet two men there to hold their passions in check. For, in
and out of the flaming houses, and here and there among the wounded,
unmoved by the riot and confusion around them, went all day long Bishop
Selwyn of the English and Bishop Pompallier of the Catholic Church,
their differences forgot as they united in acts of Christian charity
and corporal works of mercy.

So fell Kororareka, with the loss of a dozen killed and a score or so
wounded on the side of the defenders, while the Maori lost--so they
said--ten or twelve more. But, in addition, the town was destroyed, and
along with it fifty thousand pounds' worth of property. It was a signal
triumph for Heke and Kawiti, and, worse than all, it taught the Maori
to disbelieve in the invincibility of the Pakeha.

So fell Kororareka, one of the oldest settlements--if not the
oldest--in New Zealand; nor were there wanting those who averred that
the place had brought its fate upon itself and, like a latter-day "city
of the plain," thoroughly deserved its downfall.




CHAPTER XVII

HEKE AND KAWITI ON THE WARPATH


Kororareka was done with; but not so Honi Heke, outlawed now with his
comrade old Kawiti, and the whites around Auckland went in terror of
the victorious pair. For Heke had threatened to assault the capital
at the next full moon. Some watched for his coming as apprehensively
as did ever Roman for the approach of Lars Porsena and his Etruscans,
while to others the mention of the Black Douglas was not more prophetic
of disaster than was that of Honi Heke. Many of these last migrated to
more peaceful shores, despairing of rest anywhere in the land where the
Maori were predominant.

After all, Heke never came. The Maori leader had his hands full; for
Tomati Waka Nene, throwing in his lot with the British, marched into
Heke's country, and kept the victor busy while the Pakeha drew breath.

The Governor, worried almost out of his senses by the bitter attacks
made upon him, hurriedly collected all the soldiers who could be spared
and despatched them under the command of Colonel Hulme of the 99th
Regiment to the support of Waka Nene. The expedition reached the Bay
of Islands on the 28th of April, 1845, a guard of honour disembarked,
and the British flag was once more hoisted over what remained of
Kororareka.

Then came Waka Nene, advising immediate advance upon Heke, to which
Colonel Hulme agreed; but he made before starting one of those errors
which have more than once lowered our character for absolutely fair
dealing in the eyes of native races. The chief, Pomare, was taken
prisoner under a flag of truce and packed off to Auckland, while his
_pa_ was burnt. It is useless to reproach savages with treachery if
we ourselves are guilty of it. When the story came to his ears, the
much-abused Governor released Pomare with an apology, and soothed his
injured feelings by the gift of a sailing-boat, always a delightful
present to a Maori.

Heke had established himself at Te Ahuahu, not far from Okaihau, in
a _pa_ belonging to Kawiti; and here he waited till early in May for
Colonel Hulme, whose force of white men, swollen by the addition of
seamen and marines from the _Hazard_, had increased to four hundred.
Heke was said to have twelve hundred fighting men; but Waka Nene's
eight hundred "friendlies" equalised matters as far as numbers went.

As soon as Heke had ascertained that Colonel Hulme had left Auckland,
he withdrew from Te Ahuahu and built a new _pa_ near Taumata Tutu,
significantly enough, on the spot where the famous Hongi had spoken his
last "word" to his people. This _pa_ he named Te Kahika, or the "White
Pine _Pa_."

There was a good deal of the pagan left in Heke, or, at least, he
still preserved a considerable respect for the old religion. It is,
therefore, not wonderful that Te Atua Wera, the famous _tohunga_ of
the Nga-Puhi, should have been with him in camp, or that the commander
should have prayed the magician to put heart into his men. This Te
Atua Wera proceeded to do very diplomatically, advising the pagans
to stick to paganism, the Christians to Christianity, and impressing
upon each the absolute necessity for making no mistakes. "Do nothing,"
he cautioned, "to make the European God angry, and be careful not to
offend the Maori gods. It is good to have more than one god to trust
to." On these conditions he promised success and guaranteed to turn
aside the shot from the big guns.

There were no big guns, as it happened; for when Colonel Hulme's column
arrived at Okaihau on the 7th of May, they had only a few rockets. It
was resolved to use these for the moral effect it was hoped they would
produce.

Waka Nene's Maori had mounted a white headband to distinguish them
from the foe; but, as a matter of fact, they took little part in
the conflict, their superstitious fears having been aroused by the
carelessness of the soldiers and sailors regarding omens.

"They are eating their breakfast standing up!" one Maori exclaimed in
horror. "Don't they know how unlucky it is to eat standing just before
a battle?"

"They have no _tohunga_ with them," another remarked, shaking his head.
"I threw a _rakau_ (divining dart) for them this morning," a third
said gloomily, "and it turned wrong side up as it fell. Many will die
to-day."

"True," assented a fourth. "Look at them now. They are carrying
litters, as if they were already dead. They ought to be told how
unlucky that is."

And Nene's fighting chiefs did actually warn the British officers that
they were behaving very foolishly and, being laughed at for their
pains, begged the soldiers to throw away the litters, by carrying which
they were really asking for death. But the soldiers, too, laughed and
marched on, as the Maori fully believed, to their death.

This was too much for the friendlies. "We are not going to take part in
a funeral procession," they declared and, with the exception of a score
or two of Nene's relations, withdrew to the top of Taumata Kakaramu, a
neighbouring hill, to watch the fight.

"If the soldiers win to-day," they declared, "we will always help them.
But how can they possibly win?"

The reasons given by the friendlies for their abstention were genuine;
but underlying them was another, unconfessed. Like those with Heke,
they were Nga-Puhi, and in times of stress the claims of kinship have a
way of making themselves heard.

Heke had taken the precaution to cover the roofs within the _pa_ with
flax to protect them from the sparks of the rockets, and the first of
these presently came roaring and hissing at its mark. All held their
breath; for the friendlies, watching from the hill-top, knew as well
as those within the _pa_ that the _tohunga_ had promised immunity from
this very danger.

Heke came out just at this moment to observe the effect of the
missiles. Determined to be on the safe side, he had put up a Christian
supplication, and now stood repeating with great unction a Maori prayer.

On came the rocket; but Heke never moved. Many thought that he must
be hit; but the missile struck the ground and ricochetted over the
fort--greatly, no doubt, to the relief of the venturesome leader, who,
when a second shot behaved in like manner, yelled defiance and stalked
under cover.

Kawiti had meanwhile laid a clever ambush. When the rockets had been
fired, a rush was made on the rear of the _pa_, and Heke, leaving
sufficient to defend the walls, sallied from the front and had nearly
succeeded in effecting a junction with Kawiti, when a friendly saw him
stealing through the bush and yelled an alarm. In consequence, Kawiti's
flank attack was repulsed, his son being among the slain.

The old warrior attempted a second flank attack, but was driven back
by the British, who, as they chased the Maori, swore at them after the
immemorial fashion of Thomas Atkins. This annoyed the Maori more than
any drubbing; for they complained that they had done nothing wrong, and
to be treated to such vulgar abuse was an outrage. Such behaviour was
indeed utterly opposed to the Maori idea of courtesy, and a deputation
once approached the Governor, protesting against the Pakeha's habit
of swearing at them, and praying His Excellency to discourage the
offensive practice!

Colonel Hulme concluded as night fell that he could not take the _pa_
with the force at his command. He believed that he had punished the
enemy in the open; but his own loss was fourteen killed and thirty-two
wounded. Having neither ammunition nor food remaining, the colonel
marched away, leaving Heke in possession of the field.

The Maori chief some days later received a visit from Archdeacon
Williams, who urged him to yield and go into exile for a year, after
which his offences might possibly be pardoned. Heke declined the
missionary's kind offices, and wrote the Governor a letter which was
very far from being that of a fool.

"Friend, the Governor," said Heke, "where is the good will of
England? In her great guns? In her Congreve rockets?... Is it shown
in Englishmen calling us slaves? Or in their regard for our sacred
places?... The Europeans taunt us. They say, 'Port Jackson, China, the
Islands are but a precedent for this country. That flag of England
which takes your country is the commencement.' The French and, after
them, the Americans, told us the same thing.... We said, 'We will die
for the country which God has given us.' ... If you demand our land,
where are we to go?... Waka Nene's fighting for you is nothing. He is
coaxing you for land, that you may say he is faithful.... Were anything
to happen to me, the natives would kill in all directions. I alone
restrain them. If you say fight, I am agreeable; if you say make peace,
I am equally agreeable.... I say to you, leave Waka and me to fight.
We are both Maori. You fight your own colour. Peace must be determined
by you, the Governor.--From me, John William Pokai[60] (Heke)."

Public confidence in the security of life and property was by no means
increased by the retreat of the British from Okaihau, while the Maori
not unnaturally assumed airs which intensely irritated the colonists,
though they wisely ignored them.

The Governor, standing at bay between the scornful Maori and the
indignant colonists, who gave him a large share of the blame for the
misfortunes which had befallen the colony, made vigorous efforts to
organise another expedition which must crush Heke and Kawiti. While
this was preparing, Heke kept his hand in by attacking Waka Nene's
_pa_, where he received a bullet in the thigh. The British, not to be
outdone, went in boats up the Waikari river, to find the fort they
designed to attack deserted by the nimble foe.

All was ready by the 16th of June, and Colonel Despard of the 99th
Regiment began the second campaign against Heke, who had withdrawn to a
_pa_ of immense strength at Oheawai, sixteen miles inland from the Bay
of Islands. The colonel, an experienced soldier, commanded a force of
six hundred and forty regulars from the 58th, 96th, and 99th Regiments;
sailors from the _Hazard_; a company of one hundred volunteers, and
two hundred and fifty friendly Maori. Four guns were with infinite
pains hauled along the difficult track, through mud of a depth rarely
seen in Britain, and over creeks and rivers with steep, defiant banks,
between which the water often rushed in flood. June is midwinter in New
Zealand, and no worse time could have been chosen for the expedition.
Yet, in the judgment of those most deeply concerned with the colony's
fortunes, it had to be undertaken.

The force encamped near the mission-station on the Waimate or River
of Tears, and on the 23rd of June marched to Oheawai, where a small
garrison under Kawiti and Pene awaited their attack. Heke was still
incapacitated.

The night was spent in preparing batteries for the "potato pots," as
the Maori styled the mortars with which it was intended on the morrow
to breach the palisades of the _pa_,--four barricades of massive
logs,[61] twenty feet in height, with a broad ditch between the first
and the second. Some heavy hammering would be necessary before a
path could be smashed through those tremendous defences. Yet it was
confidently expected that the mortars would accomplish their part of
the programme of attack.

When they had turned in, the experience of the rest of the night must
have been weird to the unseasoned British. Throughout the long, dark
watches the comforting "All's well!" of the sentinels was drowned by
the oft-repeated challenge, thundered by the guards in the _pa_, "Come
on, O _hoia_![62] Come on and revenge your dead of Okaihau! Come on!
Come on!" And the deep-toned, defiant watch-cry of Waka Nene's men from
their hill, "Come on, O Nga-Puhi! Come on for your revenge! We have
slain you in heaps ere now! Come on! Come on!"

The bombardment began on the morning of the 24th, and for six days
thereafter was continued. The round shot bowled through palisades
one, two, three and four, or stuck fast in the giant posts; but never
a trunk was shaken down, never one so hopelessly smashed as to open
the door of that much-desired way. The enemy, safe in their cunningly
contrived rifle-pits, meantime kept up a galling fire, which more than
once caused a shifting of the positions of the batteries.

This ineffectual bombardment went on day after day, till Colonel
Despard lost patience and suggested an assault, breach or no breach.
But to this talk the Maori would not listen, and Waka Nene, wise in
war, implored the colonel not to dream of an attempt which must result
in the slaughter of almost every one concerned in it. The officers,
brave though they proved themselves to be, supported Waka. Then Colonel
Despard, angry, ashamed--for it was known how small a force held the
_pa_,--and well-nigh disheartened, was cheered by a gleam of hope. Why
not send to the _Hazard_ for a thirty-two-pounder gun, which would
certainly breach those defiant palisades? And send he did.

We know what bluejackets can do; but it is difficult for any one
unfamiliar with the country to realise the enormous pains and labour
expended in dragging that thirty-two-pounder the fifteen miles which
lay between the ship and the camp. It was done, though, and the great
gun crowned the hill and frowned down upon the _pa_, threatening
terrible probabilities for the morrow.

At ten o'clock next morning the new gun roared its first message. It
was posted only a hundred yards from the fort; yet, astonishing to
relate, those massive trunks groaned and quivered under the shock
of impact, but as sullenly as ever refused to fall, declined to be
smashed. But the defenders must have been apprehensive for the fate
of their stockade; for, while the great gun went on booming, Kawiti
and a chosen band of thirty stole out of the _pa_, and made their way
unperceived to a thick wood close to, and in rear of the battery.

No one was prepared for this, even the friendlies' sharp ears and keen
eyes being occupied with the banging of the guns, the thumping of the
heavy shot against the palisades, and the splinters flying in all
directions from the stubborn trunks. Wild, indeed, was the surprise of
those on the hill, when old Kawiti and his band burst from the wood and
charged down upon them.

Back reeled Waka's irregulars; down the hill in headlong flight raced
gallant Colonel Despard and his officers, forced to "run away" in order
that they might "live to fight another day," and upon that thundering
monster and his small six-pounder orderly swooped Kawiti and his men. A
few minutes more and the guns would have gone off in a fashion unusual
with them; but a number of the brave 58th came charging up the hill,
flung themselves upon the assailants, and drove them back with nothing
but a small union-jack for their pains.

Yet the sight of that little flag, hoisted below the Maori colours in
the _pa_, stung Colonel Despard to madness, or, rather, into issuing
a mad order which cost the lives of many brave men. Twenty-six shot
had been fired from the big gun which Commander Johnston had brought,
and, though an impression had been made upon the palisades, the Maori
maintained that much remained to be done before it would be safe
to assault the _pa_. Waka Nene threw his influence into the scale
against the proposition, but, finding the colonel determined, very
generously offered to lead a simultaneous attack upon another face of
the _pa_--which was built in parallelogram. Twenty bold spirits among
his men asked leave to accompany the soldiers; but the colonel refused
all help from his friendlies on the ground that, when they got inside
the _pa_, the soldiers might mistake them for hostiles. Thus, the men
who had had most experience in assaulting a _pa_, and who were willing
for once "to walk in a funeral procession," were forced to remain
spectators of an assault which they knew could have but one issue.

One made his last charge that fatal afternoon whom the hostile Maori
would fain have spared if they could. He was Lieutenant Phillpotts
of the _Hazard_, or "Toby," as the Maori affectionately styled him.
Here, at Oheawai, he showed his usual cool courage, walking up to the
stockade and along it, examining as he went, and all the time under
fire of the sharpshooters in the pits. When these recognised the bold
intruder, they ceased firing, calling out, "_Kapai_, Toby! Hurrah for
Toby! Go back, Toby! We don't want to hurt you." But the lieutenant
finished his examination, returned and reported to Colonel Despard that
without further breaching assault was impossible. But the colonel was
adamant.

The assault by escalade was fixed for three in the afternoon of the
1st of July, and one hundred and sixty gallant fellows under Majors
Macpherson and Bridge, along with forty eager tars under brave
Phillpotts, paraded at eighty yards from the _pa_, and stood staring at
death.

For a few minutes the silence is intense. Even the Maori in the _pa_
cease firing, unable to believe their eyes as they note the axes and
ropes in the hands of the men. Then the hush is broken by a pealing
bugle-call--"Advance!" A roaring chorus of cheers bursts from the
devoted band--"_Ave, Desparde! Morituri te salutant!_" it should have
sounded to the colonel,--and they race to cover those eighty yards and
reach what is indeed the "imminent, deadly breach."

Where is the brave fellow who a moment ago gave his bluejackets a last
cheering word? Where is Phillpotts? There he is--back behind the big
gun, thumping in a few more shots at the palisade, if so he may give
his men a chance for their lives.

He recoils suddenly from the gun, staring. Is he dreaming? The storming
party is not making for that part of the palisade at which the monster
has been hurling its iron wrath, but for the strongest section of the
_pa_, at which never a shot has been fired, whence never a spicule
of wood has been torn. What can it mean? "Are they all gone mad?" he
groans; and a wrathful growl answers him, "Colonel's orders, sir."[63]

Phillpotts scarcely hears. If his men are to be sent to death in that
fashion, he is not going to lag behind. On he runs. His men have
covered half of the distance; but he is close upon them, and catches
back his breath for an encouraging shout, when a line of light sparkles
along the ground in front, and from under the _pekerangi_, or outer
fence, a hundred balls of lead, invisible, but whining viciously, speed
towards their billets.

The foremost soldiers are down. Some of the sailors go down, too. But
Phillpotts is up with them now; no--ahead of them, where he wished to
be, and his cheery voice comes to them through the din, "Keep at it,
men! Down with those palisades!" And with one long, strong pull the
tars bring down full fifty feet of the _pekerangi_.

Alas! that does but little good; for they are face to face with those
mighty tree-trunks, whose fellows not even the great gun has been
able to demolish. This fence is set so deeply in the soil that human
strength avails not to pull it down. It is loopholed, too, and every
aperture spits death at the brave fellows who fall and fall and fall;
but will not run.

Ah! What is that? A roar, as of a wild beast springing upon its prey,
and a big gun, unsuspected before, belches from an embrasure round
shot and chain and scrap iron almost in the faces of the bewildered
men. The space between the two fences is a shambles now; but they will
not run, and Phillpotts is on his feet still.

They might go now. They have done enough for honour. Why does not the
bugler blow the "Retire"? If he does, those stern fighters do not hear
it; or, if they hear, they do not heed; for Phillpotts is running along
that impassable fence, seeking for a way through.

By Heaven! He has found one! But what a way! The embrasure through
which but now a heavy gun poked its ugly muzzle. Hardly large enough
for a child to climb through, much less a man. But with a shout to his
tars Phillpotts is up and wriggling through, and his cheering men are
under him, each striving to be the first up and after his leader.

Phillpotts is almost through, and a dozen muskets are emptied in his
face. But such is the perturbation of the Maori at sight of that
solitary, well-known figure, threatening now to leap into their midst,
and shouting "Follow, lads! Follow!" that every man there misses him.
And still he struggles in that narrow way, shouting "Follow!"

A single shot rings out, clearly heard in a momentary cessation of
the hideous din. It is fired by a mere boy; but it does its work, and
Phillpotts without a cry falls dead, still grasping his sword.

[Illustration: Phillpotts at Oheawai]

He lies somewhat apart; but Captain Grant of the 58th is not far away,
a ball in his heart, and Beattie, subaltern of the 99th, is dying.
Two sergeants have fought their last fight, and thirty of rank and
file--the brave unnamed--will never charge again. Macpherson, leader of
this forlornest of forlorn hopes, is grievously wounded; so are Ensign
O'Reilly and Interpreter Clarke. Three sergeants and seventy-five of
the rank and file are down. Not ten minutes at it, and three-fourths of
the one hundred and sixty who started have fallen, dead or wounded; and
of them all not one has passed that cruel fence. Will that bugle never
blow?

Ah! At last--"Retire!" The man watching from the hill, the man who
commands, realises now that he has demanded the impossible, has set his
men to take an impregnable fortress. And again, as if imploring them to
obey, the bugle wails--"Retire!"

The assault by escalade upon Oheawai is over, and the Maori has once
again repulsed the Briton.

But whose is the fault?

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 60: His father's name.]

[Footnote 61: Some of which required thirty men to raise them by means
of ropes.]

[Footnote 62: Soldiers.]

[Footnote 63: Statement of one who fought on that day.]




CHAPTER XVIII

THE FALL OF THE BAT'S NEST


When Colonel Despard about a fortnight later turned his back upon
Oheawai, he left the _pa_ in flames behind him. At no time had much
been seen of the enemy, except during Kawiti's dash and that fatal
ten minutes of assault; so the quiet aspect of the _pa_ attracted no
particular attention. Then Waka's men noticed one night that their
challenging watch-cries were not answered, though the howling of dogs
suggested that the place was still occupied. Cautious investigation
before dawn revealed the state of matters. Several dogs were tied up to
posts, so that their howling might deceive the besiegers; but the enemy
had stolen away, leaving an immense amount of material behind them,
probably with the intention of tempting Waka's men and so checking
immediate pursuit. Without more ado the _pa_ was burnt and the return
to Waimate begun.

The storm of popular indignation now broke out anew, not only on
account of Colonel Despard's failure--for it was failure, the Maori
counting as nothing the evacuation of a _pa_ in time of war,--but
because the Governor listened to the advice of Mr. George Clarke,
Chief Protector of Aborigines, and refused to prosecute the war until
it should be seen whether Heke and Kawiti would sue for peace. They did
nothing of the sort and, when it became known that Kawiti was building
a _pa_ which he boasted would defy any number of big guns, the Governor
was popularly called upon to resign.

Captain Fitzroy refused to resign, and it was not long before petitions
reached England, praying the Colonial Office to deal with him and to
relieve the depressed state of the colony.

No one in England had any very clear idea of what to do for New
Zealand; but Lord Stanley shook his head when the New Zealand Company
suggested the establishment of a proprietary government on the model
of the early colonies in North America. Captain Fitzroy was, however,
relieved of his office and, when the colonists learned that Captain
George Grey, Governor of South Australia, was to take his place, there
was general jubilation; "for now," people said, "they have at last sent
us a man!"

For George Grey was not untried in the art of governing men of
different races, living in the same land; nor was he without experience
of troubles such as were then oppressing New Zealand. He had dealt
in South Australia with precisely such problems, and had in five
years brought order out of chaos. Nor would he come unprepared to
argue matters with the New Zealand Company; for the South Australian
Colonisation Association oddly enough derived its existence, and in
a measure took its methods, from Mr. Edward Gibbon Wakefield, the
right-hand man of the New Zealand Land Company.

When Captain Grey became Governor of South Australia in 1839, the
country was almost bankrupt from much the same causes (the native
question excepted) as had brought New Zealand to the verge of ruin.
Before the Governor left, South Australia was in a flourishing
condition; by the aid and liberality of their chief the colonists had
overcome their difficulties, and the prosperity of the colony seemed
established. Is it any wonder, then, that the New Zealanders joyfully
anticipated Captain Grey's arrival, and looked to him to do for them
what he had done for their cousins on the other side of the Tasman Sea?

Moreover, Captain George Grey was believed to know more than any man
living about native races, and how to induce them to adopt the manners
and customs of civilised man. If there were some who shook their heads
and declared that George Grey was "too much inclined to see that
<DW65>s got their rights," their growls were lost in the shriller
chorus of satisfaction.

Captain Grey arrived on the 14th of November, 1845, at Auckland.
Without loss of time he quieted the financial panic, smoothed away for
the moment the land difficulty, and assured all loyal natives of the
Queen's favour and protection. Then, having ascertained that Heke and
Kawiti were still in arms, he sent them a message that, unless they
sued for peace before a fixed date, he would again set the war dogs
at their throats. As a gentle hint to all concerned, he immediately
passed a bill to prevent Maori from purchasing munitions of war.

While Heke and Kawiti, unused to such swift decision, debated the
question, the time limit expired, and their spies raced to them
with the news that the _Kawana_ (Governor) was sending against
them the greatest "war-party" which the "Pakeha Chiefs" had ever
put together. Heke was still forced by his wound to abstain from
active participation; but old Kawiti had finished his strong _pa_,
Ruapekapeka--"The Bat's Nest,"--and retired thither, convinced that it
would be impossible for the British to dislodge him.

Kawiti felt both complacent and apprehensive. The _pa_ he had built was
immensely strong and provided with every means of scientific defence,
and five hundred good fighting men lay behind its massive fences.
Colonel Despard, on the other hand, commanded close upon twelve hundred
men, with eleven guns, two of them being thirty-two-pounders. For the
odds Kawiti cared not at all; but the prospect of so many guns pounding
at him all at once did not please him. There was no help for it. The
war-party was at his gates, which he did not mean to open without a
struggle.

Colonel Despard, getting his first glimpse of "The Bat's Nest," made
up his mind that he would reduce it by means of regular sap work, if
it cost him a year. He had not to wait nearly so long; but neither he
nor Kawiti had the least presentiment how swift was to be the fall of a
fortress which at first sight looked impregnable.

It was now summer, and the dreadful mud and angry rivers were no longer
to be feared; yet there were difficulties in getting into position, for
old Kawiti had chosen his site with consummate skill. The troops left
Kororareka on the 8th of December, and four days later reached the _pa_
of a friendly chief, Tamati Pukutetu, whence Ruapekapeka could be seen,
nine miles away. Only nine miles; yet it cost those twelve hundred men
nine days to cross the intervening strip of country between Pukutetu's
_pa_ and their camp before Ruapekapeka, and another nine days elapsed
before the whole of the guns and ammunition could be got up. Kawiti
made no attempt to harass the troops. The country fought for him and,
besides, he was in no hurry to begin. No Maori ever was.

The British camp lay distant eight hundred yards from Ruapekapeka,
which stood on the side of a hill, surrounded by dense forest. A
quarter of a mile of space had been cleared all around of bush, leaving
a formidable glacis, which must be crossed before the massive palisades
could be reached. Not that the colonel intended to cross it until he
had sent ahead of him a good many iron notes of interrogation.

For the _pa_ itself, with its one hundred and seventy yards of frontage
and seventy yards of depth, all broken into flanks, if a purely
technical description were to be given of its figure--the stockaded
divisions of the enceinte, the curtains with their huge piquets, the
trenches and covered ways, the loopholes on the ground-level for
musket fire, the traverses, the subtle division of the interior into
compartments so that the loss of one should not necessitate the loss
of the rest, the subterranean cells, the bomb-proof shelters,--were
these to be detailed, even a soldier would stare and, while still his
wonder grew, ask not only how old Kawiti's head could carry all it knew
of the science of defensive warfare, but also, to adapt a famous query,
"Where the deuce got he that knowledge?"

The bombardment began long before all the guns were up. Moses Tawhai,
one of the allied chiefs, just before daylight on the 29th of December
stole through the thick bush with his men to a position six hundred
yards from the _pa_. Ere the enemy detected their daring approach,
they had "rushed up" a temporary stockade, and into this two hundred
soldiers and a couple of guns were promptly conveyed.

Two days later, even as the enemy, as if inviting a beginning, hoisted
their standard, every British gun in position--big guns, brass guns,
little guns, mortars, rockets--roared, banged, cracked and fizzed an
instant response. When the very first shot--fired from the gun served
by the contingent from H.M.S. _Racehorse_, under Lieutenant Bland--cut
the flagstaff in two and brought down the flag, "even the ranks of
Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer." Which is to say, the chivalrous
gentlemen defending the _pa_ were as ungrudging in their admiration of
the successful marksman as were the besiegers.

Next day, the 1st of January, 1846, the guns again roared out in
chorus, this time in salute to the New Year; and old Kawiti, on the
2nd, tried one of his famous flank rushes. But the British were ready
for him and drove him back with loss, so that he kept behind his
defences for the remainder of the siege.

So the days wore on until the 10th, by which time every gun, heavy and
light, was in position. All day long they thundered and crashed, and
shot and shell thumped and smacked against the wooden walls with much
more visible effect than at Oheawai, so that two very obvious breaches
had been made by nightfall.

Heke arrived that night with a reinforcement, having dodged a column
of friendlies who were blocking him in his home at Okerangi. When he
saw the condition of things, he gave the very sound advice that the
_pa_ should be evacuated before further mischief was done. "There is
no sense in remaining here to be killed," he urged. "Let them have the
_pa_ and, if they follow us into the bush, we shall have _them_; for
they cannot bring their big guns there."

People who have for nearly a fortnight endured a bombardment do not
require much persuasion to change their quarters, and the majority then
and there followed Heke out into the dense bush in rear of the _pa_.

But it was different with old Kawiti. Ruapekapeka was his very own,
the offspring of his own science and skill. He would not leave the
_pa_ while hope remained of saving it. So he threw his oratory into
the scale against Heke's arguments, and prevailed upon a few devoted
adherents to share his fortune for good or ill.

So the 10th of January closed without the British being aware that
Heke and the bulk of the garrison had slipped away to safety.

The end came on the next day, and from one point of view rather
pathetically. It was Sunday, and if there was one principle more than
another which the _mihonari_ had impressed upon their converts, it was
that no work of any kind must be done upon God's Day of Rest. Most
of those who were left in Ruapekapeka were Christians, and these,
believing that the British would be similarly employed, assembled
for divine service under cover of some rising ground outside, and in
rear of the _pa_. Kawiti and the few who remained inside were asleep
in the trenches; for they, too, had assumed that no attack would be
delivered on that Day of days. Heke might have warned them; for he had
read the lives of Wellington and Napoleon, and knew that Sunday never
yet stopped a fight. But Heke and his people were also busy at their
devotions in the shelter of the forest.

Had the British been alone nothing might have happened; but the
friendlies made a shrewd guess at the cause of the unusual quietude
within the _pa_, and Wiremu Waka Turau (William Walker), Waka Nene's
brother, stole up to the breaches and cautiously peeped through. As he
had expected, he could see no one; so signalled his brother.

Nene communicated the news, and Captain Denny and men of the 58th
instantly hurried up with the _hapu_ of Nene and Tao Nui at their
heels. As they burst into the silent fortress, old Kawiti awoke and
with a handful of followers made a brief defence. But the assailants
poured in, the odds were too great, and the old warrior, knowing that
the game was up, turned and fled out at the rear of the _pa_ and joined
Heke in the bush, calling upon him to return with his Nga-Puhi and
retake Ruapekapeka.

The face of the situation was thus entirely changed. The fort was
occupied by the British and their allies, and the Nga-Puhi were
hopelessly attempting to re-enter it at the rear. Their attack was
really a feint, intended to lure the soldiers to Heke's ambush; but
when the Nga-Puhi skirmishers at last fell back towards the bush,
strict orders were given against pursuit. Here, again, it was the
advice of the friendly chiefs which prevented the conversion of an
unexpected success into a disaster.

"Ah! The soldiers care nothing for Sunday when there's any fighting
to be done," observed a rueful Nga-Puhi prisoner after the fight.
"It's only when there's nothing else to do that they go and say their
prayers!"

So, on the 11th of January, 1846, fell Ruapekapeka _pa_, "The Bat's
Nest," at a cost to the British of twelve killed and thirty-one
wounded--how different from those ten awful minutes at Oheawai!--and
with it fell the hopes of Heke and Kawiti, who presently tendered their
submission and swore allegiance to Britain.

And so ended the first sustained war between Maori and Pakeha.




CHAPTER XIX

THE WAR IN THE SOUTH


"Luck!" said the stupid. "Foresight!" declared the wise. "George Grey
all over!" chuckled the knowing ones. But the fact remained that
Captain Grey had in less than two months partially disentangled the
economic knot, had done something towards smoothing the political
situation, and had brought about the end of a war which for a year and
a half had vexed the peace of New Zealand.

There were not wanting malcontents who prophesied all sorts of evil
because Captain Grey had accepted the submission of Kawiti and Heke,
pardoned them unconditionally, relieved the north of martial law, and
left only a nominal garrison at the Bay of Islands.

But the Governor already knew the Maori well enough to feel sure that a
generous confidence in their honour would strongly appeal to them. And,
besides, when George Grey had resolved upon a course, he held to his
resolution, unstimulated by the smiles of flatterers, unvexed by the
sneers of the envious, undeterred by the expressed opinion, good, bad,
or indifferent, of any living being.

Kawiti was seventy-two when he rushed the British with his favourite
flank attacks. A week after the destruction of his famous fortress,
Ruapekapeka, he wrote to the Governor, proposing peace in a letter very
characteristic of himself, and particularly impressing one fact upon
His Excellency. "Let us have peace between you and me," he wrote, "_for
I am filled with your riches_" (he meant, "I have had enough of your
cannon-balls"). "Therefore, I say, let you and I make peace. Will you
not? Yes!"

Honi Heke professed not to wish to make peace, and so long as he
actually refused submission, so long was there danger that, if
opportunity served, he would break out again. Once he had submitted,
that possibility would cease to exist; for he had never been known to
break his pledged word.

Waka Nene paid him a visit one day and attempted to talk him over.
Heke admitted that he had every desire for peace, but that, as he
was a great chief (which he was not, save by marriage, as Waka knew
very well), and as he had only fought in defence of his land and his
liberty, which no one should convince him was wrong, he would only
submit if the _Kawana_ came and asked him to do so.

Perhaps no one was more surprised than Heke when the Governor came
and frankly offered him his hand. In the Maori code, the chief who
goes first to the other, or who first sends a "go-between," is held to
be the one who sues for peace. So Heke shook hands with the Governor
and tried to be condescending. But he knew in his heart that he was
dealing with a shrewder man than himself, and one who would never
hesitate to make a small and not dishonourable concession for the sake
of a great public good. Heke knew that he had received the shadow, and
looked content; Governor Grey was fully aware that he had gained the
substance, and _was_ content.

The conclusion of the whole matter came in May, when old Kawiti boarded
H.M.S. _Diver_, then in the Bay of Islands, and formally tendered his
submission to the Governor, expressing his regret for the trouble he
had given, and his gratitude for the consideration with which he had
been treated. The scene was watched by Waka Nene and other chiefs who
had helped to lay the axe to the root of this venerable tree; but, true
to his course, Governor Grey's reception of him was so cordial and
kind, that the old warrior soon forgot his humiliation, and remembered
only that he stood in the presence of a friend. _O si sic semper!_

"Jack" Maori did not allow the Governor much breathing time. The
south was seething with discontent. Some of the colonists had never
forgiven the Executive for treating the Massacre of the Wairau as a
political rather than as a personal incident and, since Te Rauparaha
and Rangihaeata were living in the neighbourhood of Wellington, people
there were apprehensive of similar happenings. The Maori, too--and
particularly the restless pair just mentioned--continually grumbled,
and the burden of their lament was, as ever, "Land! Land! Land!"
Moreover, men of their type were not likely to be heedless of the
doings farther north. Colonists knew this, and conceived their fears
well grounded.

They were indeed. Neither Te Rauparaha nor his friend, Rangihaeata,
were men to be trusted should power, linked with opportunity, come
their way. They had already scored heavily off the Pakeha, and their
attitude was closely watched and imitated by their countrymen. A few
miles outside Wellington settlers were treated with an insolence
which enraged them, but which they dared not resent as they would
have done had their numbers been greater and their dwellings less
scattered. Their indignation at the behaviour of the Maori was the
greater, because they now felt it to be justified; for the land most in
dispute--the valley of the Hutt--had been bought by Governor Fitzroy,
and the money paid over to Te Rauparaha. Whether he had or had not made
a fair division with Rangihaeata was not the settlers' affair.

But the "Tiger of the Wairau," as Rangihaeata had come to be styled,
chose to think otherwise and, having secured a partner to his liking in
his friend Mamaku, demonstrated his views in his own objectionable way.
Te Rauparaha, the diplomatist, kept himself in the background, though
it is certain that his advice counted for much; and even Rangihaeata
did not at first make himself conspicuous, allowing his brigadier,
Mamaku, to harass the settlers in the valley of the Hutt and its
neighbourhood.

Perhaps too close a watch was kept upon Rangihaeata, and Mamaku
reckoned at less than his proper value. At all events, after a few
months of desultory fighting, it was Mamaku with a hundred men who
attacked a force of British regulars with a dash and spirit seldom seen
in the wars between Maori and Pakeha.

Boulcott's Farm was the advanced post of the British stockade of
Fort Richmond, on the Hutt, and was held in May, 1846, by Lieutenant
Page of the 58th Regiment and fifty men. The post consisted of a
wooden cottage, several huts and a barn adjoining, which last had
been rendered bullet-proof, and was the only fortified portion of the
cluster of buildings. The ground had been cleared for some little
distance all around, and beyond, on every side, spread the noble forest
for which this region was then famous. The River Hutt was not far away,
and somewhere in the thick scrub beyond the opposite bank lurked the
enemy. So Boulcott's Farm kept wide awake.

The night of the 15th of May passed quietly. The careful officer made
his rounds, and to every challenge had for answer, "All's well!" For
none could know that from the fringing scrub on the other side of the
river dark faces peered, and fierce eyes watched the glimmering lantern
as the rounds swung back to quarters, thankful for the prospect of a
quiet night's rest.

But so it was. Mamaku and his stalwarts were there, watching and
waiting their opportunity to cross the stream and spring upon an easy
prey.

The night wore on; a new day was born, but still the darkness lingered.
The song of a bird, the ring of a settler's axe, the crash of some
giant tree falling from the ranks of its comrades, these were the few
and infrequent sounds which broke the silence of the Hutt at that
date; but, as the stars began to pale before the dawn of the 16th, the
stillness seemed intensified. The men of the inlying picket felt the
influence of the deep silence of the bush as they had never felt it
before.

The sentry, suspicious of he knew not what, peered at the forms of his
comrades, indistinct in the gloom, and his nerves thrilled as he caught
sight of a standing figure in their rear. The challenge was on his lips
when the figure slowly, but not stealthily, advanced a pace or two, and
the sentry recognised Allen, the bugler, a boy of fifteen. With a sigh
of relief the sentry turned and peered again into the darkness of the
clearing to his front.

Paler grew the stars, some flickered out low down upon the horizon; but
still the darkness and the silence held and---- What was that?

That deep silence was broken at last, but by a sound so faint that only
tensely strained nerves could have caught it. A rustle, nothing more,
as if the first light breath of the morning wind stirred the tiniest
fronds of the fern. Yet the sentry heard it and, with his musket at the
ready, stared into the gloom and prayed for light.

Again! This time he was sure it was no wind, and his eyeballs ached
with the effort to discover the cause of that gentle and, it might be,
ominous rustling. But absolute silence had fallen again.

He glanced at Allen. The lad's figure was more distinct, and the
sentry saw that he was leaning slightly forward, his hand to his ear.
So he, too, had heard that soft stir, and was still unsatisfied.

Then, as the sentry watched his young comrade, the thick darkness
yielded to the touch of the invisible day, and the black curtain was
changed to sullen grey.

Again a sigh of relief passed the sentry's lips as he swung round to
his front. Light was coming at last and---- Ah! Look!

No sound this time. Something crept stealthily, slowly--how
slowly!--towards him. Something crouched close to the cleared ground
and moved with infinite patience through the fern.

"My God! They're on us!"

With the exclamation--perhaps it was also a prayer--the sentry threw
forward his musket and fired--hurriedly, blindly, hitting no one;
and the report was almost drowned in the wild uproar which instantly
followed.

The sentry shrieked a warning; the men of the picket discharged their
muskets and swung them up by the barrel, as half a hundred naked Maori,
upspringing from the fern, yelled and howled with fury, realising that
they had been seen just a moment too soon.

But one sound topped all others. Clear and shrill on the air of that
pallid morning rang the notes of the "alarm," as young Allen blew with
all the power of his lungs--not so much to summon, as to save, his
sleeping comrades.

Down went the sentry with a bullet in his brain. The men of the picket
reeled to the ground shot, or stabbed, or tomahawked, and still young
Allen blew--"Awake! Awake!"

A huge Maori rushed at him and snatched at the bugle. Still holding the
mouthpiece to his lips, Allen dodged him and--ran? No; stood still and
blew, clear and sharp, "Awake! Awake!"

With a grunt of wrath the savage raised his tomahawk and smote strongly
downwards. The keen steel almost shore the lad's arm from his shoulder,
and the bugle dropped from his nerveless fingers. But, ere it fell, the
brave boy caught it in his left hand, set it again to his lips, and for
the last time blew the quavering notes--"Awake! Awake!"

Then the Maori struck once more, and Allen died.

Many a brave man wears the proud cross "For Valour." Was it ever better
deserved than by the boy who sleeps forgotten in a far-off land, and
who simply did his duty?

While this tragedy was being enacted, a fierce attack was made upon
the defenceless quarter of the farm, whence Lieutenant Page, aroused
by poor Allen's last bugle call, rushed with two of his startled men.
They were immediately driven back; but presently, while the sergeant
with a handful kept the Maori at bay, Page and six men, carrying three
wounded under a hot fire, managed to reach the stockaded barn and join
forces with the bulk of the command. The end of the affair soon came
after that. The British poured out of the barn, led by their officer,
and Mamaku and his Maori, having no liking for cold steel, scampered
across the river, having killed six and wounded four of the small
company of soldiers. Lieutenant Page was subsequently promoted for his
gallantry in beating off a force twice as great as his own.

[Illustration: A boy's heroism. "Awake! Awake!"]

Whether "Ould Rapparee," as the soldiers called Te Rauparaha, was
really Rangihaeata's chief adviser in all this mischief, the "Fighting
Governor"[64] suspected him of being so, and determined to put him
where he could do no more harm for a time. "Ould Rap" was living not
far from Porirua, near Wellington on the west, without the faintest
suspicion that the _Kawana's_ keen eye was upon him, and a most
indignant man was he when he awoke in the grey of a winter dawn to find
himself in the grasp of a number of sturdy tars. The little old fellow
wriggled like an eel, fought, kicked, and bit, shouting lustily the
while, "Ngati-Toa! Ngati-Toa to the rescue!" But the Ngati-Toa, seeing
what was toward, judged it wiser to remain a little longer on their
sleeping mats, and the warrior was carried off into what he chose to
consider durance vile. Since he was treated as a State prisoner, and
merely detained on board a ship of war for a year, he had only the fact
of his captivity to complain of; and for this he had himself to thank.

Governor Grey now turned his attention to Rangihaeata, who had
withdrawn to the Horokiwi valley, a most impracticable region, densely
wooded, midway between Porirua and Pahatanui. Here he had retired
behind a stockade of immense strength, upon which, by Captain Grey's
advice, no assault was made. New tactics of blockade were tried, a
method of warfare which the Tiger of the Wairau relished as little as
he had expected it: for there had been no time to lay in supplies.
Consequently, he and his men were soon starved out and dispersed; nor
did Rangihaeata ever again appear in arms against the Government.

Trouble arose early in 1847 at Whanganui. Disputes regarding land
tenure had been frequent and acute; but it would not be fair to ascribe
to that ever-burning question the shocking massacre and the outbreak
which followed it. It was a boyish prank which this time fired the
train of events and once more set Maori and Pakeha face to face in
armed opposition.

On the 18th of April a youthful midshipman of the _Calliope_ was
"fooling" with a pistol, which exploded and wounded a Putiki chief
in the face. The wound was attended to by the English surgeon, and
the chief made light of the matter; but certain "irreconcilables"
proclaimed the middy's act an attempt at deliberate murder, and swore
to take _utu_. That these men were actuated by sheer hate of the Pakeha
is clear from the fact that, not being related to the Putiki chief,
they had no right to exact vengeance on his behalf. Yet revenge him
they did, and in atrocious fashion.

A settler named Gilfinnan, his wife and eight children, lived at
Matarana, a lonely spot five miles from Whanganui. Six natives
descended upon this solitary homestead two days after the midshipman's
unlucky prank, and barbarously murdered Mrs. Gilfinnan, two young boys
and a girl of fourteen. The eldest daughter was severely injured and
Gilfinnan, bleeding from a tomahawk gash in the neck, staggered into
the town with the dismal information.

Then Honi Wiremu (John Williams), a Christian chief, called upon six
other young men to follow him, and without an hour's delay sped up
the river in pursuit of those who had dishonoured the Maori name. The
murderers had made fifty miles when the canoe of the avengers dashed
into sight and swiftly came abreast of their own. Before the assassins
could lift a hand, Patapo, a young chief, gripping his tomahawk between
his teeth, sprang into their canoe, instantly upsetting it, and in a
few minutes the ruffians were dragged from the water, handcuffed and
carried prisoners to Whanganui.

The district being at that time under martial law, Captain Laye of the
58th Regiment made short work of the murderers, four of whom he hanged
out of hand, after general court-martial, while the fifth, a mere boy,
was transported for life.

The torch was alight now: but it was three weeks later before the
settlers saw the surrounding hills dark with hostile Maori, who opened
fire on the town, the stockade and, impudently enough, on the gunboat
in the river. The defence was too weak to allow of operations by
daylight; but, after nightfall, when the natives thought that they
might safely loot outlying houses, the soldiers, undismayed by superior
numbers, chased them from the town, routing them utterly and slaying,
with many more, their old chief, Maketu, a man of note.

Early in June reinforcements were dispatched to the Whanganui post, and
the "Fighting Governor" himself arrived. How useful Captain Grey could
be in a crisis such as this, and how intimate was his knowledge of
human nature, is evidenced by what occurred shortly after his arrival,
when a deputation waited on him with the request that he would remove
the inhabitants from Whanganui and transfer them to Wellington.

Captain Grey studied the faces of the men for a few moments, and then
replied, "How many of you really wish to effect this change? Let all
who desire _to run away from the natives_ cross to the other side of
the room."

Not a man stirred from his place and, though some did eventually leave
Whanganui, the settlement was not deserted. To-day Whanganui is the
centre of one of the finest pastoral districts in New Zealand.

Throughout June, Colonel McCleverty tried without success to lure the
Maori from their strong entrenchments; but towards the end of the month
he made a demonstration in their front and, after some skirmishing,
played the old trick of seeming to retreat in disorder. The enemy
were outside their works in a twinkling, yelling triumphantly; but
the soldiers turned at bay and drove them back over their breastworks
at the point of the bayonet. This was the last of it. Winter had
set in and the Maori, having had enough of fighting combined with
semi-starvation, came in under a flag of truce and proposed peace on
the ground that they considered they had killed sufficient soldiers!

Knowing the Maori mind, the Governor appeared to resent this remark and
replied that, though he would discontinue fighting, he would blockade
the river until peace was sued for in more seemly phrase. Spring was
well advanced before the haughty chiefs crushed down their pride, and
not a craft of any sort had been allowed up stream since the _Kawana's_
fiat went forth. So, being unable to obtain tobacco, tea, sugar, and
other luxuries, they swallowed humble pie, and wrote begging His
Excellency to proclaim peace.

Numbers of Maori could by this time read and write their own language,
and many had become proficient in English. A news-sheet in their own
language gave them information regarding current events; the Bible and
some other books had been rendered into Maori, and in spite of wars and
rumours of wars, civilisation advanced apace.

With the conflicts round Whanganui terminated the first period of the
long struggle between Maori and Pakeha. It had lasted over two years,
it had made its influence felt from Auckland in the north to Wellington
in the south, and it had demonstrated to the Pakeha that there were
more ways of fighting than were to be found between the covers of the
Red Book. Would the Pakeha remember that lesson when they next met the
Maori in the field?

The meeting was to come; but not until eleven years of fruitful peace
had passed, bringing with them all the beneficial changes which make
for the future greatness of a young country. And for those quiet
years with all their opportunities, he would be ungenerous indeed
who would not give the credit and the thanks in large--perhaps in
largest--measure to the Governor, Captain George Grey.

He had not yet been two years in the colony which he had found in
such a parlous state; yet, as once before, in South Australia, he had
brought order out of disorder, and by his firmness and consummate tact
effected a by no means sham reconciliation between his own proud race
and the equally proud, and far more turbulent, Maori folk. So far
his greatest honours had been won in time of war. Let us see how he
comported himself during the next six years which remained to him of
that peace which he had done so much to bring about.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 64: Captain Grey was styled the "Fighting Governor" by the
Maori because of his frequent presence at the military operations
against them, where, it was said of him, "he carried the spirit of
peace into the councils of war."]




CHAPTER XX

BUILDING AND UPSETTING


In August, 1846, the Imperial Parliament passed "The New Zealand
Government Act," dividing the colony into two provinces and granting
representative institutions. It was on New Year's Day, 1848, that the
Queen's will was made known to her people in her youngest colony, and
Captain Grey was sworn in anew--this time as Governor-in-Chief of the
Islands of New Zealand, and also as Governor of the Province of New
Ulster and New Munster, the new division of New Zealand proper. In
the same month Major-General Pitt and Mr. E.J. Eyre were appointed
Lieutenant-Governors of New Ulster and New Munster respectively.

The exultation of the colonists over their improved status was suddenly
checked when they learned that Sir George Grey--now a Knight Commander
of the Bath--had determined to withhold the franchise from them for a
reason which seemed to him to justify this serious step.

The new Act conferred the franchise upon all who could read and write
English, which, of course, excluded the great majority of Maori. Sir
George Grey feared that, when the natives appreciated the great
power which the exercise of the franchise would confer upon the
white population, still greatly in the minority, and realised the
disadvantages to themselves, discontent would be excited amongst them,
and trouble break out afresh. For this reason he suspended that part
of the charter dealing with the franchise until he should receive an
answer from the Colonial Office to the communication he had made on the
subject.

Strong man as he was, Sir George Grey was forced to bow before the
storm of popular indignation which his action aroused. He held out
until November; but he was one, and his opponents were very many, so in
that month he wrote again to the Colonial Secretary, withdrawing from
the position he had taken up. Meantime, he gave the public a portion of
what was demanded in the shape of a provincial representative ordinance.

This came to nothing, for the Imperial Parliament was preparing a fresh
charter for New Zealand. But, owing to the time which must elapse on
each occasion before those so far divided could learn one another's
views, it was not until the 30th of June, 1852, that the Constitution
Act for New Zealand was passed. As in those days the voyage to New
Zealand was a much longer affair than it is now, the new Constitution
was not promulgated in the colony until January, 1853, in March of
which year Sir George Grey assumed his new duties.

The Constitution Act gave representative institutions to the colony,
which was divided anew into the six Provinces of Auckland, Wellington
and Taranaki in the North Island, and Nelson, Otago and Canterbury in
the Middle Island. The Chief Executive was to be the Governor of the
colony, and the office of Lieutenant-Governor was done away with.

Each Province was to be administered by a Superintendent, whose
election the Governor had power to veto. Each Province was to make its
own laws (save those which affected the colony as a whole) by means of
an elected council. The whole colony was to be ruled by a Governor;
a Legislative Council of ten, appointed for life by the Crown; and a
House of Representatives of from twenty-four to forty members, to be
elected every five years by the people. The Governor possessed the
right to veto laws made by the Provincial Councils, while the Crown
might exercise the same right with regard to the Colonial Parliament.
The franchise included all British subjects--irrespective of
colour--twenty-one years of age and having certain very easy property
qualifications.

There were many more clauses, and, of course, the Constitution did not
suit everybody. Still, it was on the whole a large and liberal measure,
and time would show its working and where the need for alteration lay.

While all this was under discussion, matters were not standing still
in other directions. Emigration revived upon the establishment of
peace, and New Zealand became once more the Mecca of many a poor man's
hopes. So firm, indeed, was faith in the future of the colony that
within three years of the cessation of trouble in Whanganui, two new
settlements had been planted in the Middle Island.

The earlier of these, Otago, was founded in March, 1848, under the
auspices of the Free Church of Scotland, itself a new institution,
formed by secession from the Established Church. The Company had a
hand in the matter; but it was now a chastened Company, and the scheme
which was drafted in view of founding Otago was not marked by such
imperfections as had marred the success of earlier operations.

The agent, in this instance, was a man whose memory is yet green in
Otago--Captain William Cargill of the 74th Regiment, retired, who
had served with distinction in the Peninsular wars, and was reputed
a descendant of David Cargill, the Covenanter. Otago never knew the
desolation which had been the lot of her northern sisters and, in no
very long time, the chief city had been founded under the reminiscent
name of Dunedin, while the Port was called "Chalmers," after the great
leader of the Disruption.

The principle of imitation possibly influenced the Church of England
to follow the example of the Scotch seceders. Canterbury was founded
in December, 1850, under the auspices of the Establishment, and it
was Mr. Edward Gibbon Wakefield who obtained for the Canterbury
Association a ten years' charter of incorporation from Her Majesty's
Government. Moreover, land was purchased from the not yet defunct
Company, and the emigrants, who were styled in England "Canterbury
Pilgrims," arrived in due course. As a whole, they were as fine a set
of people as ever young colony could desire. Their ideas were at first
a little high-flown; but they soon got rid of initial absurdities, and
Canterbury is to-day not the least in the Dominion of New Zealand.

Everything was going very well indeed, and men began to tell one
another that, now that the native trouble was over, there was nothing
more to be feared, nothing to prevent active colonisation, nothing
to interfere with the rapid growth of the towns already founded. One
might almost assert that New Zealand was a land without drawbacks. So
they talked and hoped and planned, forgetting all the while that they
lived--or some of them--within that sinister belt which straggles round
the globe under the name of the "earthquake zone." They were sharply
reminded of it on the 16th of October, 1848.

It was about two in the morning when people were suddenly awakened
by--they knew not what. Simply, they were awakened. Some lay still,
wondering why sleep had so abruptly departed; others, suspicious of
trouble, rose and began to dress; only the few were aware of the
true cause of that untimely awakening, and these rushed out of their
dwellings and shouted an alarm. As the cries were in their mouths,
there came a dull, far-away rumbling, a shudder shook the earth, and
every house in Wellington rocked to and fro. Then people knew what was
happening, and for a time all was confusion. The earth-pang was upon
them, and folk ran hither and thither, crying aloud in their terror,
seeking aid of those who sought it as eagerly, bewailing their ruined
homes while shock after shock convulsed the earth, shaking down walls,
splitting gaps in houses and cleaving fissures in the solid ground.

From Banks Peninsula on the east of the Middle Island to the Peninsula
of Taranaki on the west and White Island on the east of the North
Island, the two "isles shivered and shook like a man in a mortal
affright." The plains gaped, the mountains reverberated to the crash of
great masses of rock thundering down into their valleys, and for nearly
a month from the time of the first tremor this whole area was full of
diminishing unrest.

Most of the houses in the Wellington district were built of wood,
though not a few were of brick, and it was discovered that those of
wood which were built upon a brick foundation resisted the shocks
better than those where only one of these materials had been used.
Wellington suffered most, losing some sixteen thousand pounds' worth
of property, while the fall of the ordnance store there buried in its
ruins Sergeant Lovell and his two children.[65]

This was bad enough; but, as many of us know, it takes more than an
earthquake to drive people from the land in which they have made their
home. So most folk stayed where they were, and a shock of a more
pleasurable kind presently confirmed them in their judgment.

This was nothing less than the discovery of gold. Men rejoiced, because
they knew that, with such a magnet, it would not be long ere the colony
attracted to her shores the increased population which she required for
her better development.

There was reason to rejoice over the finding of gold at home, the more
because, when news arrived of the Californian discoveries in 1849, no
fewer than a thousand colonists had emigrated thither from New Zealand,
whence so many able-bodied men could ill be spared. Two years later
came the story of the marvellous finds in the river-beds of New South
Wales and the gullies of Victoria, and the young colony suffered a
further drain of her stalwarts. Many intending immigrants, too, had
shifted their helm and, instead of keeping a course for Maoriland,
steered for one or other of the gold-bearing colonies. So people were
heartily glad from every point of view when Mr. Charles Ring in 1852
found unmistakable traces of gold at Coromandel, forty miles north of
Auckland.

The Coromandel territory belonged to old Te Tanewha, or "Hooknose," the
contemporary of Captain Cook; and Lieutenant-Colonel Wynyard, Acting
Governor, would allow no invasion of his land without his permission.
Old Hookinoë, as he pronounced his nickname, proved most gracious in
the matter of cheap licences; but his land was soon exhausted, and
his neighbour, Taraia, positively refused to allow either digging or
prospecting. Five years later gold was discovered in paying quantities
at Collingwood, in the Nelson Province, and four years after that
there was a further find at Gabriel's Gully, Otago; but it was not
until June, 1862, that Coromandel, where the metal had been originally
unearthed, was declared available as a goldfield.

Though Sir George Grey had now a House of Representatives and a
Legislative Council, he did not summon the General Assembly. He had
already applied to the British Government to remove him from a position
in which he had spent thirteen years of strenuous life--five in South
Australia, eight in New Zealand--battling with, and for the most part
overcoming, formidable difficulties; setting one colony upon the high
road to success, relieving another of many of her burdens, bringing
to her much-needed peace, and providing her with a Constitution and
Representative Government. After such a long period of arduous toil he
felt that he had a right to crave leave to rest awhile.

He left New Zealand on the 31st of December, 1853, carrying with
him the best wishes of the best of the colonial population, and the
whole-hearted devotion of the Maori race. It was not only as Governor
that Sir George had gained the respect of the Maori; his qualities as
a man--not the least of them his manliness--had won their regard, and
they admitted yet another debt. He had learned their language, and had
set down in that wonderful thing, a printed book, some of their most
cherished traditions and legends, which must otherwise have been lost
to them and to the world.

Sir George Grey being gone--having no presentiment that, as "Fighting
Governor," he was to return to his ancient battlefields,--the
honour of opening the first session of the General Assembly fell to
Lieutenant-Colonel Wynyard, who had assumed the administration of the
Government. Auckland was, of course, the place of meeting; and there
New Zealand's first Parliament assembled for the first time on the 27th
of May, 1854, just fifty-four years ago. The second Parliament met in
April, 1856, after the new Governor, Colonel Thomas Gore Browne, C.B.,
had assumed office.

The early months of Colonel Wynyard's administration were marked by
a sad calamity. Measles broke out at the Bay of Islands and, finding
virgin soil, spread, like a rank weed, from end to end of the land.
Four thousand Maori died before the epidemic was stamped out, among
them old Kawiti, at the age of eighty-four. He had fought more than
one good fight against the British leaders; but this time there came
a captain he could not defeat, so he drew his mat across his face and
slept with his fathers.

As this is not a political history, it is unnecessary to deal with the
struggles of the first Parliament to shape itself and to bring about
responsible government. But it is well to remember that New Zealand
was now subdivided into six Provinces, each empowered to manage its
internal affairs; and also that there were men who from the first
saw danger in this splitting up of interests, and did not hesitate
to declare that there must be one Central Government, and one only.
Otherwise, they insisted, there must be inevitably developed a number
of small republics, each jealous of its own privileges, yet envious
of its neighbours' success; each desiring the advantage of itself, all
careless of the general good.

It was union, not separation, which all true men desired--a union
which, while it left a man free to indulge in honest pride that his
fate had made him a Wellingtonian, an Aucklander, a Cantuarian, or what
not, should compel him to the larger boast, "I am a New Zealander!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 65: Another very severe earthquake, which caused great
damage to life and property and was felt on both sides of Cook Strait,
occurred in January, 1855, on the fifteenth anniversary of the founding
of Wellington. The sentry on guard over the ruins of Government House
there, stood to attention during the height of a convulsion and cried,
"All's well!"]




CHAPTER XXI

O'ERCLOUDED SKIES


There was no session of Parliament between April, 1858, and the end of
July, 1860, and the colonists were consequently justified in believing
that the machinery of Government was moving smoothly throughout the
Islands, and that the chief engineers required no help from their
subordinates. Had they been told that they stood upon the dividing line
between peace and war; had they been told that it required but one
forward step in order to plunge them into a strife which should endure
almost without intermission for just so many years as the peace they
had enjoyed, they would have laughed in their informant's face.

From the earliest days certain tribes had maintained an attitude of
reserve towards the Pakeha. If the white intruders chose to found a
settlement or two on the coast and remain there, well and good; the
Maori might find their presence useful commercially and for purposes
of war. It was another matter when the strangers absorbed the land,
divided the country into provinces, and founded not only capital
cities, but numbers of smaller towns and villages as well. If this
sort of thing were to go on, the Maori might as well evacuate the
island at once; for, as Heke had said to the Governor, "If you take our
land, where are we to go?"

This was the view taken by the Waikato, one of the most famous and
most warlike of the Maori _iwi_, who about the year 1848 formed a Land
League, which they strove to induce the other tribes to join. The
leading principle of the League was obstinate refusal to sell land
under any conditions to the Pakeha.

Confined to the Waikato alone, this movement would have been serious
enough, threatening, as it did, to preserve in the midst of the Pakeha
settlements numerous fierce and resolute men, opposed to the domination
of Britain. When other tribes associated themselves with the founders
of the League, it should have been evident that some day, and before
long, white and brown must stand foot to foot to decide which was to be
for ever supreme.

It mattered not to the Leaguers that the Government desired them to
participate in the beneficent legislation designed on behalf of their
countrymen. If they were to be governed at all, they preferred to
choose the means and the way. To this end they devised a grotesque
scheme, blending British institutions with the monarchical system
of the ancient Jews. This done, they elected a king, called a
"parliament," hoisted the flag which William the Fourth had granted to
the "United Tribes of New Zealand," and inscribed it "Potatau, King of
New Zealand."

Ridicule might have killed the movement, had it stopped there; but
danger loomed very near when the irreconcilable chief of the "Boiling
Water" tribes, Iwikau Te Heu Heu, demanded total separation between
the two races, pointing to his great ancestor, the slumbering volcano,
Tongariro, as the centre of a district through which no road should be
made, where no white man should settle, and wherein Queen Wikitoria
should not be prayed for.

Governor Browne held, notwithstanding, that "Kingism" should be allowed
to die a natural death, and most unwisely repealed the Act which
Sir George Grey had brought in, which prevented the sale of arms to
natives. It was not until six months after this unaccountable step, by
which time the Maori had acquired several thousand stand of arms, that
the Governor listened to the anxious settlers and made the purchase
of guns and ammunition somewhat more difficult by increasing the duty
upon them. The whirlwind of the wind thus sown was to be reaped later;
but the immediate result was a series of small civil strifes between
different tribes during the years 1857 and 1858.

Peace was still unbroken when 1859 came in, nor did the colonists even
then pay much attention to the mutterings of the Land Leaguers or the
growls of the King party. Yet they were really sitting over a powder
magazine, and a very small spark must at any moment cause a terrible
explosion.

Before the explosion comes, let one last word be said regarding the
attitude of the contending parties towards one another.

Every one knows the shocking story of the retreat of the red men
before the advance of civilisation, during which deeds were done, not
once, not twice, but over and over again, upon both sides which cannot
be named for the horror of them. We have not always been too careful of
the black man's rights in Africa, and when he has turned upon us in his
despair, have smitten him hip and thigh, decimating his tribe, burning
his kraal and laying waste his fields.

The Maori experienced little, indeed, of this in comparison with those
others. Misunderstanding there was, and some, perhaps, were too quick
to judge. Misunderstanding added to hasty judgment led to strife; but
that strife, keen as it was, and bitter too, sometimes, was never a
combat _à outrance_.

Pakeha and Maori met and fought, slew and were slain, won or lost.
Feeling now and again ran very high, the Maori smarting under a sense
of loss and injustice, the Pakeha furious at some treacherous murder.
Then there were reprisals. Such lamentable happenings there were;
but at no time, not in the very depth of the war, existed generally
that intense bitterness of spirit, that fierce racial jealousy, that
consuming hatred, which distinguished the conflict between Paleface
and Redskin. As the limits of the Pakeha's territory were extended, at
no time did there arise such a band of bloody murderers as the "Indian
Runners" of the western frontier of the United States. With these men
it was an abiding principle to shoot an Indian on sight, innocent
though he might be of any deed of blood. The strongest article in the
creed of the Runner was, "There is only one good Injun, and that's a
dead Injun."

Nothing like this wicked spirit ever animated the white community in
New Zealand. One might almost say that they waged war in generous
mood, and there were certainly instances of extreme generosity and
high-mindedness on the Maori side. Where in the world in a campaign
against "savages" has one heard of the savage calling a warning to
his white foe? Yet this is what the Maori did. "Go back, Toby!" they
cried to Lieutenant Phillpotts at Oheawai. "Lie down, icky-fif; we're
goin' to shoot!" they frequently shouted to the soldiers of the 65th
Regiment, who had somehow gained their regard. Where in the world will
you hear of converted "savages," having been taught the sanctity of the
Sabbath, respecting the same when at war with their instructors? Yet
this is what the Maori did. Remember the _pa_ of Ruapekapeka! Great and
simple souls! What must have been their feelings when a volley from
those who had taught them the holy lesson laid many of them low? There
is no implication intended that the Maori were uniformly chivalrous and
the Pakeha uniformly the opposite--the records of the war would never
justify such,--but it ought not to be difficult for the civilised white
man to be generous and chivalrous, whereas such instances as those just
quoted are probably unique in the annals of war between the white and
the <DW52> races.

The wars in New Zealand had for the most part their origin in agrarian
questions, and were concluded by diplomatic negotiations. They
were not--nor was it ever contemplated that they should be--wars of
extermination. The Pakeha strove by means more or less legal, if not
legitimate, to push the Maori from the soil on which their feet had
been firmly planted for six hundred years. The old owners resented the
attempt and, in some instances, the manner in which the attempt was
made. When argument was exhausted, then, and then only, came the final
appeal to arms, and a war resulted which has brought about lasting
peace.

When the war began there were 170,000 whites in New Zealand, while
the Maori population was reckoned at 32,000, of whom about 20,000
were available as fighting men. Remember, the Maori of 1859 were very
different from even their immediate forebears. Cannibalism was as
extinct as the _moa_. The intelligent natives had recognised the value
of the Pakeha methods and studied them with advantage. Many possessed
their own holdings, farmed their own ground, and progressed in the
education which was freely offered them. There were Maori assessors in
the Courts of the Superintendents, and a Maori chief was attached to
the Governor's staff as adviser on purely native questions. The two
races were distinctly drawn to one another about this period, and the
white portion at any rate hardly looked for trouble.

What gave the colonists an added sense of security was their knowledge
that the great leaders of the past were all dead, or nearing their end.
Heke had died of consumption in 1850. Te Rauparaha preceded him to
Reinga in 1849, being buried by his son, Thompson Rauparaha, who had
been educated in England and was a lay-reader. Rangihaeata helped to
bury his old friend, and followed him seven years later to the shades,
having never during the whole of his seventy years abated his hatred of
the Pakeha.

Rangihaeata was a man of great strength and splendid presence, and
it is told that, when on one occasion he met Sir George Grey at a
_korero_, or palaver, his costume was entirely and markedly Maori, in
contrast to that of many of his countrymen, who wore blankets instead
of mats, or were clothed in ordinary European dress. In reply to the
Governor, Rangihaeata assumed his proudest, sternest expression, and
spoke defiantly. "I want nothing of the white men," he concluded, and,
with a sneer at his compatriots, "_I_ wear nothing of their work." Sir
George smilingly indicated a peacock's feather which surmounted the
chief's carefully dressed hair. "Ah! True; that is European," said
Rangihaeata with vehement scorn, plucking the feather from his hair and
casting it on the ground.

Of the rest of the stern warriors who had been in grips with the
Pakeha, Pomare was dead, Te Tanewha was gone to join the long line of
his ancestors, and Waka Nene, their reliable friend, was growing old.
In the opinion of many the great past had died with the dead heroes,
and was dead for ever.

It was in November, 1859, that Governor Gore Browne arrived at Taranaki
and announced that, if any native had land to sell, along with a good
title, he was there to buy for the Crown. A Maori named Teira--the
nearest approach he could make to "Taylor"--offered to part with six
hundred acres at Waitara, and this block the Governor agreed to buy, if
Teira's title were proved good. The Commissioner was satisfied as to
the title; surveyors were sent to mark boundaries, and were promptly
ordered off by Wiremu Kingi Te Rangitake (William King), the chief of
Teira's tribe, who had already declared that he would not allow the
land to be sold.

Governor Browne was a soldier, and diplomacy was not for him. He at
once sent a force to compel Wiremu Kingi to withdraw his opposition,
and these found the Maori strongly entrenched, and quite willing to
take up the gage of battle.

The Taranaki settlers retired with the soldiers to New Plymouth, and
the Maori ravaged the settlement, which extended twenty miles north and
south, and eight or ten inland. The fighting which followed during the
ensuing months was chiefly remarkable for the first appearance of the
colonial force in the field, where they then and afterwards did such
good work.

For most obvious reasons--were they known--the writer would be the last
to disparage the regular forces; but they were hampered by method,
and the bush fighting of the Maori was a style of warfare to which
they were quite unused. Not a few, without intending disrespect to
the regular forces, strongly hold that, had the conduct of military
operations been left to McDonnell, Von Tempsky, Whitmore, Atkinson,
and a few others, they, with their militia and volunteers, would have
brought the war to a successful close in half the time, at half the
cost, and with infinitely less loss to their own side. For these
fought the Maori in the Maori style, and the natives feared these
men, who knew them and the bush, with a fear they never felt for the
redcoats, whom, in their queer way, they often expressed themselves
sorry to be obliged to shoot.

One example will show the difference in method. General Cameron, a man
of great experience--elsewhere--and proved courage, one day in 1865
marched from Whanganui with drums beating, colours flying, and bands
playing, at the head of as gallant a company of regulars and volunteers
as ever went out to war. After a march of fifteen miles they came to
the lake of Nukumaru, five miles from the rebel _pa_ of Wereroa, and
here the General gave orders to encamp.

At this, Major Witchell, who was in command of the military train, most
of his men being mounted colonials, rode up and said, with a salute,
"General, don't you think that we are rather too near the bush?"

General Cameron glanced towards the bush, distant half a mile, the
interval being covered with high _toë-toë_, a grass something like that
called "pampas," and replied, "Do you imagine, Major, that any number
of natives would dare to attack two thousand of Her Majesty's troops?"

The Major thought it very likely; but he could say no more. He was
confident that there were Maori in the bush, and the high grass offered
excellent cover to such skilled guerilla. He probably realised also how
much depended upon his own initiative, for, though he ordered his men
to dismount, he bade them not offsaddle.

Suddenly the roar of musketry broke out, and the _toë-toë_ was
violently agitated as the Maori, still unseen, dodged hither and
thither. That one discharge accounted for sixteen men, among them
Adjutant-General Johnston, a capable officer; but, thanks to Major
Witchell, that was the sum of the disaster.

"Mount!" he shouted, and his men, riding as they knew how to ride,
chased the Maori back into the bush, save thirty-six who lay dead among
the grass to balance the account of the sixteen. How narrow was the
General's own escape is shown by the fact that a Maori was shot hard by
his tent, in the centre of the camp. It was not until he had allowed
himself to be surprised again next day and lost five more men that
General Cameron concluded that the bush was too close, and that the
Maori would actually attack two thousand of Her Majesty's troops.

This incident belonged to a later stage of the war. We are still with
the troops in Taranaki, in the autumn of 1860, when General Pratt, who
had arrived to take command, was about to besiege one of the Maori
strongholds in the orthodox manner.

Before this could be done, a truce was negotiated by the Christian
Waikato chief, Wiremu Tamihana Te Whaharoa (William Thompson),
who represented the King faction. Waikato had sent a contingent
to the aid of Taranaki--in the old days it would have been very
different--although they had no personal interest in the dispute; but
these had been repulsed with loss, and it was then that Tamihana
suggested a truce. This was in May, 1861, fourteen months after the
Governor's soldiers had marched against Wiremu Kingi.

[Illustration: Major Witchell's charge at Nukumaru]

Men were everywhere satisfied that nothing more would come of this
year of skirmishing, and few, if any, regarded it as preliminary to a
long and dreadful war. Things fell again into their places; three new
provinces--Hawke's Bay or Napier, Marlborough and Southland--were added
to the rest, the Bank of New Zealand was incorporated, and only those
within the innermost circle knew that underneath the seeming calm was
deep-rooted unrest.

But so it was. Governor Browne demanded, very much in the imperative
mood, the submission of all concerned in the late rising, and a
general oath of allegiance to the Crown. The Maori said neither yea
nor nay; they simply did nothing. Whereon the Governor, wroth at their
contumacy, declared his intention to invade Waikato and bring the
insolent rebels to their knees. It is hard to see how one who has never
taken an oath of allegiance can be a rebel; but that may pass.

The colonists who heard the Governor's fulmination could not believe
their ears, called his attention to the state of unpreparedness
throughout the colony, and urged that to invade Waikato would be to
invite an alliance of the sympathisers with that powerful tribe against
the British. But the Governor had the power, believed that he had the
means, and reiterated his determination.

At this critical juncture Britain intervened to give her youngest
child breathing time. Sir George Grey, Governor of Cape Colony, was
instructed to proceed to New Zealand, and there resume the reins of
government; and, when Governor Browne understood this, he held his
hand, much to the relief of the colonists.

For the next two years Governor Sir George Grey tried by every means
short of war to bring about a peaceful solution of the difficulty which
had arisen out of the Waitara block of land. He had the powerful aid of
Bishop Selwyn; but all was useless, for the Waikato declined to submit
the question to arbitration. And then the face of the situation was
suddenly changed, and the natives placed entirely in the wrong.

The district of Tataraimaka, fifteen miles south of New Plymouth, had
been for fifteen years in undisputed possession of European settlers,
even the Maori admitting their title to be good. The natives had
ravaged this block during the trouble of 1860-1861 and, as they now
refused to withdraw from it, Sir George Grey cut the knot of the
difficulty by declaring his intention to abandon all claim to the
Waitara block and to drive the Taranaki tribes out of Tataraimaka.
Sir George never allowed "I dare not" to "wait upon I would," and the
military were soon on their way.

Confident of the support of the Waikato, the men of Taranaki sent to
the king's headquarters for instructions. The answer came back at once,
sternly laconic: "Begin your shooting!"

An escort party were ambushed on the 4th of May, 1863, and the
Taranaki began their shooting by murdering--for war was not
declared--Lieutenant Tragett, Dr. Hope, and five soldiers of the 57th
Regiment. Apart from this, the Waikato showed their determination to
stand shoulder to shoulder with the Taranaki tribes and force a contest.

Only a month earlier Mr. (afterwards Sir John) Gorst, resident
magistrate in the heart of the Waikato country, had been expelled by
the leaders, and the printing-press whence he had issued literature
opposed to Kingism seized. The Waikato had a press of their own, which
had been presented to them by the Emperor of Austria, and they issued a
news-sheet which they called _Hokioi_, after a fabulous bird of great
power. Mr. Gorst, on his side, published the _Pihohoi_, which is the
name of a tiny lark; and, as the principles of "The Lark" were dead
against Kingism, the king's men suppressed the paper with an alacrity
worthy of Russian censors.

The King party immediately after this came into direct conflict with
Sir George Grey himself. Marching in force to a spot on the lower
Waikato upon which Sir George proposed to build a court-house and
police barracks, the malcontents hurled all the ready-fitted timbers
into the river, declaring the district outside British jurisdiction.

After this exhibition of power and determination, the Waikato
despatched war-runners in all directions to rouse the Maori and inspire
them to "drive the Pakeha Rat into the sea." The runners carried a
circular letter exhorting the natives to "sweep out their yard" and to
remember the national _whakatauki_, or motto, "_Me mate te tangata me
mate mo te whenua_" (the death of the warrior is to die for the land).
"We will sweep out our yard," went on the letter, and concluded with a
line from a stirring war-song, well known throughout the North Island:
"Grasp firm your weapons! Strike! Fire!"

Though skirmishing was going on, neither side actually admitted being
at war; but Auckland itself being threatened, General Cameron was
hurriedly called north with every available man of his command.

A glance at the map will show that the Waikato river makes a bend
where the Maungatawhiri creek falls into it, and then pursues a course
almost due west to the sea. At this junction, some forty miles south of
Auckland, and east of the river's mouth, was the frontier line of the
defiant Waikato. The King tribes had long ago said that the crossing
of this line would be regarded by them as a belligerent act, and when
General Cameron, on the 13th of July, 1863, led his troops across it,
the Waikato war began without any more formal notice.




CHAPTER XXII

THE QUEEN MOVES


First blood was to the Maori on the 17th of July at Koheroa, near that
rectangular bend just referred to which the Waikato river makes towards
the sea. The tribesmen had cleverly divided into two columns, one of
which swung round through the dense forest on the Wairoa ranges and
attacked the British rear, where they forced an escort of the Royal
Irish under Captain Ring to retire with the loss of one killed and four
wounded. A sharper fight, later in the day, left the advantage once
more with the British.

Colonel Austin was in command of the advance post at Koheroa, General
Cameron occupying a redoubt on the ranges overlooking the river. The
colonel, observing large masses of natives gathering on the ranges to
his front, immediately advanced in skirmishing order. The enemy retired
towards the Maramarua creek in their rear, but, when two miles had been
covered in a running fight, suddenly made a stand in a very difficult
position, which they had already fortified with breastworks and
rifle-pits, and which, from the nature of the ground, it was impossible
to turn.

So terrific a volley was poured upon a detachment of the 14th, which
had never till then been under fire, that for all their pluck the lads
wavered. General Cameron had just arrived to take command and, seeing
the unsteadiness of the leading files, ran to the front, twenty paces
in advance of all, and stood there, a mark for every bullet, cheering
on his men. British soldiers never yet failed to answer a call like
that. The slight hesitation disappeared in a moment, and the men rushed
forward and drove the enemy out of their pits at the point of the
bayonet. The pursuit was maintained for five miles, the Maori making
defiant stands at one prepared position after another--much as the
Boers used to do at a later period,--but they were finally driven into
headlong flight, with a loss of between sixty and eighty.

The colonists were greatly disappointed when, instead of following
up his victory, General Cameron sat down at Wangamirino creek and
watched the rebels while they strongly fortified Meri-Meri, three
miles distant, making no attempt to dislodge them. Alleging that
his transport service must be thoroughly organised, General Cameron
remained where he was until the end of October, and all through the
long weeks over a thousand horses panted and strained, dragging the
heavy commissariat waggons along the forty-mile metalled road between
Auckland and the Waikato. The transport service ran grave risk of traps
and ambuscades, but, as no vessels suitable for river navigation were
available, the military stores could be sent by no other way.

The General at last considered himself ready to advance; but first
very properly reconnoitred Meri-Meri in one of the iron-screened
steamers which the Governor had sent him. Then, on the 31st of
October, he moved forward over six hundred men, left them in position,
and returned for another detachment with which to attack the Maori
fortification both front and rear. But when he arrived with detachment
number two, there were no Maori there to fight. They had abandoned
Meri-Meri under the very eyes of detachment number one, instead of
remaining, as they clearly ought to have done, to be surrounded. It was
as well; for Meri-Meri was very strongly entrenched, and great loss of
life must have attended an assault.

The Maori rarely fought as they were expected to fight, and, as in the
case of the Boers, their _personnel_ was constantly changing, some of
them going home, and others, who had so far done no fighting, taking
their places. After the evacuation of Meri-Meri, a considerable number
withdrew temporarily from the field, while the rest, reinforced by a
fresh contingent, set to work to fortify Rangiriri, twelve miles higher
up the Waikato.

Against this General Cameron advanced on the 20th of November with a
land force of eight hundred men, five hundred more on board two river
steamers, two Armstrong guns and two gunboats, whose duty it would be
to pitch shell into the _pa_ from their position on the river. The
fort, trenched and pitted, had a formidable look; but the Maori had
for once omitted to leave open a way of escape in their rear, and,
besides, they were numerically too weak to defend the long line of
fortification.

From three o'clock until five that afternoon the gunners poured shot
and shell into the entrenchments at a range of six hundred yards, and
then the troops, led by the gallant 65th, drove the enemy from the
trenches into a central redoubt, which defied all efforts to take it.
The men of the red and white roses swung raging back to make way for
a contingent of the Royal Artillery and, when these, too, were beaten
off, Commander Mayne of H.M.S. _Eclipse_ twice in succession led
his jolly tars against the impregnable redoubt. Not even they could
succeed, and night closed in on the combatants, putting an end to the
slaughter, and leaving the Maori still in possession.

All night long the sappers laboured at a trench, and all night long
the Maori within the redoubt kept up a terrific howling, flinging
challenges, and occasionally something more practical, at the
besiegers; but, when morning dawned, there stood on the fatal parapet
a chief of note, and asked for an interpreter. In a few moments one
hundred and eighty-three warriors and one hundred and seventy-five
stand of arms were surrendered to General Cameron.

The mistakes of Oheawai were repeated at Rangiriri, and the wonder
is that the troops got off as cheaply as they did; a fact only to be
accounted for by the numerical weakness of the Maori. These knew well
the courage of the men arrayed against them; but the desperate valour
with which they defended their works helped to convince the British
General that they, too, were foemen not to be despised.

The battle of Rangiriri had this great advantage, that it opened the
gorge of Taupiri, where disaster might well have overtaken the troops,
had the Maori been in a position to defend it. As it was, General
Cameron was able to push forward, and on the 6th of December to occupy
Ngaruawahia, where King Matutaere had established his headquarters, and
where his father, old Potatau, was buried. Matutaere had not waited
for General Cameron and, unduly fearful of desecration, had carried
away with him the mouldering remains of the old king. One thing he
had left behind, as being too heavy for a flying column, and that was
a flagstaff of most exalted height, from the peak of which his royal
standard had lately floated. The standard was gone, but the flagstaff
had not been cut down, and the Union Jack soon proclaimed to any
watching Waikato that the first game of the rubber had been won by the
British.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE BLACK KNIGHT GIVES CHECK


Shortly before the occupation of Ngaruawahia the New Zealand
Settlements Act was passed, giving the Governor power to confiscate the
lands of insurgent Maori, the Imperial Government having relinquished
control of native affairs. These were now entirely in the hands of the
colonists, and it was hoped that their knowledge of the requirements
of the Maori, together with the success which had attended General
Cameron's arms, would combine to bring about lasting peace.

There was, indeed, talk of peace between Sir George Grey and Wiremu
Tamihana; but it came to nothing, and the Maori meanwhile threw up
fortifications at Pikopiko and Paterangi, on the Waipa, a branch of
the Waikato. Dislodged thence, and severely handled in a skirmish
on the Mangapiko river, in which Captain Heaphy of the New Zealand
forces gained the Victoria Cross, the Maori, commanded by their great
fighting chief, Rewi, were again defeated at Rangiaohia. This was
late in February, 1864, and the Waikato, undismayed at their numerous
disasters, entrenched themselves at Orakau, in the heavily-wooded
Taranaki country.

Orakau was unusually strong, and General Carey, with great judgment,
completely surrounded it before opening his attack. Even so, he fell at
dawn on the 30th of March into the old mistake of attempting to storm
the impregnable. After three unsuccessful assaults by regulars and
colonials, the General determined to approach the defences by the less
costly, if slower method of sap and trench. All was ready by the 2nd of
April, and the Armstrong guns soon silenced the enemy's fire, while the
soldiers managed to burn no less than 48,000 rounds of ammunition.

General Cameron at this stage very humanely ordered a parley, as there
were many women and children within the _pa_; but to his summons to
surrender the Waikato sent back the defiant answer, "This is the word
of the Maori: We will fight for ever and ever and ever!" (_Ka whawhai
tonu; Ake, Ake, Ake!_) "Send out the women and children," urged General
Cameron. "No; the women also will fight for their country," was the
heroic response, and the General had no choice but to order the troops
to assault.

The first men up, some twenty in number, led by Captain Hertford of
the Colonial Force, were received with a volley which put the captain
and ten of his men _hors de combat_, while on the other side of the
_pa_ the 65th had no better success. But the Maori were worn out with
the three days' struggle; they had lost heavily, and Rewi now gave
the order to evacuate the _pa_, which was, it will be remembered,
completely invested.

How the Maori managed to escape has never been satisfactorily
explained. In the words of an eye-witness, "a solid column of Maori,
the women, children and great chiefs in the centre, marched out as cool
and steady as if they had been going to church." A double line of the
40th Regiment lay on the side the defenders chose for their escape, the
first under a bank sheltering them from the fire from the _pa_. It is
almost incredible that, before any one had gathered the significance of
what was going on, the Maori jumped over the heads of the first line,
and walked through the second line.

The war correspondent of the Auckland _Southern Cross_ wrote of this
extraordinary happening: "The cry was heard that the rebels were
escaping, and a scene baffling description ensued. General Cameron,
Brigadier-General Carey, aides and gallant colonels of the staff were
rushing about to warn and gather men from the sap.... This occupied
minutes, and all this time not a man of the 40th appears to have seen
the Maori, who must have jumped over the heads of the soldiers lining
the road cut out of the steep embankment, and so passed into the swamp
and _Ti_-tree scrub, wounding two or three of the 40th as a remembrance
of their passing."

The Maori must have escaped unharmed, had it not been for a small corps
of colonial cavalry, who, led by Captains Jackson and Von Tempsky,
worked round the scrub and inflicted great loss upon the natives as
they emerged. Owing to the blunder, Rewi escaped along with numbers of
his countrymen.

The scene was now suddenly shifted to the Tauranga district on the
east, in the neighbourhood of the Bay of Plenty. The Maori here had
nothing to do with the quarrel, but emissaries from the Waikato
had constantly approached them, and many of the tribes were deeply
disaffected. No great distance separated the two districts; Wiremu
Tamihana owned considerable land in the Tauranga country, and, it
was well known, the Tauranga men had materially helped their western
neighbours. Fortunately, the Arawa tribes, which had an immemorial feud
with the Waikato,[66] took our side and, led by Captain McDonnell of
the Colonial Forces, defeated the tribes of the Rawhiti at Maketu. A
week later this initial success was forgotten in view of the disaster
which overtook the British at Tauranga.

General Cameron had towards the end of April transferred his
headquarters to Tauranga, and established himself with two thousand men
before a strong fortification of the enemy, which is remembered as the
"Gate _Pa_." This fort was built upon a neck of land which fell away
on each side to a swamp. On the summit of the neck the chief redoubt
had been constructed and, flanking it, were lines of rifle-pits and
shelters, covered with wattle or earth, rendering the place almost
impregnable.

The position had been completely invested, and the bombardment opened
on the morning of the 28th of April, 1864. The Maori lay grimly
silent behind their defences while our great guns banged and boomed,
belching their storm of shot and shell at--emptiness! The cunning foe
had planted their standard one hundred yards in rear of their _pa_,
while the besiegers fondly imagined it to be placed in the centre.
For two hours the waste of ammunition went on before the mistake was
discovered; but, even when the great guns roared furiously at the
redoubt, as if wroth at the saturnine jest played upon them, the Maori
made no sign; so that none could tell whether they were lying close,
like scared rabbits in their burrows, or whether--though this was not
likely--they had already stolen away and escaped.

The afternoon was advanced when, with their reserves well up, the
troops poured through a wide breach in an angle of the redoubt. They
met with little opposition, and those on the plain actually believed
the _pa_ to be taken.

Not so. In the very moment of victory occurred one of those
inexplicable panics which, rarely enough, seize the most seasoned
troops; the positions were reversed in an instant, and the Maori
masters of the situation.

As the troops dashed cheering through the breach, the Maori attempted
to slip out at the rear of the _pa_; but, seeing the men of the 65th,
the whole mass of them surged back and came face to face with the
foremost of those who had entered from the front. These, startled at
sight of so many savage foes rushing furiously upon them, pressed upon
their comrades, who in turn faltered, and the troops in another moment
turned and ran, shouting, "They are there in thousands!"

Undaunted by this terrible sight, the reserves dashed up to encourage
their dismayed comrades, but to no purpose. The Maori, momentarily
inactive from sheer astonishment, recovered and poured a disastrous
fire upon the mob of struggling men, twenty-seven of whom were killed
and sixty-six wounded.

It is useless to try to explain away this unhappy incident. It is
enough to say that the men of the 43rd Regiment two months later atoned
for their behaviour, and wiped out their defeat by utterly routing the
Maori at Te Ranga, where the position was not at all unlike that at the
Gate _Pa_.

Despite the fact that there were now arrayed against them some ten
thousand British regulars, and five thousand colonial troops, the Maori
made no overtures of surrender--save for a few at Tauranga. Instead,
they withdrew from the Waikato plain, as well as from those parts
occupied by the soldiers, and joined forces with the Whanganui rebels
in the fastnesses of the latter's country, where they were able to
indulge in their favourite bush-fighting and guerilla warfare. Here,
too, their resistance was strengthened by the growth of a shocking
superstition, which bred in them a fanatical hate, and lent to their
methods a brutality never previously exhibited in their conflicts with
the Pakeha.

Another development which strongly influenced the remainder of the war
occurred about the time when the operations at Tauranga were brought to
a close. Until the early part of 1864 the Colonial Forces had played a
subordinate part in the war--not from choice--though their conduct had
been invariably deserving of the highest praise. The time was now at
hand when they were to become principals instead of supernumeraries,
and by their own strenuous efforts bring about the end of a struggle
which General Cameron had more than once frankly despaired of finishing.

"The nature of the country forbids the idea of a decisive blow being
struck in the Whanganui district," he once wrote to Sir George Grey,
"and if Her Majesty's troops are to be detained in the colony until one
is struck, I confess I see no prospect of their leaving New Zealand."

No doubt General Cameron was right in considering the country indicated
as probably the most difficult in New Zealand in which to engage in
military operations; but, even in the more accessible Waikato plains,
he had not conducted the war with that dash which the colonists knew
to be necessary for the speedy subjugation of the natives. Even the
Maori considered him slow and, notwithstanding his personal courage,
contemptuously styled him "the sea-gull with the broken wing," because
of his tendency to avoid the bush and encamp upon or near the shore.
Lastly, his Fabian policy had cost the colony an enormous sum, and the
British Government, irritated by the expense of its generous response
to the colony's appeal for aid, now demanded £40 per head per annum
for all soldiers kept in New Zealand at the request of the Colonial
Government, after the 1st of January, 1865. The answer of the colony to
this was to beg the Home Government to remove the Imperial troops to
the last man, declaring the colony ready and able to undertake its own
defence.

This "self-relying" policy of the Weld Ministry relieved the colonists
of a great burden; for the poll-tax was to be paid only for soldiers
remaining at the request of the New Zealand Government. Furthermore,
the relations between Sir George Grey and General Cameron had for long
been none too cordial, and one thing added to another brought about the
departure of some of the British regiments.

To put the matter in a nutshell, the Governor asked the soldier to
dare and do more than the latter believed he could accomplish with
the troops at his disposal; so he refused point blank. The Governor
thereupon dared and did on his own initiative, and proved the soldier
wrong.

Here is an outstanding example. After General Cameron had been
surprised at Nukumaru,[67] he passed on up the coast, leaving unreduced
the strong Wereroa _pa_, which was occupied in force by the Maori. His
reason, given to the Governor, was that he had only fifteen hundred
troops with him, and to attack the fort with less than two thousand
would be to court disaster. When five hundred friendly Whanganui
natives offered to take the _pa_, the General sneered at their offer as
"mere bounce" and, further, insisted that the Governor knew it to be
"mere bounce."

The Governor's reply was to collect a mixed force of five hundred men,
including three hundred of the "bouncing" friendlies, and borrow two
hundred regulars from General Waddy for moral support. With these he
marched upon the _pa_ about which such a pother had been raised. The
Queen's troops, who were not allowed to fight--though the enemy did not
know that--acted as a camp guard, while the colonials and friendlies
worked by a circuitous and very difficult route to the rear of the
_pa_. Here they took a strong redoubt, which commanded the fort, and
captured fifty Maori on their way to join the garrison. All this was
effected without the loss of a man, and the enemy, seeing themselves,
as they supposed, surrounded, evacuated the _pa_ by the front. Had
the regulars been allowed to fight, the hostile force must have been
annihilated; but, much to their astonishment, they were allowed to walk
off unopposed. The numerically insignificant contingent of colonials
and friendlies entered the _pa_ next day, having accomplished in two
days, under the Governor's eye, that which the commander-in-chief had
for six months declared to be impossible of accomplishment with less
than two thousand regulars. Perhaps, however, he was right.

As one result of this constant friction and of General Cameron's
representations to the British Government, there remained in the colony
in 1865 only five regiments, and these were employed in guarding the
districts which had been reduced. After March, 1865, the Colonial
Forces for the most part conducted the war in their own way; but it
would be absurd to deny that, but for the regulars who remained, the
conquered tribes would have reassembled and obliged the war to be
fought over again, or necessitated an increase in the strength of the
colonials proportional to that of the Imperial troops withdrawn. As
it was, while the regulars stood on guard, the colonials fought their
fight unhampered by reviving sedition--fought and, as we shall see,
conquered.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 66: See p. 55.]

[Footnote 67: See p. 233.]




CHAPTER XXIV

PAI MARIRE,[68] OR THE HAUHAU SECT


The early months of the year 1864 saw the first appearance of the
fanatical sect of the _Pai Marire_, or Hauhau. Various opinions exist
as to its cause of origin, but no member of it has put his own views
on record for the benefit of posterity. Some believe that the sect was
founded as a deliberate attempt to strengthen the weakening attachment
of the natives to the national cause, by giving them the powerful bond
of a common religion--so to call it. Others maintain that the inception
of the movement was in a madman's brain, and that it was used for
political purposes only when it was perceived how readily the more
ignorant and superstitious of the Maori accepted it. Lastly, not a few
insist that such a religious development was the natural outcome of
instilling half-a-dozen views of Christianity into the receptive brain
of an intelligent race, able and accustomed to think for themselves.
These last argue that, when the Maori had listened to (in order of
sequence) the Anglican, Wesleyan, Baptist, and Catholic versions of
the "faith once delivered," the various contentions became so jumbled
up in some minds that their owners began to study the Bible for
themselves. The result of the research of some of the less enlightened
was the formation of a "religion" which was a grotesque blend of
Judaism, Paganism, and elementary Christianity (very little of this
last) which was used as a means to an end by those who utterly scorned
it--the end being the destruction of British supremacy.

The author of the creed, one Te Ua, does indeed seem to have been a
mild-mannered lunatic. He broke out rather violently about the time
of a shipwreck on the Taranaki coast, and, while tied and bound for
the good of the community, indulged in a madman's dream which he
subsequently proclaimed as a "revelation."

Having managed to free himself, Te Ua declared that the archangels
Michael and Gabriel, together with many spirits, had landed from the
wreck and given him power to burst his bonds. His companions, finding
this story hard to believe, again secured Te Ua, and this time with a
chain. No use. With an effort of that strength which sometimes appears
in the insane, Te Ua snapped the chain and leaped at a bound into the
position of a seer.

Te Ua's muddled brain recalling something of the story of Abraham and
Isaac, he went out and began to break his son's legs in obedience
to a divine command to kill the youth. He was presently stopped by
Gabriel, who restored the boy whole and sound to his father, and gave
the latter orders to assemble all believers round a _niu_, or sacred
pole. Grouped there in a circle, they must dance, apostrophise the
Trinity, sing hymns and what not, in return for which, those found
worthy--note the saving clause--should receive the gift of tongues and
be invulnerable in battle. While praying, dancing or fighting, the
sectaries were constantly to ejaculate the syllables "Hauhau," forming
a word supposed to mean the wind (_hau_), by which the angels were
wafted from the wreck when first they communicated with the great Te Ua.

Te Ua was not long in making converts to his strange faith; and on the
4th of April, 1864, a body of them fell upon a detachment of the 57th
and military settlers, who were destroying crops in the Kaitaka ranges.
Captain Lloyd, who was in command, fought most bravely when cut off
from his men, and died fighting. His body and the bodies of seven other
white men were discovered a few days later, all minus the heads, which
had been carried away. No one knew what to make of this innovation;
but it was afterwards ascertained that Captain Lloyd's head had been
preserved after the Maori fashion, and was being carried throughout the
North Island, and exhibited to tribe after tribe as the medium through
which God would occasionally speak to his people.

[Illustration: The frenzy of the Hauhau The Incantation]

The tribes were also informed that legions of angels would some day
appear and assist the Hauhau to annihilate the Pakeha. Once that
degenerate lot had been got rid of, the angels would escort from heaven
an entirely new brand of men, who should teach the Maori all the
Europeans knew, and more. Unconsciously prophetic, the final promise
in this farrago of nonsense was that all Maori who fulfilled certain
conditions should be instantly endowed with power to understand and
speak the English language. The new men were evidently to resemble the
Briton!

Notwithstanding its blasphemous absurdities, the _Pai Marire_ sect
gained so many converts, and spread so far and fast, that it seemed
at one time as if all the Maori in the North Island would rebel. It
is well, however, to keep in mind that many of those who followed the
prophet's drum did so for their own purposes, and privately mocked at
his uninspired ravings.

The wonder is that the new faith did not immediately wither away; for
the Hauhau lost at the very outset so many killed and wounded at Sentry
Hill, near Taranaki, that all conceit as to their invulnerability
should have been driven out of them. Among the dead was a prominent
sub-prophet, Hepanaia, and the story was circulated and believed that
the reverse was wholly due to this man's faulty behaviour--a very
convenient way of accounting for the non-fulfilment of the archangel's
promises.

Wishful to counterbalance the effect of this defeat, the Hauhau
determined to attack Whanganui. The prophet Matene (Martin) sent a
conciliatory message to the Whanganui tribe of Ngati-Hau, and with
a number of disaffected Waikato swept down the river in war-canoes,
intent to wipe out the settlement and the town.

But the Ngati-Hau, being friendly to the Pakeha, made alliance with
the Ngati-Apa, and paddled up-stream to meet the advancing Hauhau.
They were three hundred, and the prophet checked his advance at sight
of them. A parley ensued, one side demanding, the other refusing,
permission to pass down the river. Matene threatening violence, the
Ngati-Hau challenged him to make good his bold words, and it was
presently arranged that the two companies should meet next morning on
the island of Moutoa--scene of many a fight--and decide the question
by ordeal of battle. It was agreed that neither party should ambush or
surprise the other, and the Hauhau landed at dawn on Moutoa to find the
Ngati-Hau awaiting them.

The Whanganui, with mistaken generosity, opposed only a hundred of
their number to one hundred and thirty Hauhau. They were divided into
an advanced guard of fifty men, and an equal number in support, while
the remainder stood upon the river bank as spectators. The vanguard,
under Tamihana Te Aewa, was subdivided into three parties, each headed
by a fighting chief, Riwai Tawhitorangi, Hemi Nape, and Kereti, while
the chief, Haimona, led the supports.

Matene and his Hauhau, uttering their harsh, barking howl, were
allowed to land and form up unopposed, when they immediately began
their incantations, howling fragments of Scripture and making passes
after the manner of a hypnotist. The Whanganui, convinced of the
invulnerability of their foe, waited until the latter, still incanting,
had advanced within thirty paces, and then fired. Not one Hauhau fell.

At this moment a Christian Maori rushed in between the two parties and
beseeched them not to fight. As he stood there, the Hauhau returned a
volley; the mediator fell dead and, worse still, so did Riwai, Kereti,
and several others. The vanguard began to retreat, shouting, "It is
absurd to fire at those who cannot be wounded," and only Hemi Nape
stood firm, giving back shot for shot, and bringing down more than one
of the "invulnerables." To him rushed Tamihana Te Aewa, forcing forward
a few whom he had been able to rally; but, even as they reached his
side, Hemi Nape fell dead.

Then Tamihana roared his battle-cry, and with his _tupara_ shot two
grinning Hauhau, whose spirits plunged so suddenly into the waters of
Reinga that their bodies knew not of their departure, but ran on for
several paces ere they realised their condition and fell. A third half
halted, amazed at the extraordinary sight, and him Tamihana brained
with the stock of his empty gun, sending him with a splash into the
dark waters after his comrades. A fourth came at him, howling like a
wild dog; but Tamihana seized a spear and drove it so deep into the
man's heart, that even his great strength could not withdraw it. And
while he tugged and wrenched, lo! a bullet shattered his arm, and
a fifth Hauhau rushed upon him to slay him. But Tamihana, stooping
swiftly, caught up Hemi Nape's gun and, swinging it round his head with
one hand, smote his enemy such a blow that the man's skull cracked like
an egg-shell, and his brains gushed out. Truly, the guardian of the
portals of Reinga had no time that day to close them while Tamihana
was at work.

Yet more might Tamihana have slain; but, even as he slew,
single-handed, his fifth man, he fell to the ground with a broken knee.

By this time, those who ran had come to the tail of the island, whence,
looking back, they saw their chief upon the ground, and the Hauhau
rushing up to finish him. Then was Haimona Hiroti shame-smitten and,
driving his spear into the earth, he cried aloud, "I go no farther!
Back with me, all who would not live with shame upon their faces!"
And twenty brave men followed Haimona, and all together they charged
home, some calling upon Atua for aid, and some invoking the Christians'
God. But the Hauhau, having only one god to cry to, became struck with
fear, and in their turn broke and fled to their canoes. Few there were
who reached them, so mightily did Haimona Hiroti and his score smite,
and so many did they slay; but some ran very fast, and these escaped,
taking no thought of those behind.

Then Matene, their prophet, finding himself abandoned, cast himself
into the river and swam for the bank opposite to that whereon the men
of Ngati-Hau and others were gathered, watching the fight and shouting
lustily.

Up to the very head of the island charged Haimona Hiroti, seeking still
to slay. But not one was left. Then, when he saw the swimmer and knew
him for Matene, Haimona cried aloud to Te Moro, "See! there swims your
fish!" and thrust his bone _mere_ into his hand. And Te Moro plunged
into the stream and, swimming very fast, overtook the "fish" before he
reached the bank and seized him by the hair, which he wore long, after
the manner of the Hauhau. Then Matene turned in the water and, making
passes in the air with his hands, barked at Te Moro, "Hauhau! Hauhau!
Hau! Hau! Hau!" as is the way with these people. But Te Moro, swimming
round him, drew back his head and smote him with the bone _mere_ only
one blow; but it was enough.

Then Te Moro swam back and, having laid Matene at Haimona's feet,
offered him his bone _mere_. But Haimona said, "Keep it"; and Te Moro
very gladly kept it, for there were two notches in it where it had
suffered owing to the thickness of Matene's skull. And, when Te Moro's
children's children shall show the _mere_ to their children and tell
the tale of it, should any doubt, there will the notches be to prove
that their ancestor slew Matene, and with that very weapon.

  NOTE.--It is pleasant to record that this signal service on the
  part of the Whanganui did not go unrecognised at the time, nor has
  posterity been allowed to forget it. The bodies of the dead chiefs
  were brought into Whanganui on the day following the battle, and
  accorded a military funeral, which was attended by Colonel Logan and
  the officers and men of the garrison, the Government officials, and
  many residents, while all the shops were closed. A monument has since
  been raised at Whanganui in memory of the friendly Maori who fell at
  Moutoa.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 68: _Pai Marire_ means "Good and Peaceful."]




CHAPTER XXV

MURDER MOST FOUL


The year 1865 was full of incident. Fifteen years had gone by since
Russell had bewailed the choice of Auckland as the capital, since
Wellington had stormily asserted her right of elder birth, since men
here and there with nothing better to suggest had demanded petulantly,
"Why should it be Auckland, any way?" It was now Auckland's turn to
lament; for, in the opinion of those qualified to judge, the central
position of Wellington justified the transference thither of the seat
of Government.

There is no way yet discovered of pleasing everybody; but, in order
that the choice might be strictly impartial, the Governors of New South
Wales, Victoria, and Tasmania were requested to decide upon the best
site for the capital, while they were given to understand that the spot
selected must be somewhere on the shores of Cook Strait, that being the
geographical centre of the colony.

The Governors inspected the region without prejudice in favour of
existing towns, and unanimously decided that "Wellington, in Port
Nicholson, was the site upon the shores of Cook Strait which presented
the greatest advantages for the administration of the government of
the colony." No method of selection could have been more just, and in
February, 1865, the seat of Government was removed from Auckland to
Wellington.

The second notable event--the third in order of sequence--was the
surrender of the celebrated Waikato chief, Wiremu Tamihana Te Waharoa
(William Thompson), whose persistent energy had put so much heart into
the insurgents. With his submission the Waikato war proper ended, and
this although many Waikato joined the Hauhau movement. The conflict was
not over; but the Waikato as a tribe withdrew from it. Some of their
land had been confiscated, they had got the worst of the fight, and,
though they still clung to their principles regarding the sale of land
and the establishment of a Maori dynasty, they now acknowledged the
might of the Government to be something beyond their power to overthrow.

The submission of Wiremu Tamihana influenced not the wild fanatics
who were being recruited from almost every tribe of note in the North
Island, and whose expressed determination it was to drive the Pakeha
Rat into the sea. They would fight and die for Maoriland, if need be;
but they would never give in. Not all of them believed the horrible
creed which Te Ua had invented; but even these were content to be
classed as Hauhau, if so they might help to free their country from the
domination of the Pakeha.

"Good wine needs no bush," and if ever a cause was spoiled by the
character and behaviour of its adherents, it was this; if ever a body
of men in arms in the sacred name of patriotism earned, and rightly
earned, the detestation and vengeance of their foes, the Hauhau did
so at the beginning, in the middle and at the end of their war. The
very Maori loathed their name and character, and these, concerned for
the honour of their race, fought as strenuously against their degraded
countrymen as did the whites with whom they were allied.

Between February, when Wellington became the capital, and June the
17th, when Wiremu Tamihana surrendered, an innocent missionary was
murdered by his own flock under circumstances which served to show
that, even at that late day, there were Maori who required but little
persuasion to induce them to slip back into the pit of savagery out of
which they had, it was hoped, climbed for all time.

The Church of England Mission Station at Opotiki (Bay of Plenty)
had been for some years presided over by the Rev. C.S. Voelkner, an
energetic and successful missionary. His station was among some of the
wildest, least civilised tribes of the Maori; but his devotion had
gained him the respect, and even the goodwill, of the fierce, untamed
fellows in whose midst he dwelt.

When the war rolled almost to his door, Mr. Voelkner judged it wise to
take his wife to Auckland; but he himself came backwards and forwards
to the disturbed district. In February, during the missionary's
absence, Opotiki was visited by two prophets, Patara of the Taranaki,
and Kereopa of the Ngati-Porou, with a number of Taranaki Hauhau at
their heels. The Whakatohea were ripe for any mischief as it was, and
readily embraced the new creed, their conversion being accompanied by
much revolting ritual.

Feeling already ran high against the absent missionary, the Whakatohea
having allowed themselves to be persuaded that he was hostile to the
Maori cause, and desirous of breaking up the tribes.

Patara, who cannot have been all bad, wrote warning Mr. Voelkner not to
return to Opotiki; but the missionary unfortunately arrived on the very
next day, in a schooner, accompanied by a colleague, the Rev. Mr. Grace.

Mr. Voelkner was at once informed that he was to be killed, but refused
to believe that the people among whom he had laboured would prove false
to his teaching. A few hearts were softened towards him; but Kereopa
would brook neither denial nor delay, and on the following day took out
Mr. Voelkner and hanged him upon a willow-tree, shooting him through
the body before life was extinct. The fierce Hauhau then swallowed the
eyes and drank the blood of his victim.

Mr. Grace was in great danger; for the fanatics, having literally
tasted blood, clamoured for more. For fourteen days the unfortunate man
endured agonies of suspense, and his relief must have been intense when
H.M.S. _Eclipse_ appeared outside the bar. Owing to Patara's influence,
the missionary was free to wander within the boundaries of the Opotiki
plain, and this circumstance, along with the absence of most of the
Hauhau at a feast, helped to effect his escape.

As he was watching the crew of the schooner shifting cargo, one of the
sailors murmured, "Go down to the point, and we will get you off." Mr.
Grace obeyed with assumed carelessness, and a moment later was in the
schooner's boat, speeding towards the _Eclipse_. Two of the boats from
the man-of-war dashed up the river immediately afterwards and towed
the schooner over the bar, when no time was lost in leaving Opotiki of
tragic memory.

Three months later the ruffians at Opotiki again drenched themselves
with blood, murdering the crew of a cutter and Mr. Fulloon, a
Government agent, who was on board as a passenger. Mr. Fulloon was a
Maori of distinguished lineage on his mother's side; but, nevertheless,
at the order of Horomona, the Hauhau, one Kirimangu shot the poor man
while asleep with his own revolver. Kirimangu was captured and hanged;
but Kereopa managed to evade his doom for seven years, when justice,
long disappointed, made sure of him.

Kereopa and his Hauhau were not allowed to pursue their wicked way
unchecked. As soon as they could be spared from Whanganui, five hundred
men of the Military Settlers, the Bush Rangers, the Native Contingent,
and the Whanganui Yeomen Cavalry were ordered to Opotiki, under Majors
Brassey and McDonnell, the latter of whom could effect things with the
Native Contingent which few other officers could bring about. Not only
was McDonnell familiar with the Maori, but he knew their language and
their country, so that he met them on their own ground in their own
manner. He was brave to rashness, but this was hardly a fault in Maori
eyes.

The column accomplished some good, and captured Moko Moko and Hakaraia,
who were immediately informed that they could not be treated as
prisoners of war, but would be tried for the murder of Mr. Voelkner,
in which they had been concerned. After a good deal of successful
skirmishing, the force returned to Whanganui, their chief casualty
occurring on the way.

The mate of the transport loaded a small cannon for the amusement
of some friendlies, but the gun would not "go off," whereupon the
searchers after entertainment peeped inquiringly down the muzzle. The
humoursome cannon chose that particular moment to indulge in a belated
explosion, which fortunately did no more than wound the mate and two of
the Maori. The outcome of the accident was the refusal of the Native
Contingent to proceed after so evil an omen.

The superstitious fellows actually surrounded the capstan and prevented
the weighing of the anchor, until one of themselves, Lieutenant
Wirihana, an exceptionally strong man and one of the best officers in
the contingent, swung the ringleader up in his arms and made to heave
him overboard. A round dozen of the offender's relatives rushed the
officer, and even then with difficulty prevented disaster to their
cousin.

Kereopa, tired of dodging about the region round Opotiki, struck
across country for Poverty Bay, preaching his perverted gospel as he
went. Behind him followed Patara, intent to prevent his fellow-prophet
from too free an indulgence in his lust for blood. Patara more than
suspected his colleague of an intention to murder Bishop Williams,
and this he was determined not to allow. Kereopa had good ground in
which to sow his evil seed, yet many of the leading chiefs among the
Ngati-Porou not only refused to join him, but requested the Government
to supply them with firearms, so that they might adequately deal with
the monster. The request was sensibly granted, and Ropata and his
chiefs kept the Hauhau busy until the arrival of Captain Fraser and his
colonials.

Ropata showed the manner of man he was in the fights which followed. A
dozen of his own sub-tribe (Aowera, of the _iwi_ of Ngati-Porou) had
been taken, fighting among the Hauhau. Ropata set them before him in a
row and said, more in sorrow than in anger, "This is my word to you, O
foolish children. You are about to die. I do not kill you because you
fought against me, but because you disobeyed my orders and joined the
Hauhau." He then shot every man of the twelve with his own hand.

Like master, like man. On one occasion a couple of fleeing Hauhau
encountered one of Ropata's dispatch-bearers and, delighted to make
a capture, haled him in the direction of Patara's camp. But they had
caught a Tartar, though they were left little time to realise it.
Ropata's man, with every sense alert, noticed that the _tupara_ carried
by one of his captors was capped and cocked. Assuming the gun to be
loaded, the prisoner suddenly snatched it, wheeled like lightning and
shot the other guard. Number one could, of course, make no resistance,
and was almost immediately shot dead with the second barrel of his own
gun. The cleverness of the prisoner in first shooting the armed guard
illustrates very well the quick-wittedness of the average Maori.

In September, Sir George Grey formally proclaimed that the war which
had begun at the time of the murders at Oakura was at an end, and that,
the rebels having been punished enough by their disasters in the field
and the confiscation of part of their lands, he pardoned all who had
taken up arms, save those responsible for certain murders. The Governor
further announced that he would confiscate no more lands on account of
the war, and that he would release all prisoners as soon as the rebels
should return in peace to their homes. The proclamation gave great
offence to numbers of colonists, who jeered at the idea of peace while
so many Maori were in arms; but Sir George Grey's statement that "the
war was at an end" had no reference to the Hauhau, neither were they
included in his pardon--unless, indeed, they chose promptly to submit,
which they did not.

The Hauhau on the west coast made clear their decision in a most
atrocious fashion. The Governor dispatched the proclamation to Patea,
near Whanganui, by a Maori, who was shot, but lived long enough to warn
the Government interpreter, Mr. Broughton, who was coming up behind
him, to put no trust in the Hauhau.

Mr. Broughton was doubly deceived. He believed in his own influence
over the Maori, and he was quite unaware that the Hauhau were
predetermined to kill any messengers bringing overtures of peace.
Their treachery went further; for, in order to be sure of a victim,
they had begged that an interpreter might be sent to explain to them
certain passages in the Governor's message which they professed not to
understand.

After such a beginning, the end was inevitable, should Mr. Broughton
persist in delivering himself into the power of the Hauhau. And this,
deaf to advice and persuasion, he did. Three Hauhau came out from the
_pa_ to meet him when he arrived on the 30th of September, and even
then he was offered a last chance of escape; for one of the three had
formerly been in his service, and now implored his old master not
to trust himself within the _pa_. Mr. Broughton persisted, and was
received in sullen silence. Striving to seem unconcerned, he took no
notice of the incivility, and moved towards a fire which was burning
in the _marae_. As he reached it, a Hauhau shot him in the back, and
the poor man fell dying into the blaze, where he lay until some of his
murderers pulled him out and flung him, still alive, over the cliff
into the Patea.

The hatred of the Hauhau for the Pakeha was intense, and their attitude
to the whites differed completely from that of the Maori in previous
wars. They seemed to be obsessed with evil spirits, whose mission was
to promote in their victims a lust for blood and a disposition for
cruelty of the most appalling kind. They were as men who had swallowed
a drug having power to kill goodness and purity and generosity, and
to fill the soul in their stead with malice, hatred and vices too
degrading to be named.

It was fortunate for New Zealand that the evil seed which Te Ua sowed
fell only here and there on soil whence it sprang rank and poisonous
as the deadly upas tree; for, had it taken root universally, there is
no saying at what bitter cost the colonists must have weeded it out.
But, though almost every tribe in the north sent its recruits to the
fanatics, there yet remained in most of them a remnant who refused "to
bow the knee to Baal," and who, if they did not fight for the Pakeha,
at least gave no aid to the Hauhau.




CHAPTER XXVI

ALARMS! EXCURSIONS!


Though the war occupied her supreme attention, it must not be supposed
that New Zealand stood still. The plucky little daughter of Great
Britain kept her eyes open and, though her hands were reasonably full
of swords and guns, found other work for them to do. June, 1866, saw
the commencement of a mail service to Panama, which vastly accelerated
communication with the northern hemisphere; and, before August was out,
the Government had laid a submarine cable across Cook Strait, bringing
the extreme north of the North Island and the extreme south of the
Middle Island within a few minutes of one another.

In October, 1867, the Board of Revenue rejoiced at the passing of an
Act imposing stamp duties; the scholarly and aesthetic were gladdened
by another Act which provided for an institute for the promotion
of Science and Art in the colony; and, lastly, the Maori were
rendered happy by an Act which, while it showed great wisdom, proved
conclusively the desire of the British Pakeha to deal in most generous
spirit with their native fellow-subjects. This Act provided for the
division of the colony into four Maori electorates, and the admission
of four Maori members to the House of Representatives. When it is
remembered that a large number of the native population were at the
very moment in arms against the State, the lavish generosity of this
measure must excite profound admiration.

The intellectual and high-minded Maori were quick to learn, and as
quick to put in practice the knowledge they acquired. From the first,
although they quarrelled with them, they admired the Pakeha and
recognised their superiority. Indeed, but for their ruling passion,
they would probably have much earlier amalgamated with the whites.
This, as we have seen, was their attachment to their land, which they
regarded as sacrosanct and inalienable; and from this Naboth-like
devotion sprang much of the trouble between them and the Pakeha.

The theatre of war having shifted again to the west coast, General
Chute took command on the retirement of General Cameron. There was
nothing of Fabius in General Chute, who was accustomed to follow up as
speedily as possible whatever advantage he might gain. _Quot homines,
tot sententiae_; so many men, so many ways of doing things; and it is
just as well. Had General Chute commanded from the first, the war might
have been sooner over; but there would never have arisen the need for
the colonists to take their own part, and they must have been much
longer in learning their good qualities of strength and self-reliance.

Throughout January, 1866, General Chute with his regulars, colonials
and the Maori contingent punished the Hauhau, who had learned by
painful experience that they were not invulnerable. He beat them at
Okotuku, and chased them out of Putahi, where Major McDonnell was so
severely wounded in the foot as to be rendered unfit for active work
during the remainder of the campaign. Yet, so indispensable was the
Major because of his immense influence with the Maori, that, despite
his suffering, he remained with the force lest, finding him absent, his
men should march off home until their leader was able to rejoin them.

Notwithstanding the experiences of others in the not very remote
past, General Chute determined to assault the well-garrisoned _pa_
of Otapawa, and on the 12th of January the Armstrong gun roared a
challenge to the Hauhau. Grimly silent, the defenders kept so strictly
to cover, that General Chute, half-inclined to believe that they had
escaped, thought it unnecessary to wait until the Native Contingent
and volunteers (_kupapa_) had worked completely round to the rear. So
he ordered Colonel Butler and his "Die Hards" (57th), supported by the
14th, to storm the stockade.

He had barely finished speaking when he received a practical hint that
the _pa_ was not empty; for a bullet carried away one of the buttons of
his tunic. "Aha! The beggars seem to have found me out," General Chute
coolly observed. "Go on, Colonel Butler."

Colonel Butler went on, Lieutenant-Colonel Hassard beside him, and the
"Die Hards" close behind them. The Hauhau had removed every vestige of
cover from the front of the _pa_--which fact alone should have warned
the General that the place was occupied, and by a skilful foe--and,
as the 57th came on, they were greeted with a volley from the covered
rifle-pits which staggered them, veterans of Sebastopol though they
were.

"Come on, Die Hards!" shouted Colonel Butler, and the gallant fellows
charged over the glacis, dropping fast and losing Colonel Hassard on
the way. Enraged, the men tore down the palisades with their bare hands
and drove the enemy helter-skelter out at the rear of the _pa_ into the
clutch of Von Tempsky and his Forest Rangers. Thirty-two of the Hauhau
fell, while General Chute lost a colonel and eleven men, not to speak
of twenty wounded. A little patience, siege instead of assault, and the
stronghold might have been reduced without loss. As it is, the action
is memorable as being the only occasion during these wars upon which a
well-defended _pa_ was ever taken by assault.

Whereas General Cameron would never go near the bush, General Chute now
determined to march through it a distance of sixty miles to Taranaki,
and sweep the enemy out of his path. But General Cameron despised the
native levies, while General Chute realised their value, particularly
when led by such a man as Major McDonnell, and it cannot be gainsaid
that their presence greatly contributed to the success of the bush
march.

But for McDonnell and another, General Chute must either have chosen
another route, or have marched without the Native Contingent, for the
Maori, men of the Whanganui district, decided not to go to Taranaki,
alleging that "it was too far from home!" Nor would they have yielded
either to advice or persuasion, but for the timely arrival in camp
of Major McDonnell and Dr. Featherston, the Superintendent of the
Wellington Province, who, like the major, exercised unbounded influence
over the Maori, and particularly over the men of Whanganui.

These two, upon whom the fortunes of the Colony more than once
depended, summoned to their tent the aged paramount chief, Hori Kingi
Te Anaua, and bluntly asked him whether the friendship which had for
years existed between him and Dr. Featherston was to be broken. The
old man looked for a long time in silence at his questioners, and then
left the tent without a word. His voice presently reached them as he
addressed the crowd of Maori thronging there to learn the result of the
interview:--

"Listen, you who have refused to march with the Pakeha. This is my word
to you. I will go with them, though I go alone. But hearken! If you
desert me and them, never more will I dwell with you in Whanganui. I
have spoken!"

There was a moment of silence, and then the words of the old lion-heart
prevailed and yells of "_Kapai! Kapai!_" were blent with shouts of "We
will go! We will go!" The situation was saved; General Chute marched
through the bush in nine days (January 17th to 25th) skirmishing as
he went, reached Taranaki, and the campaign came to an end. With it
practically ended the employment of the regular forces in New Zealand,
as far as active service went.

How valuable was the aid which the friendly Maori gave is illustrated
by the following incident, related by Lieutenant Gudgeon in his
reminiscences.

At the close of General Chute's operations a detachment of the Native
Contingent stationed at Pipiriki, a most picturesque spot on the upper
Whanganui, made themselves so agreeable to the rebels, that the Hauhau
chief, Pehi Turoa, invited the friendlies to meet him at Mangaio and
discuss the situation. Some four hundred accepted the invitation and,
led by their chief, Mete Kingi, went up-stream in their beautiful
canoes to the conference.

As they neared the rebel _pa_, Mete Kingi said characteristically,
"Once these men were Whanganui like ourselves, and then they were
good; but no faith can now be placed in them. For who would trust the
word of a Hauhau? You know, my children, it is Maori etiquette to show
confidence in your hosts; therefore, fire off your guns, that they may
see our faith in them; but load them as quickly and quietly as you can,
in case they mean us harm."

So said, so done. The Whanganui discharged their guns with deafening
clatter and, before they landed, unobtrusively reloaded them. There
was fortunately no breach of faith, and the upshot of the conference
was that the contracting parties swore to maintain an eternal peace on
the Whanganui river, but reserved the right to fight in any other part
of New Zealand. Thus, entirely in their own manner, did the friendly
Whanganui bring peace to an important district, long convulsed with war.

McDonnell, now colonel, continued operations on the west coast,
particularly against the Nga-Ruahini, one of whose chiefs, Titokowaru,
then and afterwards gave much trouble. The colonel was very successful,
and the Hauhau learned that his methods were not those of the military,
for he employed their own tricks against them. One of their captured
chiefs grumblingly said to him, "We thought that we were fighting a
man; but we find that he is a rat, who moves only by night." "Nay, O
Toi, you thought that you were fighting soldiers," returned McDonnell,
probably with unintentional sarcasm, "whereas you find that we are
Pakeha Maori."

The war swung round to the east, and the Province of Hawke's Bay,
hitherto almost immune from "alarms and excursions," found itself in
the thick of it. The Ngati-Hineuru and other tribes had joined the new
sect; but, when they broke out, the Superintendent, Sir Donald McLean,
was ready for them. With the help of Colonel Whitmore, Major Fraser and
Captain Gordon with his volunteer cavalry, he stamped out the spreading
flame, and Hawke's Bay once more grew calm after its brief flurry.

The year 1867 was for some reason styled by the Hauhau "the Year of the
Lamb," that is, of peace, and, save for a skirmish or two, and some
fell murders here and there in true Hauhau style, they remained quiet
They were terrible folk, and their behaviour differed unpleasantly from
that of the ordinary Maori in time of war; but some of them had not
altogether lost that simplicity which, despite their intelligence, is
characteristic of the race.

For instance, having declared the year to be one of peace, they failed
to understand why their confiscated lands should not be restored to
them. Some, too, observing that the friendly Maori were rewarded with
pensions and land, complained that they were omitted, when they also
had fought (against the Pakeha!) much as a child grumbles because
he does not receive a prize for his misdirected efforts. One Hauhau
gentleman did actually apply to the Commissioner for a pension, and
was mortally offended when the great man dismissed him in terms more
forcible than polite.

The hopes raised by all this talk of peace were falsified, not only
by the activity of Titokowaru and his Nga-Ruahini, but by the sudden
and quite unexpected appearance of a man who was destined to set the
country ablaze, and to incur the bitter execration of thousands in the
war-worn North Island.




CHAPTER XXVII

POVERTY BAY


During 1866 the New Zealand Government had deported a batch of
political prisoners to the Chatham Islands. Amongst them was one Te
Kooti, whose offence was said to be that, while ostensibly in alliance
with the Pakeha, he had acted as a spy for the Hauhau. Te Kooti then
and ever afterwards denied this charge, averring that he was at the
time mentioned one hundred miles away from either belligerent. This
denial has never been accepted, and most people frankly regret that Te
Kooti was not hanged out of hand. This would certainly have prevented
many hideous outrages; but to punish in anticipation of proof, however
satisfactory, is not yet the Briton's way. So Te Kooti was deported to
Chatham Island, there to eat out his heart in longing for the day when
he should be able to repay the Pakeha an hundredfold for the insults
and injustice (according to him) which had been inflicted upon him.

Te Kooti was a clever man, and his wits had been sharpened by much
intercourse with the whites, so it was natural that he should scheme
and plan ways of escape from a hateful bondage, and means to deal a
return blow to the detested Pakeha.

He found and seized his opportunity when the schooner _Rifleman_
visited the island with stores; for he engineered a mutiny,
out-generalled Captain Thomas, R.N., the Governor, seized the schooner
and sailed on the 4th of July, 1868, for New Zealand. To obviate
pursuit he set adrift a ketch, the only vessel the authorities owned,
and with consummate cleverness spared the lives of the crew of the
schooner on condition that they navigated her to Poverty Bay. The
voyage passed without incident, save that Te Kooti strove, during a
spell of contrary weather, to propitiate the wind-god by the sacrifice
of his aged uncle, whom he callously cast overboard.

On the 10th of July the _Rifleman_ arrived at Whareongaonga, a point
some fifteen miles south of Poverty Bay, and here the prisoners
disembarked and, after looting the vessel of her cargo, arms and
ammunition, set free the crew. The successful plotter then struck
inland, marching, so he said, upon Waikato, there to dethrone the king,
with whose conduct he professed himself dissatisfied.

News of his arrival had spread, and a mixed company of whites and
friendlies under Captain Westrupp set off in chase of him, encountering
him on the 20th at Paparatu. After a fight lasting all day, Te Kooti
surrounded his opponents and forced them to retire with the loss of
their horses, baggage and ammunition, while their casualties were two
killed and ten wounded.

Colonel Whitmore at once organised the pursuit, but it was the 8th of
August before he came up with Te Kooti, to whose standard more Hauhau
had flocked, and who had chosen a strong position in the gorge of the
Ruake Ture river, about twenty miles due west of Poverty Bay.

Colonel Whitmore had only one hundred and thirty tired and not
too contented men with whom to do battle against over two hundred
well-armed warriors; but his courage took no more heed of this than it
had taken of the difficulties of the pursuit, which had been through
country the nature of which it is hard for the untravelled Briton to
imagine.

When the column struck Te Kooti's last camp, where the fires were still
burning, the track led thence along the bed of the river between high
cliffs, which were fortunately not occupied by the foe. Heartened by
the knowledge that they were at last to come to grips with the wily
fellows they had held in dreary chase for nearly three weeks, the
column went cheerfully forward, and in time came where the track left
the river and climbed through a gap in the cliffs into the hills. There
the advance was suddenly checked by a volley which had no worse effect
than to send the men scurrying to cover, whence they replied to the
concealed enemy, who were nearer than they supposed.

Each side fired as the chance came. Some one fell back dead and the
nearest man to him shouted down the line, "Captain Carr's gone," and
himself fell dead. Mr. Canning, a volunteer, had dodged behind the
trunk of a fallen tree and, anxious for opportunity, peeped cautiously
over the great bole, seeking a target. He was instantly shot dead by
some Hauhau who were lurking, quite unsuspected, on the other side of
the tree. Two other men fell, and then the advanced guard retired on
the main body, who had meantime been deserted by a number of lukewarm
Maori volunteers, while some of the Pakeha were themselves in retreat.
To make matters worse it poured with rain, and it was but a remnant of
the column which that night reached the bivouac at Reinga, some miles
down the river. It was well for them that Te Kooti, wounded in the
foot, could not pursue.

The victorious Hauhau encamped at Puketapu, hard by the scene of the
fight, and thence sent his runners all over the island, calling on the
tribes to join him, and announcing himself the chosen of God to sweep
the Pakeha into the sea. The worst of it was, the road to Poverty Bay
was now practically open to the Hauhau chief, who was already breathing
out threatenings and slaughter against the people there, some of whom
had been chiefly instrumental in procuring his deportation to Chatham
Island.

It was no _brutum fulmen_ that Te Kooti launched against the
settlement, though, strange to say, both Major Biggs, in charge there,
and other leading men, imperfectly realised the imminence of their
danger. Biggs even dissuaded the settlers from building a strong
blockhouse for a rendezvous, assuring them that there was no reason
for alarm, since his scouts would surely give him twenty-four hours'
notice of any projected attack. He actually laughed at them for their
vigilance in watching the various fords of the Waipoa river and, as
the Anglo-Saxon is extremely sensitive to ridicule, this very sensible
precaution was dropped. The ford to which they had given particular
attention was that at Patutahi, and there it was where Te Kooti
presently crossed the stream.

Te Kooti, who maintained an iron discipline in camp and field, had by
this time received numbers of recruits from the fierce Uriwera and
other tribes in the locality, as well as promises of support from some
at a distance. Leaving his main body in camp, he now swept down upon
the plains with a chosen band of ruffians, and before the 10th of
November had well begun, scattered his rascals in various directions
over the settlement of Turanga, or Poverty Bay.

Mr. Butters, a wool-presser, rode up at dawn to the station of Messrs.
Dodd and Peppard, where he was engaged to work, and to his horror found
the two men dead upon their own threshold, while the shepherd had
disappeared--he, too, had been killed.

"The raid is come. Te Kooti is upon us!" thought Mr. Butters and,
instead of hurrying out of the district into safety, he went at racing
speed to the mission at Waerenga-a-hika, warned the inmates, and then
galloped from station to station, bearing his terrible news. He was
riding all the time through the very midst of the scattered Hauhau,
carrying his life in his hand and, had he worn a uniform, must have
gained the cross "For Valour." As it was, he had for reward the
consciousness of a good deed well done, and the knowledge that he
had saved some lives by risking his own.

[Illustration: Butters gives the alarm--Poverty Bay]

Some few he found alert and forearmed; others he advised in time, and
some he was too late to help, as when, on riding up to one homestead,
he saw outside the door the bodies of the proprietor, his wife and
their baby. Knowing that here he could do no good, Butters thundered
past the desolated hearth with averted face.

The Hauhau had already occupied Major Biggs's place as Butters drew
near, and were dancing and yelling like fiends incarnate. The would-be
saviour galloped on, sadly thinking, no doubt, that, if the poor major
had consented to be wise in time, all this trouble might have been
averted. Biggs had indeed paid the heaviest price for his rashness, and
his last moments must have been embittered by the knowledge of the fate
of those whom he had actually dissuaded from timely action in their own
defence.

He met his end like a man. The natives' account of his death--the only
one available--says that when the Hauhau knocked at his door he was
still up, writing. Recognising that the danger he had held so lightly
had come upon them, he called out to his wife to escape by the back,
which she refused to do. In a few seconds more, husband, wife, child
and servant lay dead, the only survivor being a hired boy, James, who
escaped and joined his mother, who, with her eight children, narrowly
managed to make her way to safety.

While all this horror was in progress in one direction the settlers
in another, near the Patutahi ford, were warned by one of their
number, who had lain awake from dawn listening to the distant firing,
the meaning of which he did not apprehend until himself warned by a
friendly Maori. It was here that the Hauhau had crossed the river,
but refrained from doing mischief, as their leader wished to keep the
murder of Mr. Wylie, one of the settlers there, as a sweet morsel for
the finish. For Wylie was the man principally concerned in Te Kooti's
deportation, and the fierce Hauhau had vowed that he would cut the
Pakeha to pieces inch by inch, Chinese fashion. Their neighbour's
warning saved Wylie and the rest, and they had gained safety before Te
Kooti could overtake them.

Benson, a settler who also did good service that day in warning others,
had himself the narrowest escape. As he rode home through the night,
before the murders had begun, he suddenly found himself in the very
midst of the Hauhau who had just crossed the ford. Supposing them to
be friendlies, he spoke a word of greeting and passed through them
on his way. Many a gun was pointed at him, and the savage fanatics
ground their teeth with rage at losing a victim; for they dared not
spoil their chance of a general massacre by the premature murder of a
solitary settler.

Captain Wilson, besieged within a burning house, surrendered to the
Hauhau on their promise that he and his should be spared. No sooner
were the unfortunates outside, than Captain Wilson was shot, his man
tomahawked and his wife and children bayoneted, save one little boy,
who crawled from his dying father's arms and escaped into the scrub.
The poor little fellow wandered about for days and at last found
himself at the ruins of his home, where he discovered his mother,
sorely wounded, but alive, in an outhouse.

A week later, when the Hauhau had departed and burial parties were
searching for the dead, the two were found, the dying woman having been
kept in life by the efforts of her baby son, who had stolen out nightly
and foraged for food. Poor Mrs. Wilson was carried to Napier, where she
died, leaving the doubly-orphaned little boy the sole survivor of the
family.

Thus did Te Kooti revenge himself upon those whom he deemed the
cause of his banishment. But he had gone too far; for above the cry
of horror which went up all over the island when the dismal news of
the massacre[69] spread, was heard the stern oath of strong men, who
vowed they would not rest until they had cleared the earth of this
blood-soaked savage and his gang of murderers.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 69: Thirty-two Europeans were killed, men, women, and
children.]




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE LAST RALLY


The quality of massacre was absent in the west--less, perhaps, from
choice than for lack of opportunity--but matters were not going as well
as could be desired. There had been a change of governors, Sir George
Grey having given place after more than seven years of anxious rule to
Sir George Bowen, G.C.M.G. Bishop Selwyn, too, had left the country he
had served so long and well; but to the troubled, wearied colonists,
it seemed that governors might come and governors might go, and even
bishops, but the war would go on for ever. For, while Te Kooti was
snarling and ravening in the east, McDonnell's star, so long in the
ascendant, was declining in the west, and the Pakeha generally were
being rather hardly used.

The "Year of the Lamb" had come to an end, and the Hauhau gave evidence
of it by a triple murder,--three wholly inoffensive men, engaged in
sawing wood in the bush, being slain and mutilated by them. Colonel
McDonnell, foreseeing trouble, regarrisoned an old redoubt of the 14th
Regiment at Turuturu Mokai with twenty-five men under Sub-Inspector
Ross of the Constabulary. At dawn, on the 12th of July, four times as
many Hauhau attacked the place, and in the stern fight which ensued
killed Ross and seven others. Titokowaru would have made a clean sweep
of the luckless twenty-five but for the timely arrival of Von Tempsky
and his men from Waihi, less than three miles away, whence the flashes
of the guns had been seen, though their reports could not be heard.

McDonnell, tired of incessant skirmishing, determined to make a raid
which should yield a decisive result one way or the other, and fixed
the night of the 6th of September for his attempt. The friendly
Whanganui strongly objected to move at that particular time, owing to
an unfavourable augury by their _tohunga_ and, as it happened, their
hesitation received curious justification. But McDonnell was not one to
be turned aside from his purpose by augurs or omens, and the expedition
left Waihi at midnight and plunged into the bush. Nobody seems to have
had any clear idea of the whereabouts of Titokowaru, so the old method
was adopted of moving through the bush until a beaten track was struck,
and then following it whithersoever it led. This system had been tried
upon former occasions with good results; but it was destined this time
to fail.

At daybreak on the 7th the column was somewhere on the western <DW72>
of Mount Egmont where, after the forenoon had been spent in wandering
about, a beaten trail was struck and followed during the afternoon in
the direction of the sea. Evening was approaching when a scout who
had climbed a tall tree discovered the Hauhau _pa_ not more than half
a mile away. Major Kepa (Kemp), one of the best officers among the
allies, strongly urged delay and an attack in force on the morrow; but
McDonnell, fearful of losing his prey, determined to go on and take
them and their fort by surprise.

This plan was spoiled by a woman who, perceiving the advance,
ran shrieking an alarm, and McDonnell was then informed by the
friendlies that the place ahead of them was the strongly-fortified,
well-garrisoned Ngutu-o-te-Manu. The colonel at once ordered Kepa and
Von Tempsky to move in opposite directions, so as to surround the _pa_;
but this they were not allowed to attempt with impunity. The Hauhau,
taught by many bitter experiences, had learned that it was no longer
safe to wait behind their defences, however formidable, and greatly
amazed the allied leaders by leaving the _pa_ and fighting in the bush.
Dr. Best, Lieutenant Rowan and a number of Von Tempsky's command fell
almost at once, while McDonnell on the opposite side of the clearing
had no better fortune, losing Captain Page, Lieutenants Hunter and
Hastings and so many of his rank and file, that he judged it wise to
retire with his wounded while he could.

He therefore sent his brother, Captain McDonnell, to bring off Kepa and
Von Tempsky; but the latter strongly objected to retire, and talked of
an assault on the _pa_. Captain McDonnell urged the unusual strength
of the place; but Von Tempsky, still incredulous, stepped into the
clearing to get a better view of the position, and was instantly shot
dead. Captain Buck (late of the 14th Regiment), Von Tempsky's second
in command, anxious that the body of so good an officer should not
suffer insult and mutilation, exposed himself in the effort to lift
the dead man, and was himself instantly killed. The men, bewildered by
the loss of their leaders, fell back and joined Captain Roberts, who
had not heard of the order to retire, and remained where he was until
sunset, when he also moved off towards the sea. On the way Sergeant
Russell dropped to the ground with a smashed thigh and, dreadful as it
was to do, his comrades, having no means of carrying him off, placed a
revolver in his hand and left him to his fate.

In anguish of mind and body the poor fellow lay there for some time,
till the Hauhau, realising that they had beaten off the attack, came
hurrying along the track in pursuit. At sight of Russell helpless
there, one of them ran gleefully forward with upraised tomahawk, only
to receive a bullet in his brain from the brave sergeant's revolver.
After that the rest circumspectly shot the lonely <DW36> from a safe
distance and rushed on the trail of his comrades.

McDonnell was under fire the whole way through the bush until darkness
fell, and when at last he reached Waihi with his broken and dispirited
column, it was to find that nothing had been heard of Captain Roberts
and his contingent, nor did these reach camp until the 8th had dawned.

One-fifth of the men engaged had fallen, the total casualties of the
disastrous affair being one major, two captains, two lieutenants, a
sergeant and eighteen men killed, and twenty-six wounded. The final
result was a blaze of anger against McDonnell, during which those who
should have known better forgot his eminent services and used so bitter
and unjust words that the colonel resigned the chief command into the
hands of Colonel Whitmore.

Thus were the Nga-Ruanui under Titokowaru successful to an extent which
caused the gravest apprehension among the colonists, while the friendly
Whanganui retired to their homes. For they knew of Te Kooti's success
on the east, and now, when the colonial troops evacuated all the
advanced posts and fell back upon Patea before Titokowaru's formidable
force, it seemed to them that the long-impending doom of the Pakeha was
about to fall at last.

Whitmore had at first no better success; for, when storming the
defences of Motorua on the 7th of November, he was repulsed with the
heavy loss of nineteen killed and twenty wounded, Major Hunter being
among the dead. The gallant colonel then fell back upon Nukumaru and,
on the news of the massacre at Poverty Bay reaching Wellington, was
ordered back to the east with every available man of his command.

The remainder of the year was filled by skirmishes between the friendly
Maori and Te Kooti, who had more than one narrow escape, and who,
unable to run because of the wound in his ankle, was on one occasion
carried into safety upon a woman's back. But in January, 1869, he
received a serious set-back when the _pa_ of Ngatapa, in the Poverty
Bay district, was taken after a siege of six days by Colonel Whitmore
and Ropata with his men of the Ngati-Porou. Te Kooti again managed to
escape; but he lost many of his fighting chiefs, nearly one hundred and
fifty of his men and, more than all, his band was dispersed and pursued
in all directions.

Back to the west went the energetic Colonel Whitmore, taking measures
to deal with Titokowaru as he had dealt with Te Kooti, and found that
the Rev. Mr. Whitely, Lieutenant and Mrs. Gascoigne and their three
children had been murdered by Wetere and his Ngati-Maniapoto at White
Cliffs, north of Taranaki. This was an entirely purposeless crime, and
the Hauhau declared that it had been committed at the instigation of
the king, Tawhaio.

After several skirmishes it was believed that the district close to
Whanganui had been swept clear of the Hauhau; but tragic proof to the
contrary was given on the 18th of February, in the neighbourhood of the
Karaka camp, by the Waitotara river.

For many years past troops had marched and countermarched in the
Whanganui district, and the soldiers, moving up or down the rivers,
often amused themselves by throwing at objects on the shore the
stones of the numberless peaches they ate. The banks of more than one
stream were in consequence lined with peach trees, wild, perhaps, but
producing fruit not to be rejected by campaigners.

How little thought the soldiers in their careless play, that they were
sowing the seed not only of peach-trees, but of a tragedy which was to
come to full fruit ten years later.

Yet so it was. On the afternoon of the 18th of February several field
officers, visiting the camp, expressed a desire for some of the peaches
which were growing in profusion on the opposite side of the Waitotara,
and Sergeant Menzies, overhearing their talk, volunteered to go and get
some of the fruit. Colonel McDonnell made no objection, and Menzies,
taking with him nine men as a matter of precaution, crossed the river
and set to work to fill a number of baskets with the ripe peaches.

Suddenly they were fired upon. The volley was so very heavy, so near
and so totally unexpected, that the men were startled into bolting for
their canoe instead of taking cover, and thus offered a fair mark to
seventy Hauhau, who stood upon the bank and shot them down with ease,
all save three, who succeeded in escaping. Their comrades, hearing the
firing so close at hand, came up at the double, but too late to do more
than receive the few survivors and discover some of the dead.

So the Hauhau scored once more; but a month later the scales dropped
again, and Titokowaru, who was really a formidable leader, was beaten
at Otauto and forced to ignominious flight. Another blow or two
completely smashed this powerful chief and bold warrior, and then the
pendulum of war swung sullenly back to the east, where Te Kooti had
again shown his teeth and, wolf-like, worried his own kind as well as
those of another colour.

It was pleasant for the colonists in all this turmoil of war to learn
that their industrial progress and rise into a position of political
and social importance had not gone unmarked, and that their Queen was
now to recognise their standing by sending her son to visit them. Great
was the enthusiasm and fervid the welcome which the Flying Squadron
received on the 12th of April as the _Galatea_ with Commodore H.R.H.
Prince Alfred of Edinburgh on board swept into Port Nicholson and
boomed an answer to the thundering salute from the shore. Wherever
the Duke appeared throughout the Australasian colonies he was well
received; but nowhere with greater heartiness than in New Zealand. For
the colonists there knew that they owed a debt of gratitude to the
mother country--which to many of them was still "home"--and Britain's
Queen was as loyally regarded as in her own sea-girt islands in the
North.

As if the visit of Queen Victoria's son brought good augury of peace,
Titokowaru was no more heard of, and Te Kooti gradually declined in
power, until, harried on every side, he fled at last into the country
of the Uriwera, the wildest and most savage tribe in New Zealand.
Their country--in the mountainous peninsula between the Bay of Plenty
and Poverty Bay--was as wild and savage as themselves, and afforded
an almost inaccessible retreat to the Hauhau fugitives. But men like
Whitmore and McDonnell, not to speak of Kepa Te Rangihiwinui and Ropata
Wahawaha, were not to be dismayed by savagery, animate or inanimate,
and Te Kooti was chased from point to point until even his bold spirit
began to quail, and he realised at last how terrible was the just anger
of the Pakeha, slow to kindle, but inextinguishable by aught but the
full satisfaction of righteous vengeance.

Te Kooti's day was not quite done. He was not rash, but by no means
a coward, never hesitating to expose his person when necessary; yet
he was seldom wounded, while his hairbreadth escapes from capture and
from death itself seemed to justify the growl of his pursuers that "the
devil took good care of his own."

On one occasion when his _pa_ had been stormed and he was within an ace
of being taken, he apparently fell over a cliff, and the men who were
chasing him hurried themselves no further. But, when they reached the
edge of the precipice and peered over, instead of a mangled body, they
saw a rope of flax, down which the wily Hauhau had slid into safety.

On another occasion, under pretence of freeing a number of prisoners,
he ordered them all to be disarmed, an order which every one recognised
as preliminary to a general massacre--as it was. One bold fellow,
standing almost within touch of the Hauhau leader, cried out, "This is
to be done so that we may be the more easily killed. If I am to die, so
shall you," and fired point-blank at his captor. As the hammer fell, a
Hauhau struck up the muzzle of the gun; but if the Maori--whose fate
was sealed in any case--had not drawn attention to his action by making
a speech, he would have had Te Kooti's company on the road to Reinga,
and the world would have been the sooner rid of a murderous ruffian.

Strong in his luck, Te Kooti skirmished and fought his way out of
the Uriwera country and marched across to Taupo, where he compelled
the allegiance of Te Heu Heu, chief of the "Boiling Water" tribes.
His great ambition was to capture to his side the powerful chiefs of
Whanganui and Waikato, but his arrogance and overweening belief in his
own superiority offended each in turn. Moreover, he alienated Topia
Turoa, the great Whanganui chief by the causeless murder of a blood
relation of the latter, which so angered Topia that he not only took
the field against Te Kooti, but did him an even worse turn by using his
influence with the Waikato against him.

The Waikato also had personal reasons for allowing Te Kooti to go to
ruin unaccompanied by them. They had expressed themselves willing to
receive a visit from him, but when he arrived with three hundred picked
men, he gave himself such insufferable airs that many were disgusted,
and the Waikato leaders made no haste to pay their respects until urged
to do so by the great fighter, Rewi of the Ngati-Maniapoto.

They came at last, five hundred strong, bearing presents, to the place
where Te Kooti and his three hundred champions awaited them. Then,
either to show that he was prepared for treachery, or wishful to test
their courage, or merely in an antic spirit, the Hauhau ordered his
following to fire a volley with ball cartridge low over the heads of
the Waikato.

The whistling of three hundred bullets past one's ears is a welcome
easily improved upon, and the visitors, prepared for something very
different, were startled into some undignified capers. Te Kooti had
committed the stupidest error in lowering a proud folk in their own
eyes, and their wrath blazed against him. Even friends might have been
excused for taking exception to such a greeting, and these were men
whose friendship was yet to be won. In vain Rewi pleaded; Te Heu Heu
argued to the wind; the Waikato would have none of Te Kooti and, when
he was soundly thrashed a little later by McDonnell at Te Pononga, even
Rewi turned his back upon him. "The fellow is a humbug!" he declared to
the delighted Waikato, who gleefully rejoined, "We told you so!"

McDonnell had with him men from the tribes of Whanganui, Taupo, Arawa
and Ngati-Kahu-Ngunu (Hawke's Bay tribes). He had formed a plan for
enticing Te Kooti into the open from his _pa_ at Pourere; but this was
spoiled by the chief of the Napier contingent, whose fears had been
raised by his _tohunga_, who declared the omens to be of the worst.

McDonnell, as has been said, had few equals in dealing with the Maori
and, though naturally annoyed at the failure of his plan, soon made
himself master of the situation.

Having quietly instructed his European officers and Kepa, he began
by informing the Whanganui under Colonel Herrick that the Arawa had
already started for the _pa_, and would, no doubt, be in it before
them, whereupon the Whanganui sprang up and rushed forward, determined
to be the first over the walls. Captain St. George had meantime told
his Arawa a similar story, and they, seeing and hearing the truth of
the statement, raced after the Whanganui, equally determined not to be
second. McDonnell then went to the camp of Renata, the cause of all the
bother, and enquired:

"Do you intend to refrain from fighting to-day on account of what the
_tohunga_ said?"

"I certainly do," admitted Renata, who was a most conceited fellow.
"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," answered McDonnell; "only Arawa and Whanganui are
racing for the _pa_, and I am going after them." He turned as he spoke
and hurried away.

"Hi! Stop! Colonel, stop!" shouted Renata; but McDonnell ran on. The
chief's shout was changed in a moment to "_Tatua! Tatua!_" (To arms! To
arms!), and he and his three hundred bounded towards the _pa_, intent
upon outdoing, or, at least, not being outdone by either Arawa or
Whanganui.

With such a hearty concentration of energy the result was certain and,
after a sharp contest, in which Captain St. George fell, shot through
the head, the friendlies surged over the defences and once more drove
the Hauhau into headlong flight. Te Kooti escaped as usual, but was
forced to run from the Taupo district, and again take refuge among the
wild Uriwera. A further result was the defection of "Old Boiling Water"
(Te Heu Heu) who came in and surrendered, complaining that Te Kooti
had forced him to fight, as he forced all his prisoners.

Three months later, in January, 1870, Kepa Te Rangihiwinui with the
Whanganui, and Ropata Wahawaha with his Ngati-Porou, started to hunt
down Te Kooti. The colonials had now played their part and won their
spurs, while some had gained the proud distinction of the New Zealand
Cross, and one, at least, the Victoria Cross. It was felt that matters
had reached a pass when the two skilful chiefs might well be trusted
to finish up the long and troublesome affair of Te Kooti; for armed
resistance had ceased everywhere, and the hostile Maori, if they
showed no desire as yet to grasp the friendly hands held out to them
by the Government, were at least convinced of the futility of further
prolonging the war.

With Te Kooti the case was different. He was not a belligerent, but an
outlaw and, had he been caught, would undoubtedly have been hanged, if
only for his behaviour at Poverty Bay.

Kepa, starting in January, 1870, from the Bay of Plenty, moved south
along the gorges of the Waimana to meet Ropata, who from Poverty Bay
marched north upon Maunga Pohatu, about midway between the points of
departure. Ropata fought and slew; Kepa, more diplomatic, made peace;
but each in his fashion won the Uriwera tribes from Te Kooti, whom they
kept continually upon the move, driving him from his last stronghold at
Maraetahi, whence he escaped with only twenty men.

The last chase of all started from Poverty Bay in June, 1871, four
flying columns taking the route under Ropata, Captain Porter, Henare
Potae, and Ruku Te Arutupu. The courage and endurance of the men were
tried to the uttermost, for winter in the Uriwera Mountains, that
beautiful, but terribly rough and savage country, was no light thing,
and for a time the hunters had nothing but their trouble for their
pains.

But the luck at last fell to Captain Porter, who was trailing along the
northern end of Lake Waikare Moana (Sea of the Rippling Waters) in the
dreadful heart of the Uriwera country, and there he came up with his
man.

The excitement was tremendous, for they could look down from the range
where they stood into the valley where they knew Te Kooti to be. A
false step now, and all the toil and suffering would be wasted. Porter
spent most of the raw winter night in stealing as close as he dared to
the clearing, in the midst of which, in an old _whare_, Te Kooti slept,
unconscious of his danger.

With the dawn, Henare Potae lay on the right of the clearing, Ruku Te
Arutupu on the left, and Porter covered the centre. At a given time
Ruku was to enter the clearing, call to the sleeping folk that they
were surrounded, and summon them to surrender. If they refused, they
were to be shot at once, while a particularly sharp lookout was to be
kept for Te Kooti, who was to be allowed no chance whatever.

Quivering with excitement, the men breathlessly awaited the appearance
of Ruku. All was quiet as death which loomed so near; but Ruku came
not. Only an old woman issued from a _whare_ and began to pick up
sticks for her morning fire. Still Ruku did not show himself, and
Porter grew impatient, stirring in his place.

Then he held still as a mouse; for from another _whare_ came a dog,
stretching himself and yawning, who suddenly elevated a sensitive,
inquisitive nose, snuffed the morning air and began to bark furiously,
knowing, though his masters did not, that something was amiss. To him
came out another woman, hushing him and staring about her; and those
who knew whispered, "It is Olivia, Te Kooti's wife! He is there!"

Porter heard and trembled. He knew the excitability of his men, and
dreaded lest the premature explosion of a rifle--as had so often
happened--should warn the Hauhau of their proximity. So little would
spoil so much. If his men should lose their heads--Oh, _absit omen_!

The dog whined and capered, Olivia stood, undecided, and in the hush Te
Kooti's voice reached the watchers, "What ails the dog?" Olivia, after
one more swift glance round, answered, "Nothing!"

More men now appeared, and they, too, cried "All is well!" Then came
women, who set about preparing breakfast, one of them actually cutting
chips from an enormous log, behind which six of Henare's men lay snug.

Then that which Porter had feared and prayed against happened. Two of
the Maori loosed off their guns in their excitement, and the quiet
scene in an instant gave place to a wild turmoil--shouting men and
screaming women all running this way and that as guns cracked and
bullets wheeped and whined past their affrighted ears.

But Te Kooti was not there. He was not fool enough to come out and
face the fusillade he knew would be directed against him. Not he. At
the first sound of alarm he burst through the back of his hut, yelling
"_Sauve qui peut!_" or its Maori equivalent, "_Ko Ngati-Porou tenei kia
whai morehu!_" ("Ngati-Porou are here! Let survivors follow me!") Then,
acting upon his own advice, he bolted like a deer, leaving Olivia alone
to make her bow to the victors.

And that was the last of Te Kooti. For several months more Ropata
hunted him without success, finding some consolation in the capture of
Kereopa, Mr. Voelkner's murderer, who was hanged without undue waste
of time. But of Te Kooti he got no glimpse; so, at last convinced that
he had done all that mortal could do, and that Te Kooti as a fighting
force was as good as dead, Ropata, the war-worn, went home with his
Ngati-Porou, his honours thick upon him.

What became of Te Kooti no one seems to know. He simply disappeared,
even as the yet more infamous Nana Sahib disappeared, leaving no trace.
Some say that he steered his way across the Taupo district and hid
himself in the King country; others aver that he was slain there by the
Waikato whom he had insulted, others that he killed himself in despair,
while some will have it that he got out of a country which, except for
the purpose of hanging him, was not particularly anxious to hold him.
As a matter of fact, no one, whether Maori or Pakeha, has ever given a
satisfactory answer to the question, "Where is Te Kooti?"

With the disappearance of the Hauhau leader vanished the last sign of
active resistance against the might and rule of the Pakeha. Smiling
faces were not yet everywhere; there were too many tears to be dried
on both sides for that, and the passions of strong men do not cool in
a day, even when strife has ceased. The conquerors, too, must learn
to temper their exultation with sympathy, the conquered must accustom
their necks to the yoke, and all these things take time. But the very
fact, insisted upon above, that--the Hauhau movement apart--the war
had been waged in generous spirit, hastened the period of cooling off,
and on February the 2nd, 1872, Wiremu Kingi Te Rangitake, the chief
of Waitara, visited New Plymouth (Taranaki) when tomahawk and _mere_,
_patu_, and _tupara_ were buried, never again to be dug up. Three years
later, on the 3rd of January, Tawhiao, the Maori King, shook the hand
which Sir Donald McLean extended to him on behalf of the Government,
and the last wintry clouds of discontent melted in the rays of the
glorious sun of peace.

Never since then have the hands of the Maori been lifted against the
Pakeha; ever since then have the Pakeha striven to make smooth the path
of the Maori.

Once only appeared a little cloud, when a man who throughout his
life had advocated peace, was accused of fomenting war. Te Whiti was
a Christian and a mystic, with more than his share of the keen Maori
intelligence, a fine specimen of the Maori gentleman, and a man of
immense influence in his tribe. He had taken no part in the great
struggle, but, like Falkland, cried ever "Peace! Peace!" And when
Titokowaru would have had him unite in smiting the Pakeha, he refused,
nor would he allow his young men to join.

Yet this man came at last (in 1877) into collision with the Government
over that old bone of contention, land. There was a dispute over the
parcelling out of the Waimate Plains, and Te Whiti pulled up the
pegs of the surveyors and ordered the workers off, as Te Rauparaha
and Rangihaeata had done thirty-four years earlier. But there was
no massacre, and when Te Whiti's men were sent to prison, the chief
retaliated by ploughing up the grass lands of the white men.

"Put your hands to the plough!" Te Whiti cried. "Be not afraid if any
come with swords and, if they smite, smite ye not again. Neither touch
their goods nor steal their flocks and herds. My eye sees all of you,
and I will punish the offender. Let the soldiers seize me, if they
will. They may come, and I will gladly let them crucify me."

A fanatic? Yes; but of very different temper from his predecessors. As
it happened, Te Whiti was in the right; but the soldiers, seventeen
hundred of them, did come on the 5th of November, 1881, and invested
Te Whiti's _pa_ at Parihaka. Two hundred little children came out to
them and danced a dance of welcome, and behind the children followed
the mothers with five hundred loaves of bread for the soldiers. When
matters had gone thus far, the Commissioner read the Riot Act and
Te Whiti and his councillor Tohu were led away, unresisting, with
handcuffs upon their wrists. And, as they went, they cried to their
people, "Do not resist, even if the bayonet is at your breast."

Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata stood up and defied Governor and Council
after Wairau, threatening massacre. Te Whiti and Tohu, preaching peace,
were chained and cast into prison for sixteen months. Then right and
justice prevailed, and they were liberated in February, 1883, and given
reserves of land. Te Whiti lived until November, 1907, in prosperity
with his people at Parihaka, enjoying that peace which he had always
done his best to promote.




CHAPTER XXIX

THE SUN OF PEACE


The colonists had won, and men asked one another how they would use
their power. But we who have followed their story know that they
had not waited for victory to force them to a generous attitude. We
remember how in the very teeth of strife they held out their hands and
lifted four of their Maori brethren to places by their side in the
Colonial Parliament; so it is not surprising to learn that, almost
before the blasts of war had done blowing in their ears, they made room
in the Upper House for two chiefs of high rank, who were thenceforth
to bear the title of "Honourable," and be for life members of the
Legislative Council.

If that were not enough to show the cordial mind of the white men to
their brown brothers, the Maori prisoners taken in war were treated
for the most part as political offenders and, after a very short
period of restraint, allowed to return to their tribes without the
exaction of further penalty. Exceptions were naturally made in cases
where individuals were proved guilty of actual crime; but, otherwise,
everything was done to show the desire of the colony to soften as far
as possible all painful memories, to erase all bitterness from the
record of events, and to begin the new chapter of their history upon a
page inscribed with the great words of a great man, "Liberty and Union,
now and for ever, one and inseparable."

As the colonists had never allowed war to hinder them from forging
ahead, so, now that peace was assured, they gave rein to their energy
and saw to it that their country marched with equal step abreast of the
world's progress. As time went on not even that sufficed, and ever and
again the old world would stop, agape, while New Zealand confidently
adopted political, social or domestic reforms, at which her grown-up
relatives were still looking askance as "new-fangled ideas," "dangerous
radicalism," and so forth. New Zealand has never been afraid to
experiment, and most of her experiments have proved successful, and in
their issue "come to stay," if the phrase may be allowed.

One of the earliest products of peace was a large addition to the
population, thanks to a policy by which fifty thousand immigrants were
introduced into the colony in the two years 1874 and 1875. This policy
did not stop there; for the Government, as far as possible, found work
for the men whom they introduced, just as they are doing at this day.

Take for instance that large area in New Zealand known as "The King
Country," where, as we have seen, the "Land League" so long had sway.
This, which includes more than a million of acres of forest-covered
land, and that high plateau surrounding old Te Heu Heu's "ancestor,"
the smoking cones of Tongariro, is only now being reduced to
conditions which shall render cultivation possible. To this wilderness
the Government sends hundreds of newly arrived immigrants, who are set
to work upon the railway which is being carried through it.

The beauty of this region is almost indescribable; and there, too, a
man may taste of the experiences of the pioneers and yet miss their
greatest hardships. For, if a settler, he works with the certainty of
return for his labour; if otherwise, he is paid good wages and is in
any case assured of food, for carts carrying bread and meat continually
traverse the bush tracks. He is free from the haunting fear that he
will awake at some grey dawn to hear the wild yells of blood-lusting
savages, or return to his lonely hut to find his wife and children dead
upon his hearth. He has no dread of beasts of prey, unlike his brother
immigrant in Africa; and he can push his way through breast-high fern
or clinging tangle of undergrowth, undismayed lest his heel be bruised
by fang of poisonous snake, the terror of his Australian cousin.

The year 1875 saw the abolition of the Provinces Act, in which many had
from the first scented danger to the cultivation of a national spirit,
and a beginning was made in the following year of the present system
of local government, the colony being subdivided into counties and
municipal boroughs. The old provincial spirit was not easily quenched,
for many were not unnaturally inclined to esteem themselves and their
own more excellent than their neighbour and his own. Still, there are
very few in New Zealand who will venture to deny that to-day is better
than yesterday, although there is at least one "fine old New Zealand
gentleman, one of the olden time," who annually brings forward a motion
for retrogression to the ancient order of things. Such conservatism is
rare in liberal New Zealand, and has few hopes and fewer followers.

A most interesting event occurred in 1877; for Sir George Grey returned
to power, not as Governor, but as Premier. He had made for himself a
home on an island in the beautiful Hauraki Gulf, and perhaps nothing
could have been more fortunate than his presence in the Colony at a
time when the new union between Pakeha and Maori required the cement of
perfect comprehension to render it irrefragable. Among the colonists
there might be disagreement as to Sir George Grey and his policy;
among the Maori there was none. To them he was ever the _Kawana nui_
(the great Governor), the man who understood them and who cared to
understand them.

For his island home the "Knight of the Kawan" did everything which
it was possible for a man so liberal and refined to do. He loved it
and adorned its beauty with every fresh charm he could procure. He
brought thither the English rose and the Australian eucalyptus, and
when Australia shall lament the wholesale destruction of her unique
fauna, the sole survivors of the quaint marsupial order shall, perhaps,
be found in the isle of the Kawana. This charming spot is to-day a
favourite resort of holiday-makers, and Sir George Grey's mansion,
bereft, alas! of its hospitable founder, still offers visitors shelter
and entertainment.

The eightieth birthday of this remarkable man (whom Queen Victoria
honoured with her personal friendship) was celebrated in New Zealand
with the utmost enthusiasm, and at his death in 1898 there were not
many who grudged him the designation of "The Great Proconsul," or
cavilled when St. Paul's Cathedral received the honoured dust of one
who was not only an Imperialist but a Nation-maker.

In 1886, Nature arose in violent mood and swept into ruin one of the
most romantically beautiful spots in the world, and the most powerful
and splendid of New Zealand's many scenic attractions--her justly-named
"Wonderland." This was the hot lake of Rotomahana, with its far-famed
Pink and White Terraces.

In the volcanic region between the Bay of Plenty on the north and Lake
Taupo, with its giant sentinels Ruapehu and Tongariro on the south, is
Lake Tarawera, overhung by the volcano of Tarawera, which had never in
the memory of the Maori given any sign of eruption. A river of the same
name connected the lake with the much smaller basin of Rotomahana, in
which the water was hot owing to the numerous thermal springs in its
immediate vicinity. Rotomahana was really a crater of explosion, and
the principal boiling spring, Te Tarata, descending from terrace to
terrace down to the lake, was the greatest marvel in this marvellous
region.

Upon the Mount of Tarawera were the graves of many generations of Arawa
heroes and chiefs of might; nor dared profane feet disturb their rest
for fear of the fiery dragon which, though never yet seen by Maori
eyes, kept watch and ward. At the mountain's foot lay the sister lake,
into whose waters--green as the stone in far Te Wai Pounamou--flowed
the river, charged with a fervent message from hot-hearted Rotomahana
with his terraced fringe of white and pink, laced with the blue of pools

            which in perfect stillness lie,
  And give an undistorted image of the sky.

Eighty feet above the warmed water of Rotomahana was the basin of Te
Tarata, with wall of clay, thirty feet in height. Its length was eighty
feet, its breadth sixty, and it was filled full of exquisitely clear,
boiling water, as blue as the sky above the swirl of azure vapour which
constantly overhung the wondrous pool.

In the depths, far below the placid surface, sounded ever the rumble
and grumble of immense quantities of water on the boil, and the
overflow had formed a crystal stairway, white as Parian marble, to
the lake beneath. From step to step was the height of a tall man, the
breadth of each platform five or six times that measure, and every
shining step was an arc of the great circle of which the red-walled
crater of Rotomahana was the centre. Each ledge was overhung with
stalactites, pure as alabaster, and every platform held its pools of
limpid, azure water of all degrees of warmth, in baths whose elegance
would have charmed a Roman eye.

On the opposite side of the lake was the spring of Otaka Puarangi, its
tranquil blue water confined in a basin little more than half the size
of Te Tarata. Its silicious deposits used to "descend from its orifice
down to the lake," and were scaled "by a marble staircase, so sharp
in its outline, so regular in its construction, and so adorned with
graceful borders of evergreen shrubs that it seemed as if Nature had
designed it in very mockery of the skill and industry of man."

But on this side the silica was flushed to a delicate rose, and from
every step pink wreaths were hung, and garlands of tinted stone, and
on every platform flashed the opalescent stalactites, festooning the
ledges, midway down, or dropping from azure pool to azure pool until
they reached the golden _solfatara_[70] and the rainbowed mud.

One hour after midnight on the 10th of June, men who dwelt or sojourned
in this beautiful, dangerous region were awakened by the trembling of
the earth and, knowing what that portended, rushed from their houses
into the open to see the Mount of Tarawera rent asunder from top to
bottom, while from the gaping wound shot up a column of roaring flame,
whose capital of smoke and cloud reared itself four and twenty thousand
feet above the blazing crater--a beacon of misfortune four miles high.

Red lightning played in fork and spiral about the flaming crags or
sheeted the gloomy base, and many miles away from the convulsed
mountain streams of fire poured upon the stricken earth. Fire-balls
fell, a blazing hail, consuming whatsoever they touched, and burying
beneath their increasing weight the remains of lonely hut and crowded
native village.

When the pallid light of the winter dawn struggled through the dense
veil of falling debris, Tarawera's mount was seen to be shivered as
though smitten by the hammer of Thor; Tarawera's lake had risen forty
feet, the trees beside its margin buried to their tops in volcanic mud;
Tarawera's river and Rotomahana's lovely terraces were gone for ever,
submerged beneath an enormous mass of ashes, mud, and stone.

For eighteen hours dust and mud fell continuously, burying fifty feet
deep the entire _hapu_ of the Matatu Maori, all save nine, and raining
desolation as far as Tauranga on the Bay. Pasture land, grass and fern
were burnt bare, and the same volcanic hail which slew the birds in
their flight blotted out the food-supply and starved the very rats in
the undergrowth.

One hundred and one persons perished in this eruption, which was not
only the fiercest and most destructive which New Zealand had known
since the coming of the Maori, but was one of the most violent recorded
in the story of the world.

From year to year New Zealand strode on, giving her women the franchise
as she went, and calling upon them to help her in the conduct of
municipal affairs. She seldom marked time, and ever held her head high
and preserved a proud distinction of her own among the three and forty
colonies or dependencies of the Empire. If she once got a little out
of breath through the sheer rush of her onward march, the firm hand of
a strong man steadied her, sending her on again, _integris viribus_,
with greater speed. In Richard Seddon, a man of immense energy and
remarkable gifts, who for thirteen years stood at the head of the
State and guided her towards the high status she has now obtained, New
Zealand found her man of the hour. Fortunate, too, it was for her that,
on the great Premier's untimely death in 1906, so strong a man as Sir
Joseph Ward was at hand to take his place.

As the nineteenth century waned to a close, the important question fell
to be answered by New Zealand--Should she, or should she not, allow
herself to be enrolled among the States of the Australian Commonwealth?
Federation had been in the air for a long time, and since 1891 it had
been recognised that it must come, and come soon,--as far as Australia
was concerned. But would New Zealand take her place among the States?

There were arguments in favour of her doing so from the point of view
of commercial and administrative expediency; but there were very many
who did not like the idea. These pointed to the thousand miles of
ocean which separated their country from the continent of Australia
as an argument against inclusion with her great neighbour, and to her
remarkable progress as proof that she had learned, and could be trusted
to stand alone.

In 1899 the question required an answer; but Mr. Seddon still declared
himself uncertain of the popular will, and in 1900 craved the Imperial
Parliament to insert an "open door" clause in the Constitution, in
order that New Zealand might enter at her own time on equal terms with
the other States.

A Royal Commission was then appointed, with the result that, after an
exhaustive discussion of the arguments for and against the proposal,
and the hearing of voluminous evidence on both sides of the Tasman Sea,
the Commission declared emphatically against the submersion of New
Zealand's identity in that of the Commonwealth of Australia.

Australia was dubious, and Mr. Reid, Premier of New South Wales,
asked, "How long will New Zealand be able to preserve an independent
orbit in the presence of a powerful gravitation and attraction, such
as a federated Australia must possess?" No one could answer that; but
New Zealand was firm, and a reply was to some extent contained in Sir
Joseph Ward's later declaration, "I consider this country (New Zealand)
is certainly the natural centre for the government of the South
Pacific."

So New Zealand elected to stand alone; and, this done, the question
immediately arose--Was she, with all her natural advantages, with
her remarkable progress, to remain a mere undistinguished unit among
the crowd of dependencies, simply one colony among a number of other
colonies? The answer came as immediately--No! The New Zealanders
determined to find a suitable designation by which their country should
be honourably distinguished. What was to be that designation?

It remained for Sir Joseph Ward to answer that In May, 1907, being in
London after the Conference of Colonial Premiers, he wrote to Lord
Elgin, the Secretary of State for the Colonies, and repeated what
he had urged at that historic gathering; that, "having regard to
the position and importance of New Zealand, it had well outgrown the
'colonial' stage, and was as much entitled to a separate designation as
the Commonwealth of Australia or the Dominion of Canada." He further
declared that "the people of New Zealand would be much gratified" if
the designation chosen were "The Dominion of New Zealand."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 70: A pool of smoking sulphur.]




CHAPTER XXX

THE DOMINION OF NEW ZEALAND


I

THE PRAYER

  _Resolution by the Parliament of the Colony of New Zealand_

"That this House respectfully requests that His Majesty the King may be
graciously pleased to take such steps as he may consider necessary in
order that the designation of New Zealand be changed from "Colony of
New Zealand" to the "Dominion of New Zealand"; and that a respectful
address be presented to His Excellency the Governor, requesting him to
transmit this resolution for submission to His Majesty."


II

THE ANSWER

  _The text of His Majesty the King's Proclamation, conferring the
  title of Dominion upon the Colony of New Zealand. Read by His
  Excellency the Governor (Lord Plunket) from the steps of Parliament
  House, Wellington, New Zealand, at eleven o'clock in the morning of
  Thursday 26th of September, 1907._

"Whereas We have, on the petition of the members of the Legislative
Council and the House of Representatives of Our Colony of New Zealand,
determined that the title of the Dominion of New Zealand shall be
substituted for that of the Colony of New Zealand as the designation
of the said Colony. We have, therefore, by and with the advice of Our
Privy Council, thought fit to issue this, Our Royal Proclamation, and
We do ordain, declare, and command, that on and after the 26th day
of September 1907, the said Colony of New Zealand and the territory
belonging thereto shall be called and known by the title of the
Dominion of New Zealand, and We hereby give Our command to all public
departments accordingly.

  "EDWARD REX."


III

DOMINION DAY

  "_Ab actu ad posse valet illatio_"

So New Zealand, having resisted the blandishments of her big neighbour,
and refused to allow her identity to be submerged in the Commonwealth
of Australia, craved a gift from the King, who gave her what she
craved,--a designation which should convince the world that she had
climbed from the ruck of the colonies into a position of distinction.
Few would in any case have denied this; but the change of designation
made, as was intended, New Zealand's improved status apparent to all.

The gift of this new designation was a public recognition of New
Zealand's right to take her place on equal terms among the great
self-governing colonies, and in asking for such recognition New Zealand
did wisely. Great names were in the air in the South Sea, and for New
Zealand not to have chosen one, now that she had elected to stand
alone, would have been deliberately to hide her light under the bushel
of self-effacement, and quite unnecessarily to seek a lower place than
that which Australia had assumed.

So, King Edward having granted her petition, His Excellency the
Governor, Lord Plunket, at eleven o'clock on Thursday morning the 26th
of September, 1907, read in public His Majesty's Proclamation, and New
Zealand ceased to be a Colony and became a Dominion.

       *       *       *       *       *

And what of New Zealand's future? The only possible answer to that at
present is in the words quoted at the head of this section. God in His
wisdom hides the future from our eyes, but it is allowable to construe
the future from the past; it is permissible to infer what will be
from what has been, and it is only reasonable to admit that none who
know New Zealand's past ought to have any well-grounded fears for her
future. What she has done she will do again yet more perfectly: what
she has not done, but has a mind to do, she will accomplish.

Less than seventy years ago New Zealand, like her own peculiar birds,
the _moa_ and the _kiwi_, was unable to fly; but, like them, she could
and did run very fast. Then, as in the course of years--and few enough
of them--her wings grew, she did not hesitate, but accomplished flight
after flight, each more daring than the last, until her pinions,
like those of the albatross of her own seas, now bear her untired
whithersoever she will.

"_Ab actu ad posse valet illatio!_" What New Zealand has done she will
do. Even if she never attain to the position which Sir Joseph Ward
seems to consider should be hers, and become the actual as well as the
natural centre for the government of the South Pacific, she can still
soar as high in her proud independence, and perhaps higher, if she ever
strive to attain to Sir Joseph Ward's ideal, "a true Dominion in the
head and heart of her own people."

What New Zealand has done she will do. It is not yet seventy years
since Captain Hobson, in presence of a few white folk, read his
commission as Lieutenant-Governor of islands which were declared to be
a mere extension of the boundaries of New South Wales. Wellington was
not yet founded; Auckland was yet to be born; the Crown and the Company
were for a time to divide the house against itself; the good will of
the Maori was still to win and, since British sovereignty had not been
declared, other claimants for possession had to be baffled.

Yet with all these drawbacks and difficulties New Zealand was able not
to struggle on, but to leap boldly from childhood into a youth which
was fortunately vigorous, since in this phase she had not only to
adjust a quarrel here and there, but to fight for her very existence.
When the doors of the temple of Janus were at last shut after nearly
thirty years of intermittent war, New Zealand set her feet firmly upon
the high road of industrial progress and strode forward; nor has she
since looked back.

Is it likely that with the knowledge and experience she has gained she
will do less than she was able to do when she had everything to learn?
The idea is inconceivable.

No. New Zealand accomplished much in her weakness, and in her strength
she will accomplish more. If she has made good laws, she will make
yet better and continue to legislate, as she has always done, not
for the benefit of one class or section of the community, but for
the common good. If she was able to hold her own against the strong,
brave race she dispossessed and reinstated under better conditions,
that "baptism of fire" shall avail to teach her how to arm against the
jealousy of nations, older, it may be, than herself, and envious of
her vineyard. Has she not already fought nobly for the Motherland, and
shall she not know how to defend her own? More than once, indeed, she
has been styled the "Britain of the South." What if Sir Joseph Ward's
haughty assumption of her right to rule the South Pacific by virtue of
geographical position be some day so fully recognised as truth that she
shall acquire the right by the might of added moral superiority?

If that day come, will New Zealand be happier? That waits to be seen.
Yet she should in any case be happy, even though she mount not one step
higher than that to which she has attained. Climate, soil, position
and natural beauty, laws, social and commercial success, all unite to
feed her hunger for happiness, and to satisfy. Save that Man must ever
sigh for something which he has not, what more can she crave than that
which God has already given her? Even now she may most fitly sing in a
full-throated burst of rejoicing:

  Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart--
  On us, on us, th' unswerving season smiles,
  Who wonder, 'mid our fern, why men depart
        To seek the Happy Isles!




_A ekore ana tatau e tutakina i te ao. A e kawea te kororia me te
honore o nga Tauiwi ki reira._

  Wakakitenga xxi. 25-26 (Revelation).

TRANSLATION.--_And the gates thereof shall in no wise be shut by day:
and they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it._




INDEX


    Aewa, Tamihana Te, 258, 259, 260

    Ahuahu, Te, 178

    Akarana, 147

    Akaroa, 133, 142, 149

    Alfred, H.R.H. Prince, 295

    Allen, Bugler, 206, 207, 208

    Anaua, Te (chief), 276

    Ao-tea-roa, 13, 14

    Aotea, 14

    Aowera (tribe), 268

    Arawa (tribe), 55, 247, 298, 299, 311

    Aro, Te, 136

    Artillery, Royal, 242

    Arutupu, Ruku Te, 301, 302

    Atkinson, Major, 232

    Atua, 4, 9, 38, 72, 260

    Auckland, 144, 147, 149, 156, 170, 194, 213, 223, 240, 262, 263, 321

    Austin, Colonel, 239

    Australia, 77, 85, 93, 143

    Australia, Commonwealth of, 315, 316, 317

    Australia, South, 193, 194

    Austria, Emperor of, 237


    Banks Peninsula, 220

    Banks, Sir J., 80

    Barclay, Lieut., 174

    Baring, Hon. F., 130

    Bat's Nest, the, 195, 200

    Bay of Islands, 98, 99, 116, 117, 121, 122, 140

    Bay of Plenty, 55, 121, 295, 300, 311

    Beattie, Lieut., 190

    Benson, Mr., 286

    Best, Dr., 290

    Biggs, Major, 283, 285

    Bland, R.N., Lieut., 197

    Boadicea, 98

    Boers, the, 240, 241

    "Boiling Water" tribes, 227, 297, 299

    Boulcott, Mr. J.E., 130

    Boulcott's Farm, 205

    Bourke, Sir R., 125

    Bowen, Sir G., 288

    _Boyd_, massacre of the, 97, 98, 101, 104

    Brassey, Major, 266

    Bridge, Major, 188

    Britannia, 136

    British Government, 125, 129, 130, 152, 153, 244, 250, 252, 315

    Brooks, John, 163

    Broughton, Mr., 270

    Browne, Colonel T. Gore, 223, 227, 231, 232, 235, 236

    Buck, Captain, 291

    Busby, Mr., 124, 125, 126, 129

    Butler, Colonel, 274, 275

    Butters, Mr., 284, 285


    _Calliope_, H.M.S., 210

    Cameron, General, 233, 234, 238, 239, 240, 241, 245, 246, 247, 250,
      251, 252, 273, 275

    Canada, Dominion of, 317

    Cannibalism, 62

    Canning, Mr., 282

    Canoes, names of, 8

    Canterbury, 217, 218, 219

    Canterbury Association, 218

    Canterbury Pilgrims, 218

    Carey, Brig.-Gen., 245, 246

    Cargill, Captain W., 218

    Caribs, the, 63

    Carr, Captain, 282

    Catholic missionaries, 106

    Chalmers, Port, 218

    Chalmers, Rev. Dr., 218

    Chatham Islands, 13, 113, 280, 283

    Church Missionary Society, 103, 106

    Chute, General, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277

    Clarke, Interpreter, 191

    Clarke, Mr. G., 193

    Cloudy Bay, 159

    Collingwood, 221

    Colonial Conference, 316

    Colonial Office, 193, 216

    Columbus, Christopher, 63

    Constitution Act, 216

    Cook, Captain, 44, 55, 78, 79, 88, 89

    Cook Islands, 21

    Cook Strait, 12, 107, 135, 220, 262, 272

    Coromandel, 221, 222

    Cotterell, Mr., 160, 163

    Crozet, Captain, 89, 91, 92, 165

    "Cyprus of South Sea," 128


    Darling, Governor, 121

    Denny, Captain, 199

    Despard, Colonel, 183, 185, 186, 187, 188, 192, 195

    "Die-Hards," the, 274

    Diemen, Anthony van, 76

    _Diver_, H.M.S., 203

    Dodd, Mr., 284

    Dominion Day, 319, 320

    Dominion of New Zealand, 219, 317, 318, 319, 320

    Doubtless Bay, 89

    Dunedin, 218

    Durham, Earl of, 130


    _Eclipse_, H.M.S., 242, 265, 266

    Edward VII., 318, 319, 320

    Egmont, Mount, 14, 145, 289

    Elgin, Lord, 316

    England, Captain, 160, 161, 162, 163

    England, Church of, 218

    Epuni, Te (chief), 135

    Eritonga, river, 136

    Erongo (_pa_), 155

    Eyre, Mr. E.J., 215


    Featherston, Dr., 276

    Fifty-eighth Regiment, 183, 190, 199, 205, 211

    Fifty-seventh Regiment, 237, 274

    Flax, New Zealand, 22, 93, 150

    Forest Rangers, 275

    Fortieth Regiment, 246

    Forty-third Regiment, 249

    Franklin, Benjamin, 87, 95

    Fraser, Major, 268, 278

    Free Church of Scotland, 218

    Fresne, Captain Marion du, 44, 89, 90, 91, 94, 125, 165

    Fulloon, Mr., 266


    Gabriel's Gully, 222

    _Galatea_, H.M.S., 295

    "Garden of New Zealand," 145

    Gascoigne, Lieut. and Mrs., 293

    Gate Pa, the, 247, 249

    George III., 85, 102

    George IV., 109, 114

    Gilfinnan Massacre, 210, 211

    Gipps, Sir George, 139

    Gods, the six, 5, 37, 38

    Gordon, Captain, 278

    Gore, Lieut., 83, 84

    Gorst, Sir John, 237

    "Governor, the Fighting," 209, 212, 222

    Grace, Rev. Mr., 265, 266

    Grant, Captain, 190

    Gregory XVI., Pope, 106

    Grey, Sir George, 10, 193, 194, 201, 203, 210, 212, 214, 215, 216,
      222, 227, 231, 236, 237, 244, 250, 251, 269, 288, 310, 311

    Guard, Mr. and Mrs., 126, 127, 128

    Gudgeon, Lieut., 277


    Hakaraia (chief), 267

    _Harriet_, the brig, 126

    Hassard, Lieut.-Colonel, 274, 275

    Hastings, Lieut., 290

    Hauhau, the, 254, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 263, 264, 265, 266,
      268, 269, 270, 274, 275, 278, 280, 282, 283, 285, 286, 288, 289,
      290, 291, 293, 294, 295, 299, 302, 304

    Hauraki Gulf, the, 111, 123, 147, 310

    Hawaiki, 3, 7, 8, 12, 13, 15, 21

    Hawke's Bay, 235, 278

    _Hazard_, H.M.S., 169, 172, 178, 183, 185, 187

    Heaphy, Captain, 244

    Heke, Honi, 116, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 176, 177, 178,
      179, 180, 181, 182, 193, 194, 195, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 230

    Hepanaia (chief), 257

    Herrick, Colonel, 298

    Hertford, Captain, 245

    Heu Heu, Te (chief), 227, 297, 298, 299, 308

    Hiroti, Haimona (chief), 258, 260, 261

    Hobson, R.N., Captain, 117, 118, 130, 139, 140, 141, 145, 147, 148,
      152, 156, 158, 321

    Hokianga, 106, 114, 123, 149

    Hokioi, the, 237

    Hongi Ika (chief), 104, 105, 108, 114, 115, 116, 122, 123, 145, 149,
      156, 167, 168, 169, 172, 178

    Hope, Dr., 237

    Horokiwi, 209

    Horomona (chief), 266

    Howard, Mr., 160, 161

    Hulme, Colonel, 177, 178, 179, 182

    Hunter, Lieut., 290

    Hunter, Major, 292

    Hutt, Mr. W., 130

    Hutt, river, 136, 205

    Hutt, valley of the, 204, 205, 206


    Indian runners, 228

    Irish, Royal, Regiment, 239


    Jackson, Captain, 246

    James, Mrs., 285

    Johnston, Adjutant-General, 234

    Johnston, R.N., Commander, 187


    Kahika, Te (_pa_), 179

    Kaitaka Ranges, 256

    Karaka (camp), 293

    Kawhia, 111

    Kawiti (chief), 116, 172, 176, 178, 181, 183, 184, 186, 192, 193,
       194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 223

    Kendall, Rev. Mr., 123, 124

    Kepa, Major (chief), 290, 295, 298, 300

    Kereopa (prophet), 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 303

    Kereti (chief), 258, 259

    King, Captain, 94

    King Country, the, 303, 308

    Kingi, Mete (chief), 277

    Kingi, Wiremu (chief), 232, 235, 304

    Kirimangu (Maori), 266

    Koheroa, 239

    Kooti, Te (chief), 280, 287, 288, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297,
       298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304

    Kororareka, 116, 117, 124, 128, 148, 149, 167, 169, 170, 171,
      172, 176, 177, 178

    Kororarekan Association, 128, 129

    Kuri, Cape, 80


    Labrador, 80

    Laye, Captain, 211

    Leinster, New, 153

    Le Maire, 71

    Lloyd, Captain, 256

    Logan, Colonel, 261

    London, 108

    Lovell, Sergeant, 220


    McCleverty, Colonel, 212

    McDonnell, Captain, 290

    McDonnell, Colonel, 232, 247, 266, 274, 275, 276, 278, 288, 289,
      290, 291, 292, 294, 295, 298, 299

    McLean, Sir D., 278, 304

    Macpherson, Major, 188, 191

    Maketu, 55, 247

    Maketu (chief), 212

    Mamaku (chief), 204, 205, 208

    Mangaio, 277

    Mangapiko, river, 244

    Manukau, 144, 147

    Maori, the, 10, 12, 15, 17

    Maraetahi, 300

    Maramarua, creek, 239

    Maria van Diemen, Cape, 76

    Marlborough, 235

    Marquesas Islands, 102

    Marsden, Rev. Samuel, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 168

    Massacre Bay, 75, 77

    Massacre of the _Boyd_, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 104

    Matakitaki, 111, 112

    Matanga, Te (chief), 22

    Matarana, 210

    Matatu (tribe), 314

    Matavia, 172, 173, 174

    Matene (chief), 257, 258, 260, 261

    Matutaere, King, 243

    Maui (a god), 5, 6, 17

    Maui, Te Ika A, 5, 9, 13, 55

    Mauinaina, 111

    Maunga Pohatu, 300

    Maungatawhiri, creek, 238

    Mayne, R.N., Commander, 242

    Menzies, Sergeant, 294

    Meri-Meri, 240, 241

    Middle Island, the, 12, 31, 71, 72, 82, 107, 113, 141, 142, 145,
       217, 220

    Military Settlers, 266

    Minister of Marine, French, 87

    Missionaries, Anglican, 105, 106

    Missionaries, Catholic, 106

    Missionaries, Wesleyan, 106, 108

    Moko-Moko (chief), 267

    Molesworth, Sir W., 130

    More, Hannah, 88

    Moriori, the, 13

    Moro, Te (Maori), 260, 261

    Motorua, 292

    Moutoa, island, 258, 261

    Munster, New, 153, 215

    Murderers' Bay, 75


    Nape, Hemi (chief), 258, 259

    Napier, 235

    Napoleon Bonaparte, 199

    "Napoleon of N.Z., the," 109

    Native Contingent, the, 266, 267, 273, 275

    Nelson, 71, 145, 146, 147, 149, 158, 159, 164, 217, 221

    Nene, Waka (chief), 141, 170, 177, 178, 179, 180, 183, 185, 186,
       187, 192, 199, 202, 231

    Newfoundland, 80

    New Plymouth, 145, 149, 232, 304

    New South Wales, 97, 102, 119, 142, 153, 169, 172, 221

    New Zealand, 21, 33, 71, 77, 80

    New Zealand Association, 129

    New Zealand Land Company, 129, 133, 134, 152, 193, 194, 321

    New Zealand Settlements Act, 244

    Ngahue (chief), 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

    Nga-Puhi (tribe), 104, 109, 110, 111, 116, 121, 125, 145, 179,
      185, 200

    Nga-Ruahini (tribe), 278

    Nga-Ruanui (tribe), 292

    Ngaruawahia, 243, 244

    Ngatapa (_pa_), 293

    Ngati-Awa (tribe), 13

    Ngati-Hau (tribe), 257, 258, 260

    Ngati-Hineuru (tribe), 278

    Ngati-Kahu-Ngunu (tribe), 298

    Ngati-Maniapoto (tribe), 293, 297

    Ngati-Porou (tribe), 265, 268, 293, 300, 303

    Ngati-Toa (tribe), 146, 209

    Ngutu-o-te-Manu, 290

    Ninety-ninth Regiment, 169, 177, 183, 190

    Ninety-sixth Regiment, 183

    Niu, the, 255

    Norfolk Island, 93

    North Island, the, 12, 21, 32, 76, 82, 107, 134, 141, 217

    Nui, Tao (chief), 199

    Nukumaru, 233, 251, 292


    Oheawai, 183, 184, 187, 191, 192, 198, 200, 229

    Okaihau, 178, 179, 183, 184

    Okerangi, 198

    Okotuku, 274

    Olivia (chief's wife), 302, 303

    Onoroa, 172, 173

    Opotiki, 264, 265, 266, 268

    Orakau, 245

    O'Reilly, Ensign, 191

    Otago, 217, 218

    Otaheite, 81

    Otaka Puarangi, 312

    Otaki, 112, 146

    Otapawa (_pa_), 274

    Otauto, 294


    Pacific, the South, 321, 323

    Page, Captain, 290

    Page, Lieut., 205, 208, 209

    Pahatanui, 209

    Pahi, Te (chief), 99, 100

    Pai Marire Sect, the, 254, 257

    Pakeha-Maori, 96

    "Pakeha Rat," the, 26 (_note_), 237, 263

    Pakeha, the, 10

    Palliser, Sir Hugh, 80

    Panama, 272

    Papa (a god), 37

    Paparatu, 281

    Parihaka, 305, 306

    Parliament of Chiefs, 125, 126

    Patapo (chief), 211

    Patara (prophet), 264, 265, 268

    Patea, 269, 292

    Patea, river, 270

    Paterangi, 244

    Patutahi, 284

    Pene (chief), 184

    Peppard, Mr., 284

    Petre, Lord, 130

    Petre (town), 144

    Phillpotts, R.N., Lieut., 172, 187, 188, 189, 190, 229

    Pihohoi, the, 237

    Pikopiko, 244

    Pipiriki, 277

    Pitt, Major-General, 215

    Plunket, Lord, 319, 320

    Polynesians, the, 11, 12

    Pomare (chief), 116, 178, 231

    Pompallier, Bishop, 175

    Poneki, 136

    Pononga, Te, 298

    Porirua, 209

    Porter, Captain, 301, 302

    Port Nicholson, 136, 262, 295

    Potae Henare, 301, 302

    Potatau, King, 226, 243

    Pounamou, Te Wai, 13, 72, 112, 312

    Pourere, 298

    Poverty Bay, 81, 268, 281, 283, 284, 292, 295, 300

    Pratt, Major-General, 234

    Prayer, a traditional, 6

    Proconsul, the Great, 311

    Puaha (Maori), 161

    Puketapu, 283

    Pukutetu, Tamati (chief), 196

    Putahi, 274

    Putiki (tribe), 210


    _Racehorse_, H.M.S., 197

    Rakaihaitu (chief), 19

    Ra Ki Ura, 13

    Ranga Te, 249

    Rangi (a god), 8, 37

    Rangi, 38

    Rangiaohia, 244

    Rangihaeata (chief), 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 166, 203, 204,
      231, 305, 306

    Rangihoua, 108

    Rangiriri, 241, 242, 243

    "Rapparee, Ould," 209

    Rarotonga, 8, 12, 21

    Rauparaha, Te (chief), 111, 112, 114, 146, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162,
      163, 164, 165, 203, 204, 209, 230, 305, 306

    Rauparaha, Thompson, 231

    Rauru (chief), 18

    Rawhiti (tribes), 247

    Reid, G.H., Hon., 316

    Reinga, 283

    Reinga, Te, 3, 38, 52, 57, 115, 259, 296

    Renata (chief), 299

    Rewi (chief), 244, 245, 247, 297, 298

    Rhine of New Zealand, 144

    Richardson, Mr., 160, 163

    Richmond, Fort, 205

    _Rifleman_, schooner, 281

    Ring, Captain, 239

    Ring, Mr. Charles, 221

    Roberts, Captain, 291

    Robertson, R.N., Captain, 173, 174

    Ropata, Major (chief), 268, 293, 295, 300, 301-3

    Ross, Sub-Inspector, 289

    Rotomahana, Lake, 33, 311, 312, 314

    Rotorua, Lake, 33, 111

    Rowan, Lieut., 290

    Ruake Ture, river, 282

    Ruapehu, Mount, 14, 311

    Ruapekapeka (_pa_), 195, 196, 198, 199, 200, 202, 229

    Ruatara (chief), 104, 105

    Russell, 148, 149, 262

    Russell, Sergeant, 291


    St. George, Captain, 299

    St. John's College, 154

    St. Lawrence, river, 79

    Schouten, 71

    Seddon, the Hon. R., 314, 315

    Selwyn, Bishop, 153, 154, 175, 288

    Sentry Hill, 257

    Shortland, R.N., Lieut., 141, 158

    Signal Hill, 173, 174

    Sixty-fifth Regiment, 229, 242

    "Southern Cross," the Auckland, 246

    Southland, 235

    Staaten Land, 71, 77

    Stanley, Lord, 193

    Stanley, R.N., Captain, 142

    Stewart Island, 13, 21, 82

    Sumatra, 11

    Surville, Admiral de, 89

    Sydney, 98, 103, 104, 110, 119


    Tahiti, 81, 102

    Tamihana, Wiremu, 234, 235, 244, 247, 263, 264

    Tanewha, Te (chief), 81, 85, 221, 231

    Taraia (chief), 155, 156, 221

    Taranaki, 217, 220

    Taranaki, Mount, 14

    Taranaki, town, 145, 147, 149, 231, 275, 276

    Taranaki (tribe), 116, 145, 234, 236, 237

    Tarata, Te, 311, 312

    Tarawera, Lake, 311, 314

    Tarawera, Mount, 311, 313, 314

    Tarawera, river, 311, 314

    Tarra (chief), 98, 99

    Tasman, Abel, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78

    Tasman Bay, 145, 146

    Tasman Sea, 113, 119, 194, 316

    Tasmania, 71, 77, 143

    Tataraimaka, 236

    Tau Marina, river, 163

    Taumata Tutu, 178

    Taupo, 299, 303

    Taupo, Lake, 297, 311

    Taupo (tribe), 298

    Tauranga, 106, 121, 155, 247, 249, 250, 314

    Tawhai, Moses (chief), 197

    Tawhaio, King, 293

    Tawhitorangi, Riwai, 258, 259

    Teira, Te (Maori), 232

    Tempsky, Major von, 232, 246, 275, 289, 290, 291

    Thames, river, 110, 111, 155

    Thierry, Baron de, 123, 124

    Thomas, R.N., Captain, 281

    Thompson, Mr., 160, 161, 162, 163, 164

    Thorndon, 136

    Three Kings Islands, 76

    Tiger of the Wairau, the, 204, 210

    Titles (Maori) of New Zealand, 13

    Titokowaru (chief), 278, 279, 289, 292, 293, 294, 295, 305

    Tohu (chief), 306

    Toi (chief), 278

    Tonga, 102

    Tongariro, Mount, 14, 227, 309, 311

    _Tory_, arrival of the, 135

    Totara (_pa_), 111, 112

    Tragett, Lieut., 237

    Tupia (chief), 81

    Turanga Bay, 81

    Turau, Waka (chief), 199

    Turi, Te (chief), 4, 13, 145

    Turoa, Pehi (chief), 277

    Turoa, Topia (chief), 297

    Turuturu Mokai, 288


    Ua, Te (prophet), 255, 256, 263

    Ulster, New, 153, 215

    United Tribes of New Zealand, 126, 140, 226

    Uriwera Mountains, 301

    Uriwera (tribe), 284, 295, 300


    Waddy, General, 252

    Waerenga-a-hika, 284

    Waihi, 289, 291

    Waikare Moana, Lake, 301

    Waikari, river, 183

    Waikato, plains, 249, 250

    Waikato, river, 237, 238, 239, 240, 244

    Waikato (tribe), 55, 116, 145, 226, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 243,
      244, 245, 257, 297, 298, 303

    Waikato, war, 238, 263

    Waimana, 300

    Waimate (_pa_), 127

    Waimate, plains, 305

    Waimate, river, 184

    Waimate, station, 184, 192

    Waipa, river, 244

    Waipoa, river, 284

    Wairau massacre, 163, 164, 203

    Wairau, river, 160

    Wairau, valley of the, 147, 159

    Wairoa Mountains, 239

    Waitangi, Treaty of, 140, 156

    Waitara, 232, 236, 304

    Waitemata, the, 147

    Waitotara, river, 293-294

    Wakefield family, the, 130

    Wakefield, R.N., Captain A., 145, 146, 160, 163

    Wakefield, Colonel, 130, 139

    Wakefield, Mr. E., 105

    Wakefield, Mr. Ed. Gibbon, 194, 218

    Wangamirino, creek, 240

    Ward, Sir J., 315, 316, 321, 323

    Wari-Kauri, 113

    Weld, Mr. F.A., 251

    Wellington, 136, 137, 139, 141, 144, 146, 147, 148, 149, 203, 204,
      212, 219, 262, 263, 264, 321

    Wellington, Duke of, 129, 199

    Wereroa (_pa_), 233, 251

    Westrupp, Captain, 281

    Wetere (chief), 293

    Whakatohea (tribe), 265

    Whalers, the, 95

    Whanganui, 144, 147, 149, 210, 212, 213, 233, 250, 257, 261, 293

    Whanganui, river, 277

    Whanganui (tribe), 257, 258, 261, 276, 277, 289, 292, 298, 299, 300

    Whangaroa, 98, 106, 108, 114

    Whareongaonga, 281

    Wharepori (chief), 135

    Wherowhero, Te (chief), 116, 145

    Wherowhero, the Hon. Mahuta, Tawhiao Potatau Te, 116

    White Cliffs, 293

    White Island, 220

    White Pine _Pa_, the, 179

    Whitely, Rev. Mr., 293

    Whiti, Te (chief), 304, 305-6

    Whitmore, Colonel, 232, 278, 281, 282, 292, 293, 295

    William IV., 125, 226

    Williams, Archdeacon, 182, 268

    Wilson, Captain and Mrs., 286, 287

    Wiremu, Honi (chief), 211

    Wirihana, Lieut. (chief), 267

    Witchell, Major, 233, 234

    Wylie, Mr., 286

    Wynyard, Lieut.-Colonel, 221, 223


    Year of the Lamb, the, 278, 288

    Yeomen Cavalry, 266

    Young Nick's Head, cape, 80


    Zulu, the, 63


THE END


  _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.




ROMANCE OF EMPIRE

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  NEW ZEALAND. By REGINALD HORSLEY. Artist, A. D. M'CORMICK, R.I.

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End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of New Zealand, by Reginald Horsley

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