Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion

by G. Hamilton-Browne

GATEWAY TO MAORI PAH.

It was now sunset and the Hau Haus began their devotions, and, as the Niu had been erected in front of Mr Booth’s house, the unfortunate inmates could not help seeing the awful cantrips nor hearing the foul incantations. Huge fires were lit, and by their light hundreds of men and women, in parties of about fifty at a time, danced round the pole on which hung poor Captain Lloyd’s head. Starting slowly and with low-pitched but deep voices they began to chant the mystic words, Hau Hau Pai Marire, while circling round the ring; but gradually, as the spirit got hold of them, they put on the pace until, like a mob of drunken demoniacs, they leaped, stamped and cavorted round the Niu with foul, indecent gestures, grimaces and contortions of body, far beyond the conception of an ordinary human being, while the mystic words were howled out at the top of their gamuts, so that they resembled a hideous phantasmagoria such as might be seen by a lunatic suffering from a bad dose of d.t.

Hideous and disgusting as the contortions of the men were, those of the women were worse; for no sooner had the spirit entered into them than in their mad gyrations they leaped at the suspended head, trying, with their teeth, to bite and worry the smoke-dried flesh and hair of the unfortunate officer; and this they continued to do until at length, foaming at the mouth and worn out with their crazy frenzy, they either staggered from the ring or fell in convulsions on the ground, to be dragged away by the next batch of worshippers who were anxiously awaiting their turn. And this awful pandemonium went on all through the night. Just think, my home-staying countrymen and women, who sleep in peace under the guardianship of our splendid police, what must have been the feelings of those English ladies and men who, with their helpless children, had to witness such scenes, knowing and fully expecting, as they did, that at any moment they might be dragged out and, after they had all been subjected to prolonged torture, should then be brutally murdered, with every barbarity and indignity that fiends could invent or devils could inflict.

During the night a council was held and Mr Booth could hear the Taranaki men who had accompanied Matene urging the Wanganui to torture and kill himself and family. Nor did the latter seem to want such urging, as of all his whilom friends only Hori and one other man spoke on his behalf, contesting right manfully that the honour of the Upper River tribes would be for ever disgraced should the white people not be allowed to depart in safety, as they were tribal guests. For two more days and another night the unfortunate whites were kept in suspense, Hori and a few other young chiefs, whom he had persuaded to join him, standing between the would-be murderers and their prey. And these noble young savages eventually saved them.

It was near sunset on the last of these days, and after a very stormy meeting had been held, that Hori rushed into Mr Booth’s house, saying: “At last they have consented to let you go. Come at once; leave all your property to me; for they may change their minds any moment.” Immediately they jumped up and followed him down to the canoe landing-place. En route they had to pass through a swarm of armed Hau Haus who had lined the high river bank, and while doing so Mr Booth heard some of them say: “Wait till they get into the canoe and then we will fire a volley so as to shoot them down in a heap.” Hori overheard the same remarks and said to Mr Booth: “Take no notice of them. Go slowly until you are out of sight; I and my friends will keep in the line of fire between you and the Hau Haus.” This the gallant young fellow did, and, as the murderous brutes dare not run the risk of killing a Wanganui chief, Mr Booth and his party paddled out of shot and reached the township of Wanganui safely the following night.

The above yarn is a true though short narrative of one of the numerous attempts made by chivalrous Maoris to protect helpless white men from the blind, ferocious fanaticism of Te Ua’s prophets. Alas! it was one of the very few successful ones, though many brave natives lost their lives and suffered torture rather than give information to the Hau Haus as to the whereabouts of white fugitives. Surely their names and actions should be remembered.

Immediately after Mr Booth’s escape Matene and the Taranaki Hau Haus persuaded the tribes of the Upper Wanganui to attack, with the intention of utterly destroying, the white settlers and thriving township of Wanganui, situated close to the mouth of the river, and at once all hands turned to, to prepare their war canoes for that purpose. Before, however, starting on this expedition, they sent ambassadors to their relations, the Lower River natives, so as to inform them of their purpose, and ask for their co-operation; announcing at the same time that, should their relations not care to join in and make a family party of the expedition, they (the Upper River natives) would still carry out their programme—viz. descend the river and wipe out every white man, woman and child in the district!

These emissaries, arriving at Hiruharama, a village that may be called the frontier post of the river tribes, delivered their cheeky message, which to the recipients was intolerable, as the Lower River tribes claimed the right-of-way on the river to the westward of Hiruharama, and although it had been frequently attempted in times past, no war party had ever, up to date, succeeded in forcing a passage, and none ever should succeed, so long as a Lower River native warrior could handle musket or swing tomahawk. This being the well-known determination of the Lower River tribes, the chiefs at Hiruharama returned an evasive answer to the Hau Haus, at the same time despatching a fast canoe downstream, so as to warn all their friends of the threatened eruption and give the tip to the white men of their imminent danger. Then, not being in sufficient strength to withstand the brunt of the encounter, the village was immediately abandoned, all the inhabitants retiring downstream, collecting en route the people belonging to the pahs Kanaeroa and Tawhitinui; but on reaching Ranana they halted, being joined at that place by the bulk of the warriors of the Lower River. Close to Ranana was the island of Moutoa, a classic battle-ground, every square yard of which had been drenched with blood, shed in old-time wars, and on this island they determined, should their relations attempt to carry out their threats and try to force their way down the river, to resist them to the last gasp. In the meantime the Hau Haus, uncertain as to what sort of reception they would receive, were cautiously descending the river, and as they found every village deserted they halted at and occupied Tawhitinui, which was situated some two miles above Ranana and on the other bank, and from this place opened negotiations with their relations.

The last few days had been passed by the white population in consternation almost amounting to despair. The outlying farmers and settlers, abandoning homes, stock and everything they owned, rushed into town, where each man anxiously asked his friends: “Can we trust the Lower River natives?” “Will they become converted and join the Hau Haus?” “If so, what then?” True, they possessed one great factor in their favour, and that was the firm and undeviating friendship of old Hori Kingi Te Anaua (the paramount chief of the Lower Waikato), whose name should be remembered and treasured by every white man, woman and child on the west coast of New Zealand. For when the first settlers landed at Wanganui, Hori, then the most renowned warrior on the coast, had taken their leader by the hand, and declared himself to be the friend and protector of the white man, and this promise the pagan cannibal warrior carried out both in letter and spirit till the day of his death. But then, alas! Hori by this time was a very old man, and although the glamour of his great deeds enveloped the aged chief like a halo, and his people regarded him as a being something more than human; still, taking into consideration the astonishing way the crazy Pai Marire faith had been accepted by the Upper River natives as well as by many other tribes, it was very doubtful whether old Hori would be able to restrain them at such a crisis. Moreover, all the Lower Wanganui natives were strong supporters of the Maori King movement, and many of their important sub-chiefs, especially Mete Kingi Te Anaua, a chief only second to Hori in influence, hated the white men; so that the settlers may well be pardoned for their consternation; as, in case the Lower River natives saw fit to join their relations and become Hau Haus, even should they (the settlers) successfully repulse the combined native attack, and save their own lives, still the township and all the outlying farms must go up in smoke. They therefore made what preparations they could for defence and anxiously waited the termination of the native runanga (meeting). As I have previously stated, the Lower River tribes had massed at Ranana, the Hau Haus occupying the adjacent pah Tawhitinui, and on 13th May 1864 the prophet Matene, with a numerous deputation of his newly made converts, paddled over to Ranana to open negotiations.

Now it is quite possible, nay, even probable, that had Matene opened the proceedings of the runanga with prayer and incantations, as does the British House of Parliament, he would have succeeded in converting the opposition party and so have gained his nefarious ends; but this he did not do, as no sooner had the deputation been announced than Matene issued this insolent ultimatum—viz. that they (the Hau Haus) were determined to descend the river, peacefully if allowed to do so, but otherwise would win through by force. Whoop, hullabaloo, that ultimatum, short as it was, upset the fat into the fire and brought Haimona, chief of the Ngatipa-Moana and a mighty fighting man before the Lord, on to his feet, who replied: “Och it’s force the river ye’ll be after, is it? Well, divil a drop of it ye’ll mix wid yer whisky beyand the island of Moutoa; mind yez that, ye black-advised, audacious Hau Haus; but av it’s a fight ye want, sure there’s that same island Moutoa, that’s moighty convanient, and maybe ye’ll not want to go furder whin we’ve finished wid ye; so come on now, M’Matene, Esq., an trid on the tail of me mat, ye ruddy heretic, or get back to the ould Te Ua, an’ may the cuss of Cromel rest on him and his Pai Marire monkey tricks.”