A History of the English Church in New Zealand

by Henry Thomas Purchas

Neither might any good results have followed had the matter lain with the twelve men who had passed through the adventures just described. Of course, they spread a favourable report of their kind rescuers, and this was not to be despised. But there was not a sufficiently definite Christianity among them to qualify them to be teachers of their people. The nine days' wonder of their deliverance would soon have given place to the all-engrossing thoughts of war and vengeance.

But they did not come back alone. With them came some slaves who had been carried to the Bay in earlier days by one of Hongi's raiding parties, and had now been set free by their Christian masters. One of these, Taumatakura, had attended school at Waimate, and though he had shown little interest in religion, he had at least learned to read. This man, on finding himself now among a people who were hungering for knowledge, began to teach and to preach. He wrote out verses and hymns on strips of paper, and these were cherished by his tribesmen with a superstitious veneration. His reputation increased to such a degree that when a military expedition was set on foot he was asked to accompany it. The armament was a great one, for it consisted of all the warriors for 100 miles down the coast, and it was strengthened by the alliance of the tribes of the Bay of Plenty. The object of the expedition was the capture of a strong pa near Cape Runaway—the promontory which juts northwards into the ocean above East Cape. Taumatakura was by this time sufficiently confident to be able to make conditions. He stipulated that there must be no cannibalism nor any unnecessary destruction of canoes and food. His conditions were accepted, and the advance was begun. In the final assault upon the pa, what was the surprise of all the chiefs to see the one-time slave actually leading the attack! Fearlessly he rushed onward—gospel in one hand and musket in the other—amid a hail of bullets. Neither he nor his book was hit; and when the citadel was captured, Taumatakura was the hero of the day. Evidently his book was a charm of power: his words must be obeyed. Not only were his stipulations observed, but anything else he taught was now received with implicit deference. He did not know much, but at least he proclaimed the sanctity of the Ra-tapu or weekly day of rest.

Such was the news which reached William Williams at Waimate in the spring of 1837. "Why do you stay here," said the stranger, "while over there at Waiapu they are all ready to do what you tell them?" Early in the following year, accordingly, Messrs. W. Williams and Colenso went by sea to Hicks Bay, and walked under the cliffs along the coast for 100 miles. Wherever a valley opened they found a large and populous village; and everywhere the Sunday was observed, and there was an outcry for books and teachers. In one place, indeed, the people kept two sabbaths each week. The field was ripe unto harvest. Later in the year, Henry Williams took six native teachers to occupy the field; and finally, in 1840, his brother removed thither with his family, and settled at Turanga in Poverty Bay. His labours were strikingly successful, and soon there was a church and an overflowing congregation in every pa. Thus wonderfully and unexpectedly began what was afterwards to become the diocese of Waiapu.

More directly in the central line of advance, and certainly not less romantic in its beginnings, was the extension of the faith to the shores of Cook Strait.

Reference has already been made to the evangelising expedition from Tauranga into this country. But before it could have reached its destination, a still more humble agent had been at work, whose position, like that of Taumatakura, was that of a liberated slave, and whose story, like his, begins at the Bay of Islands.

It must have been in the year 1836, or somewhat earlier, that the little cemetery at Paihia became the receptacle of the headless body of a Maori who had been killed in a quarrel. With the body came a slave who was now left without an owner. The missionaries took him into house and school, and were pleased with his behaviour. Ripahau showed no signs, however, of becoming a Christian, and after a time asked leave to join a fighting party which was leaving the Bay for Rotorua. He seems to have become known there to Mr. Chapman, but he soon disappeared, and for two years nothing was heard of him. At last, Chapman received from him a letter asking for books. The letter came from Cook Strait, and explained that the people of that neighbourhood were eager to receive instruction. Shortly afterwards two young chiefs from the same quarter presented themselves at the Bay of Islands with a story which thrilled the hearers with wonder and gratitude.

To understand its purport it is necessary to cast a backward glance over the years since the early days of the mission, when the Ngapuhi were procuring firearms from traders and missionaries. Hongi was not the only man in those days who foresaw the power which the musket would give. Rauparaha, the young chief of a small tribe living round the harbour of Kawhia on the West Coast, realised that his Waikato neighbours must from their geographical position acquire the precious weapons before his own tribe could do so. The outlook was desperate, and the remedy must be of an heroic nature.

Rauparaha travelled down the coast to Kapiti, and there saw a European whaling-ship. Here then was another spot to which the white men resorted, and from which the coveted firearms could be obtained. The Maori at once made up his mind to remove his whole tribe thither, and thus place them in as good a situation as that of the Ngapuhi at the Bay of Islands. How the migration was effected—with what blending of statecraft, heroism, treachery, and cruelty—is a subject which does not come within the purview of a history of the Church. Suffice it to say that, at the date to which our narrative has now arrived, Rauparaha was securely settled in the island fastness of Kapiti, while his Ngatitoas had their habitations on the mainland opposite. They had ravaged the south of the island, as the Ngapuhi under Hongi had devastated the north; and Rauparaha was the most powerful and influential personage in New Zealand, except—Henry Williams. And now the two powers had met, for the young men who had arrived at Paihia were none other than the son and the nephew of Rauparaha, and the cause of their coming was due to the forgotten slave Ripahau himself.

This seemingly insignificant person had reached Otaki in the new territory of the Ngatitoas some three years before. There he had met with Rauparaha's son, Tamihana, a young man who was sick at heart of his father's violent ways. Fascinated by the slave's story of the peaceful life of the missionaries at the Bay of Islands, he had compelled him to teach his friends and himself to read. Ripahau had but a Prayer Book with him, and it was hard to teach a class from one book. But he remembered that a few more books had been brought from Rotorua by the party with whom he travelled. These he procured, and among them there was a much-damaged copy of the Gospel of St. Luke. This bore the name of Ngakuku, and was in fact the very copy upon which little Tarore was sleeping when she was murdered in the night! In order to study in quiet, Tamihana and his cousin Te Whiwhi took Ripahau to the island and made him teach them there. The two cousins had Tarore's gospel for their lesson book. "We learnt," they said, "every day, every night. We sat at night in the hut, all round the fire in the middle. Whiwhi had part of the book, and I part. Sometimes we went to sleep upon the book, then woke up and read again. After we had been there six months, we could read a little, very slowly."

But they had learned something even better than the art of reading. They had learned—and learned with the spirit—the subject-matter of the book. They now took Ripahau with them to some villages on the mainland to teach the people about the book: "These people believed, and they all wanted the book. I told them I could not give them any part of it, but I told Ripahau to write for them on paper, Our Father, &c. He wrote it for them all, and they learnt it. Before, Ripahau had not believed, but now his heart began to grow. We talked to him, and he believed."