A History of the English Church in New Zealand

by Henry Thomas Purchas

But this was not to be. The final act in this disastrous war brought on the scene an antagonist who took up with craft the charge which Philpott had made in ignorance, and pressed it home for many years with all the astuteness and malignity of a superior intellect.

The ill success of the British arms had caused the recall of the friendly Governor Fitzroy, and the appointment in his place of Captain (afterwards Sir George) Grey. This officer began his military operations with a much larger force, and advanced against the strongest position which the Maoris had yet fortified—that of Ruapekapeka, or the Bats' Nest. The name was only too appropriate at this period, for the place seemed to abound with creatures of darkness. Who does not know that the pa was captured by the governor on a Sunday morning (Jan. 11, 1846), while the defenders were engaged in worship in the bush outside?[8] This was bad enough, for now the Maoris had been taught how little Christian England regarded either their sacred places or their sacred day. But out of the Bats' Nest came a second charge against Henry Williams. The governor averred that letters had been found in the captured pa which amounted to a positive proof of the missionary's treason. As the troops marched back to the Bay of Islands, a common topic of their conversation was the arrest of the "traitor," whom they expected to see carried off in handcuffs to Auckland for his trial. The letter which had been found was really one that Williams had written to the Maori leader, urging him to submit himself to the government; but, by burning the letter, the governor was able to base upon it a charge which was dangerous from its very vagueness. Conscious of his innocence, the missionary remained at his post, and at last saw the police boat depart without him on a Sunday afternoon, and was able to go in peace to his evening service.

The prospect of a trial was indeed less welcome to the governor himself than to the archdeacon, for throughout the long conflict which followed, a public enquiry was the one thing which Henry Williams consistently claimed, and which the governor as consistently evaded. But the peace which followed the departure of the troops was occupied by the latter in forging weapons of a different character. Six months after the fall of the Bats' Nest, the governor indited to the Secretary of State for the Colonies a "confidential" despatch, which even his defenders admit to be full of falsehoods. This despatch came to be known as the "Blood and Treasure Despatch," and it forms the key to the whole after history of the quarrel. In this document Governor Grey completely abandoned the charge of stirring up the Maoris to rebel, and accused the missionaries of claiming more than their share of the land of the natives, and thereby making inevitable another war. "Her Majesty's Government," he wrote, "may rest satisfied that these individuals cannot be put in possession of these tracts of land without a large expenditure of British blood and money." By "these individuals" he meant (as specified in another part of the despatch) "several members of the Church Missionary Society," as well as other settlers, who had acquired land from the natives. The despatch was addressed to Mr. Gladstone; but shortly after its arrival a change of government took place, and the new colonial secretary, Lord Grey, made known its contents to the Church Missionary Society, by whom it was transmitted to New Zealand.

Its publication had all the effect of a thunderbolt. What could the governor mean by such charges? So far from there being any need of a British army to put the missionaries—or rather, their sons—in possession of the land, the truth, of course, was that they were already in possession and had been quietly farming their grants for some years. All through the war the Maoris had respected their titles, and were on the best of terms with the young farmers. To Henry Williams, with his life-long devotion to the government he had once served, no charge could have been more painful. It touched his honour to the quick. He offered to give up every acre of the land, if the governor would either retract or substantiate his charges. Neither of these things would the governor attempt to do. He was determined to get the land, and he left no stone unturned in his efforts to accomplish his object.

August and September, 1847, were the critical time of this distressing episode. On Aug. 13th, Henry Williams received from London the news of the "Blood and Treasure" despatch. It was accompanied by a letter from the C.M.S., instructing the missionaries to divest themselves of all land in excess of 1,260 acres for each grant. They might sell it, or make it over to their children, or put it in trust for the benefit of the aborigines, but they were not to retain it for "their own use and benefit." Nothing could have been more satisfactory to Henry Williams, who had never drawn a shilling from the land for his own use, but had always paid his sons for any of their produce he might require. He now sent to the Society an undertaking that he would at once transfer the land legally to his family, and thus he hoped to put an end to the dispute.

But this did not satisfy the governor. In the same month he submitted proposals so worded as to imply, if accepted, that the land (or a portion of it) had been unjustly acquired. This at once brought up again the question of honour, and the proposals were of course rejected.

It was at this juncture that the governor took a course which was fraught with evil consequences to the New Zealand Church. He applied for help to the bishop. Unless the question was settled, he said, he would be obliged to take steps which might deeply injure their common faith. Would the bishop communicate his letter to the missionaries, and use his influence to induce them to give up their land?

What was the bishop to do? It is generally supposed that he allowed himself to be persuaded against his better judgment by the plausible arguments of the governor. But this is surely to wrong a man of Selwyn's character. He had stood shoulder to shoulder with Henry Williams in upholding the validity of the Treaty of Waitangi, against the action of the same governor and of the Home authorities. It was not likely that he would weakly give way to the blandishments of any individual, unless he had convinced himself that the cause was a just one. How then can we account for his action in this instance?

The only explanation that seems to meet the case is that which is supplied by the idealistic nature of Selwyn's mind. One of his ideals was plain living, and he had something of the socialist's contempt for the "rights of property." Even before his consecration his mind had been exercised on the question of the land purchases of the New Zealand missionaries. When he arrived in the country, he told Henry Williams that he had determined to take no notice of the matter, but for all that he never abated his dislike of the system. These "waste and worthless acres" threatened to mar the success of his schemes. "Catechism and bread and butter" should be enough for missionaries' children; and when these grew to manhood, was not St. John's College open to them, with its farm and its technical training, besides its invitation to the offices of schoolmaster and deacon? If the missionaries' sons were endowed with land of their own, would they not be so much absorbed with its management as to be insensible to the charm of community life and the call of the ministries of the Church? Such thoughts seem to have been working in the mind of the bishop from the time of his arrival, and he had corresponded with the C.M.S. from time to time on the subject. He had hitherto said nothing, but when the governor appealed to him with the plausible reasoning which he—an idealist also—could so skilfully use, the bishop fell in with the proposal, and broke through the reserve which he had hitherto maintained. Such, at least, is the explanation which is suggested by a careful study of the facts. The conflict was one of principles: communism against individualism. Like many other reformers, Bishop Selwyn was strong when he exhibited the positive aspects of the communistic ideal; he failed and became unjust when he tried to force others into the same method of life.

The attack was made with great suddenness. The bishop brought the archdeacon from the Bay of Islands to St. John's College, and there, on September 4, in the midst of his own disciplinarian surroundings, handed him a lengthy letter in which he revealed his long cherished opinions, defended the Blood and Treasure despatch, and called upon the missionary to accept the governor's terms. The startled archdeacon asked for proof of the episcopal charges, but of course no proof was forthcoming. It was a matter of prejudged guilt. The bishop was not skilful in the negotiations, and at last lost his temper and demanded point-blank the surrender of the deeds.[9] Henry Williams felt that he was unjustly accused, and, still holding out for "substantiation or retractation," left the scene of the conference in a fit of indignation, which was still further increased when he found that the unscrupulous governor had been trying to stir up the Maoris of the Bay of Islands to claim the restitution of their lands. Nothing but their strong affection and loyalty towards "Te Wiremu" could have enabled them to resist this appeal to their cupidity. But underhand dealing was the one thing that Williams could not bear, and he would hold no more communication with Governor Grey on the subject. His sons were of age: let them carry on the struggle.