In this latter mantle the tags, instead of being cylindrical and alternately black and yellow, are entirely black, each rolled leaf being wholly divested of its epidermis, and the fibres radiating from each other in tassel fashion. I rather think that the object of this mode of treatment is to prevent the eye from being distracted by the jangling yellow tags, and so to permit the scarlet border to exhibit its beauties to the best advantage.
Scarlet worsted is, of course, a comparatively late invention, and has only been introduced since the visits of Europeans. In former days the natives were equally fond of ornamenting their cloaks, and were obliged to use the plumage of birds for the purpose. The feathers taken from the breast of the kaka (a species of nestor) were mostly used for this purpose. Although the colored ornaments are generally disposed in lines, they are sometimes arranged in tufts, which are disposed in regular intervals over the whole of the dress. Examples of this kind of decoration may be seen in several of the costumes which are drawn in this work.
The yarns or strings of which the warp is made are not twisted or plaited, but consist merely of the phormium fibres as they lie in the leaf. The leaves are prepared for this purpose by scraping off the epidermis on both sides, and then beating them on a flat stone with a pestle made of the hard volcanic stone employed in the manufacture of adzes and other tools.
The most valuable of all the dresses are the war cloaks of the great chiefs. They are very large, being sometimes nearly six feet in depth, and wide enough to be wrapped over the entire body and limbs. Their native name is Parawai.
Before making one of these great war mats, the weaver collects a large quantity of dog’s hair, which she assorts into parcels of different colors. She then sets up her simple loom, and fixes the warp as usual. But with every knot or mesh which she makes with the weft she introduces a tuft of hair, taking care to make each tuft long enough to overlap and conceal the insertion of the tufts in the next row. She is also careful about the regular arrangement of the hues, so that when a complete mat is made by a skilful weaver, it looks exactly as if it was composed of the skin of some large animal, the vegetable fibres which form the fabric itself being entirely concealed by the tufts of hair.
One of these mats is the result of some four years’ constant labor, and causes some surprise that a people so naturally indolent as the Maories should prove themselves capable of such long and steady industry. But the fact is, the mat maker is a woman and not a man, and in consequence is obliged to work, whether she likes it or not.
In the next place, mat weaving scarcely comes under the denomination of labor. The woman is not tied to time, nor even bound to produce a given number of mats within a given period. Her living, too, does not depend upon the rate of her work, and whether she takes eighteen months or two years to produce a garment is a matter of total indifference to all parties. Besides, she never works alone, but is always accompanied by friends, one of whom, perhaps, may be occupied in a similar manner, another may be employed in scraping the phormium leaves, and another is engaged in pounding and softening the fibres, or drying those that have just been dyed black.
But, whatever their hands may be doing, the weavers’ tongues are never still. A continual stream of talk flows round the looms, and the duty of mat making is thus changed into an agreeable mode of enjoying the pleasures of conversation while the hands are employed in a light and easy labor.
Very great ingenuity is displayed by the woman to whom is entrusted the onerous task of making a war mat. No two are alike, the weaver exercising her discretion respecting the colors and their arrangement. Some of them are made on the same principle as the Bechuana kaross,—namely, darkest in the centre, and fading into the lightest hues round the edges. Others are white or pale in the middle, and edged with a broad band of black or dark brown hair. Sometimes the colors are arranged in a zigzag pattern, and several mats are striped like tiger skins. They always have a sort of collar, composed of strips of fur, which hang about six inches over the shoulders.
In New Zealand there are one or two dresses which are made almost entirely of fur, the skins being dressed with the hair adhering to them, and then sewed together. A very remarkable mat is possessed by a powerful chief named Parátene Maioha. It is made of strips of dogs’ fur sewed over a large flaxen mat. Of this garment he is very proud, and reserves it to be worn on grand occasions. A portrait of this celebrated chief is given in the [illustration No. 1], on the 820th page, partly to show the aspect of a Maori chief in time of peace, and partly to give the reader an idea of the peculiar look of the war cloak.