Time being pressing, she could not stop to wrap herself up in the orthodox style, but burst into a flood of tears in the most approved fashion, and paddled and howled with equal vigor. Still crying, she put on board a basket of potatoes as a present, and received in return a fig of tobacco. The tangi being by this time complete, the old woman burst into a loud laugh, had a lively talk with her friends, turned her little canoe round, and paddled briskly out of sight.
In one instance this force of habit was rather ludicrously exemplified. The writer shall tell his own story.
“At Hopeton we met with a sister of Karake, or Clark, the chief of Waikato Heads, whose portrait I had painted when at Auckland. This portrait I showed to the old woman, who had not seen her brother for some time, when, to my surprise and amusement, she at once commenced a most affectionate tangi before the sketch; waving her hands in the usual manner, and uttering successively low whining sounds expressive of her joy.
“After she had, as I imagined, satisfied herself with seeing the representation of her brother, I was about to replace the sketch in my portfolio, when she begged of Forsaith that she might be permitted to tangi over it in good earnest, saying, ‘It was her brother—her brother; and she must TANGI till the tears come.’ And sure enough, presently the tears did come, and the old woman wept and moaned, and waved her hands before the picture, with as much apparent feeling as if her brother himself had thus suddenly appeared to her. I could not prevail upon the old creature to desist, and was at length compelled to leave the portrait in Forsaith’s care, whilst I was employed in sketching elsewhere. In future I shall be more cautious how I show my sketches to the old women, finding that they are liable to produce such melancholy results.”
Mr. A. Christie, to whom I am indebted for much information about the country, told me an anecdote of a tangi performed in England by a party of Maories who had visited this country. They were about to bid farewell to one of their friends, and visited his house for that purpose, desiring to be allowed to perform the tangi.
Knowing their customs, their host took them into an empty room, previously cautioning his family not to be surprised at the ceremony. The whole party then sat down on the floor, and raised a most dismal howl, wailing, waving their hands, shedding floods of tears, and, in fact, enjoying themselves in their own queer way. The tangi being over, they all became lively and chatty, and finally took leave after the undemonstrative English fashion.
To a stranger the performance of the tangi is very amusing for the first few times of witnessing it; but he soon becomes tired of it, and at last looks upon it as an unmitigated nuisance, wasting time, and subjecting him to a series of doleful howls from which he has no mode of escape. Mr. Angas describes a tangi to which he was subjected.
“At sunset we reached a small fortified port, on the summit of a hill overlooking the lake. There were but few natives residing in it, to whom the sight of a pakeha (white man) was indeed astonishing; and, after the salutation of welcome, they commenced a tangi at my guides and myself.
“The man who introduced us uttered a faint sound in his throat, like that of a person crying at a distance, and continued to look mournfully on the ground. The welcome of the men was voluble and loud: they howled dismally, and their tears fell fast for some time.
“Another female soon arrived, who, squatting on the ground, commenced a tangi with her friends, so loud and doleful—now muttering and anon howling like a hyena—that it made me feel quite dismal. There she sat, yelling horribly, to my great annoyance, but Maori etiquette compelled me to look grave and not to disturb her. There seemed to be no end to this woman’s wailings of welcome. The night was cold, and she still continued to sit by the fire prolonging her lugubrious and discordant strains. Sometimes she would pitch a higher key, going upward with a scream, shaking her voice, and muttering between every howl; then it would be a squall with variations, like ‘housetop cats on moonlight nights.’