He was comforted sometimes by hearing of truly Christian acts done by Maoris. One Maori General was an old pupil of the Bishop’s; he himself tended a wounded English prisoner all through one night, and when the man asked for water and there was none in the Maori camp, he crept out through the fern into the English lines and brought back a calabash of water for the dying man. The Maori clergy to the Bishop’s great comfort were faithful all through the war.
Lady Martin thus describes the effect of the war:
“One by one the large flourishing schools on the Waikato and Waiapu rivers had to be closed, with their branch village schools under native teachers, which had become centres of light. The fine country which we had seen covered with wheat and crops became a battlefield—the mills were closed, the churches built by the natives were often used as barracks for the troops ... our bay became deserted. No invalids were brought to be nursed, no canoes heavily laden with produce skimmed across the harbour. It seemed as if the pleasant intercourse with the Maoris, which for twenty years had made our lives so bright was at an end.”
In 1864, a new horror was added to the war by the sudden appearance amongst the Maoris of a fanatical sect, which gathered round an insane chief who professed to have received revelations from the angel Gabriel. His followers called themselves Hau Haus. In a condition of wild excitement, indulging in excesses of every kind, they marched through the land claiming the allegiance of other natives. Infuriated by meeting resistance from some loyal Christian natives, they vowed vengeance to all missionaries. It was in this mood that they reached Poverty Bay, just as two missionaries, Volkner and Grace, arrived in a small schooner bringing medicines and food for the people in the Bay who were suffering from an epidemic of fever. Volkner was seized and murdered next morning in a revolting way, whilst Grace was taken prisoner. As soon as this news reached Bishop Selwyn he hastened to Poverty Bay to try to rescue Grace. At Poverty Bay he found Bishop Williams in whose diocese it was, and with him a great crowd of loyal natives. He described his adventures in a letter to Mrs. Selwyn:
“Went to the Bishop’s house, found all well and thankfully acknowledging the steadfastness of their people, who had gathered from all parts for their protection. Went out to a meeting at which the Bishop’s army appeared in fighting costume, with more of Maori-usage than I liked to see, as I would rather have seen the native clergymen with a hundred quiet men in brown coats than four hundred native warriors in brown skins.”
These men expressed themselves determined not to allow their Pakehas to be touched, but they would not help to attack the murderers of Volkner. They even made conditions about the release of a Maori prisoner before they would write a letter asking for the release of Grace. Selwyn had to send a schooner to fetch this prisoner and then went off with the letter demanding Grace’s release to Opotiki, and sent boats to the shore which brought off Grace and other white people who were there. He then, to his great regret, had to hasten back to Auckland for the Synod; he believed that the English clergy and others in that district were still in great danger. He doubted, however, whether he could have done more to help them as he had now become such an object of hatred and suspicion to the rebel Maoris.
After a year of fighting the Maoris were driven back and dispersed. No regular peace was made but both sides were weary of war, and the English troops were withdrawn. It was many years before the interior of New Zealand was really at peace and safe for settlers.
At the end of the year (1865) the Bishop wrote to an old friend in England:
“How much of the buoyancy of hope has been sobered down by experience! when instead of a nation of believers welcoming me as their father, I find here and there a few scattered sheep, the remnant of a flock which has forsaken the shepherd. I do not know how far it is right to go among my people, though, in former times, peace or war made no difference in their willingness to receive me. At present we are the special objects of their suspicion and ill will. The part that I took in the Waikato campaign has destroyed my influence with many. You will ask then ‘Did I not foresee this? and if so why did I go?’ I answer that I could not neglect the dying and wounded soldiers. Then there were many wounded Maoris brought in from time to time to whom it was my duty to minister. Add to this two of our mission stations had been occupied by a native clergyman and catechist, whom no threats could induce to leave their posts after the English missionaries were advised to retire. It was my duty to see they were not injured when our troops advanced.... This has thrown me back in native estimation more, I fear, than my remaining years of life will enable me to recover.... In the midst of these sorrows we have solid comfort in the sight of the stability of our native clergymen who have never swerved from their duty.... The real cause of war in New Zealand has been the new constitution, and the cause of the greater bitterness of the strife has been the new element of confiscation introduced by the colonists against the will and express orders of the Home Government.... A Maori cares more for his land than anything else.... We have every reason to think that the worst is now past.... We shall probably settle down upon the unsatisfactory basis of the questionable possession of one or two millions of very indifferent land, and of the entire repudiation of the Queen’s authority over the whole interior of the Northern Island. This is the result of seeking first ‘the other things’ instead of the ‘one.’”
The war was drawing to a close in 1864 when Bishop Hobhouse, after accompanying Selwyn on one of his journeys to the camp, wrote the following description of what he saw: