Peace was still unbroken when 1859 came in, nor did the colonists even then pay much attention to the mutterings of the Land Leaguers or the growls of the King party. Yet they were really sitting over a powder magazine, and a very small spark must at any moment cause a terrible explosion.
Before the explosion comes, let one last word be said regarding the attitude of the contending parties towards one another.
Every one knows the shocking story of the retreat of the red men before the advance of civilisation, during which deeds were done, not once, not twice, but over and over again, upon both sides which cannot be named for the horror of them. We have not always been too careful of the black man's rights in Africa, and when he has turned upon us in his despair, have smitten him hip and thigh, decimating his tribe, burning his kraal and laying waste his fields.
The Maori experienced little, indeed, of this in comparison with those others. Misunderstanding there was, and some, perhaps, were too quick to judge. Misunderstanding added to hasty judgment led to strife; but that strife, keen as it was, and bitter too, sometimes, was never a combat à outrance.
Pakeha and Maori met and fought, slew and were slain, won or lost. Feeling now and again ran very high, the Maori smarting under a sense of loss and injustice, the Pakeha furious at some treacherous murder. Then there were reprisals. Such lamentable happenings there were; but at no time, not in the very depth of the war, existed generally that intense bitterness of spirit, that fierce racial jealousy, that consuming hatred, which distinguished the conflict between Paleface and Redskin. As the limits of the Pakeha's territory were extended, at no time did there arise such a band of bloody murderers as the "Indian Runners" of the western frontier of the United States. With these men it was an abiding principle to shoot an Indian on sight, innocent though he might be of any deed of blood. The strongest article in the creed of the Runner was, "There is only one good Injun, and that's a dead Injun."
Nothing like this wicked spirit ever animated the white community in New Zealand. One might almost say that they waged war in generous mood, and there were certainly instances of extreme generosity and high-mindedness on the Maori side. Where in the world in a campaign against "savages" has one heard of the savage calling a warning to his white foe? Yet this is what the Maori did. "Go back, Toby!" they cried to Lieutenant Phillpotts at Oheawai. "Lie down, icky-fif; we're goin' to shoot!" they frequently shouted to the soldiers of the 65th Regiment, who had somehow gained their regard. Where in the world will you hear of converted "savages," having been taught the sanctity of the Sabbath, respecting the same when at war with their instructors? Yet this is what the Maori did. Remember the pa of Ruapekapeka! Great and simple souls! What must have been their feelings when a volley from those who had taught them the holy lesson laid many of them low? There is no implication intended that the Maori were uniformly chivalrous and the Pakeha uniformly the opposite—the records of the war would never justify such,—but it ought not to be difficult for the civilised white man to be generous and chivalrous, whereas such instances as those just quoted are probably unique in the annals of war between the white and the coloured races.
The wars in New Zealand had for the most part their origin in agrarian questions, and were concluded by diplomatic negotiations. They were not—nor was it ever contemplated that they should be—wars of extermination. The Pakeha strove by means more or less legal, if not legitimate, to push the Maori from the soil on which their feet had been firmly planted for six hundred years. The old owners resented the attempt and, in some instances, the manner in which the attempt was made. When argument was exhausted, then, and then only, came the final appeal to arms, and a war resulted which has brought about lasting peace.
When the war began there were 170,000 whites in New Zealand, while the Maori population was reckoned at 32,000, of whom about 20,000 were available as fighting men. Remember, the Maori of 1859 were very different from even their immediate forebears. Cannibalism was as extinct as the moa. The intelligent natives had recognised the value of the Pakeha methods and studied them with advantage. Many possessed their own holdings, farmed their own ground, and progressed in the education which was freely offered them. There were Maori assessors in the Courts of the Superintendents, and a Maori chief was attached to the Governor's staff as adviser on purely native questions. The two races were distinctly drawn to one another about this period, and the white portion at any rate hardly looked for trouble.
What gave the colonists an added sense of security was their knowledge that the great leaders of the past were all dead, or nearing their end. Heke had died of consumption in 1850. Te Rauparaha preceded him to Reinga in 1849, being buried by his son, Thompson Rauparaha, who had been educated in England and was a lay-reader. Rangihaeata helped to bury his old friend, and followed him seven years later to the shades, having never during the whole of his seventy years abated his hatred of the Pakeha.
Rangihaeata was a man of great strength and splendid presence, and it is told that, when on one occasion he met Sir George Grey at a korero, or palaver, his costume was entirely and markedly Maori, in contrast to that of many of his countrymen, who wore blankets instead of mats, or were clothed in ordinary European dress. In reply to the Governor, Rangihaeata assumed his proudest, sternest expression, and spoke defiantly. "I want nothing of the white men," he concluded, and, with a sneer at his compatriots, "I wear nothing of their work." Sir George smilingly indicated a peacock's feather which surmounted the chief's carefully dressed hair. "Ah! True; that is European," said Rangihaeata with vehement scorn, plucking the feather from his hair and casting it on the ground.