All this is true; but no one will feel disposed to blame the rash Englishmen, considering the price they paid for their indiscretion, while, all other sentiments apart, nothing bad enough can be said of Rangihaeata for his savage slaughter of a band of helpless men—men who had flung down their arms and begged for peace.
When the news of the Wairau fight and massacre reached England, a condition of mind was produced something similar to that which followed the arrival of Crozet in France after the murder of Marion. Emigration was for a time suspended; for Te Rauparaha's threat, that if reprisals were attempted, they would be countered by the massacre of every settler in the colony, did not encourage those who had thought of making New Zealand their home.
To all this confusion of circumstance was added the distress of something very like a financial crisis. The colony had no money, and lenders were nowhere forthcoming. There were many brave hearts who faced these and other difficulties staunchly enough; but even these admitted that New Zealand, as a settler's country, was in a parlous state, and that very little capital except Hope remained upon which to come and go.
It was hardly to be expected that those who had acquired land under the Company should see eye to eye with those who argued that, even after an affair so shocking as that of the Wairau, the Maori had still a claim to receive justice at the hands of the Pakeha. So, when the new Governor, Captain Robert Fitzroy, R.N., personally inquired into the incident, seven months after its occurrence, it was not wonderful that the address which the colonists presented to him at Wellington should have been charged with the gall of bitterness. Nor was it surprising that the natives, on their part, should have accused their white neighbours of studied hostility towards them. Lastly, when it was understood that the Governor laid the weight of the blame upon the Company and their settlers, and almost exonerated Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata, the indignation of the former knew no bounds, and was expressed in language both foolish and unjust.
Captain Fitzroy undoubtedly decided according to his conscience, and with a view to safeguard the interests of the colonists, whom he correctly judged to be too weak to risk a conflict with well-armed natives, thoroughly versed in their own methods of warfare. Unfortunately, the Governor's choice of words when conveying his decision, while it irritated the whites, conveyed to the Maori an impression that fear, not policy, had dictated clemency, and their bearing in consequence became arrogant.
The Maori were now alive to the value of their land, and of money as a purchasing agent. Skilled mind-readers, they played upon the Governor's fears, and compelled him to allow the colonists to buy land direct from them instead of through the Crown. Captain Fitzroy yielded; but, as he endeavoured to compromise by extracting a tax on every acre purchased, the Maori did not make as much as they had hoped to make, and the unfortunate Viceroy again managed to please nobody. What between the Maori, who used him for their own ends, and the colonists, who called him mad, the Governor's lot was anything but happy.
For all their shrewdness and intelligence, the Maori were not yet sufficiently educated in the ways of the Pakeha to appreciate the niceties of civil government, which, it seemed to them, drove away the flourishing trade which had been theirs while yet their ports were all in their own hands, and when every port was free. These sentiments, skilfully fostered by unscrupulous traders, paved the way for an outbreak. And as Kororareka had furnished excuse for the establishment of British sovereignty, so it now provided an occasion of war, and witnessed the first determined act of opposition to the power of the British rule.
It was a bitter blow to traders, who had been accustomed to traffic without let or hindrance in the Bay of Islands, to find Kororareka flaunting the British flag and demanding customs dues. Nor were the Maori any more contented; for they had now to pay a higher price for tobacco, blankets, and other luxuries which they had once acquired so cheaply. Therefore, since political economy was still beyond them, they looked elsewhere for the explanation of the change, and found it—in the flagstaff on the hill outside Kororareka.
The flag which floated there was indeed the symbol of British authority, and on that account sufficiently hated by the more intelligent of the patriotic Maori, who desired to preserve their independence; but among the ignorant natives there were not a few who were convinced that the flagstaff itself was the very cause of the customs dues and the irritating restrictions placed upon trade.
Therefore, when Honi (John) Heke, who had married the beautiful daughter of the famous Hongi Ika, announced his intention of cutting down the hated staff, he did not lack volunteers to help him in what he, at least, intended as a deliberate defiance of Britain. For Honi Heke was far too astute to look upon the flagstaff as anything but what it was—a wooden pole.