CHAPTER V.
Return to the Colony—Duaterra—His strange adventures—Mr. Marsden’s Labours in New South Wales—Aborigines—Their Habits—Plans for their Civilization.
Mr. Marsden took what proved to be his last leave of his native land in August 1809. Resolute as he was, and nerved for danger, a shade of depression passed across him. “The ship, I understand,” he writes to Mrs. Mason Good, “is nearly ready. This land in which we live is polluted, and cannot, on account of sin, give rest to any of its inhabitants. Those who have (sought) and still do seek their happiness in anything it can give, will meet nothing but disappointment, vexation, and sorrow. If we have only a common share of human happiness, we cannot have or hope for more.” A few weeks afterwards he addresses the same Christian lady thus:—
“Cambridge, August 1, 1809.
“Yesterday I assisted my much esteemed friend, Mr. Simeon, but here I shall have no continuing city. The signal will soon be given, the anchor weighed, and the sails spread, and the ship compelled to enter the mighty ocean to seek for distant lands. I was determined to take another peep at Cambridge, though conscious I could but enjoy those beautiful scenes for a moment. In a few days we shall set off for Portsmouth. All this turning and wheeling about from place, to place, and from nation to nation, I trust is our right way to the heavenly Canaan. I am happy in the conclusion, to inform you that I have got all my business settled in London much to my satisfaction, both with government and in other respects. The object of my mission has been answered, far beyond my expectations. I believe that God has gracious designs towards New South Wales, and that his gospel will take root there, and spread amongst the heathen nations to the glory of his grace.
“I have the honour to be, dear madam,
“Yours, in every Christian bond,
“Samuel Marsden.”
His prayers and devout aspirations for New Zealand had been heard on high, and “the way of the Lord” was “preparing” in a manner far beyond his expectations, ardent as they seem. The ship Ann, in which he sailed, by order of the government, for New South Wales, carried with her one whom Providence had raised up to act a part, only less important than his own, in the conversion of that benighted land.
The ship had been some time at sea before Mr. Marsden observed on the forecastle, amongst the common sailors, a man whose darker skin and wretched appearance awakened his sympathy. He was wrapped in an old great coat, very sick and weak, had a violent cough, accompanied with profuse bleeding. He was much dejected, and appeared as though a few days would close his life. This was Duaterra, a New Zealand chieftain, whose story, as related by Mr. Marsden himself, is almost too strange for fiction. And as “this young chief became,” as he tells us, “one of the principal instruments in preparing the way for the introduction of the arts of civilization and the knowledge of Christianity into his native country,” a brief sketch of his marvellous adventures will not be out of place.
When the existence of New Zealand was yet scarcely known to Europeans, it was occasionally visited by a South Sea whaler distressed for provisions, or in want of water. One of these, the Argo, put into the Bay of Islands in 1805, and Duaterra, fired with the spirit of adventure, embarked on board with two of his companions. The Argo remained on the New Zealand coast for above five months, and then sailed for Port Jackson, the modern Sydney of Australia, Duaterra sailing with her. She then went to fish on the coast of New Holland for six months, again returning to Port Jackson. Duaterra had been six months on board, working in general as a common sailor, and passionately fond of this roving life. He then experienced that unkindness and foul play of which the New Zealander has always had sad reason to complain. He was left on shore without a friend and without the slightest remuneration.
He now shipped himself on board the Albion whaler, Captain Richardson, whose name deserves honourable mention; he behaved very kindly to Duaterra, repaid him for his services in various European articles, and after six months cruising on the fisheries, put him on shore in the Bay of Islands, where his tribe dwelt. Here he remained six months, when the Santa Anna anchored in the bay, on her way to Norfolk Island and other islets of the South Sea in quest of seal skins. The restless Duaterra again embarked; he was put on shore on Norfolk Island at the head of a party of fourteen sailors, provided with a very scanty supply of water, bread, and salt provisions, to kill seals, while the ship sailed, intending to be absent but a short time, to procure potatoes and pork in New Zealand. On her return she was blown off the coast in a storm, and did not make the land for a month. The sealing party were now in the greatest distress, and accustomed as he was to hardship, Duaterra often spoke of the extreme suffering which he and his party had endured, while, for upwards of three months, they existed on a desert island with no other food than seals and sea fowls, and no water except when a shower of rain happened to fall. Three of his companions, two Europeans and one Tahitian, died under these distresses.
At length the Santa Anna returned, having procured a valuable cargo of seal skins, and prepared to take her departure homewards. Duaterra had now an opportunity of gratifying an ardent desire he had for some time entertained of visiting that remote country from which so many vast ships were sent, and to see with his own eyes the great chief of so wonderful a people. He willingly risked the voyage, as a common sailor, to visit England and see king George. The Santa Anna arrived in the river Thames about July 1809, and Duaterra now requested that the captain would make good his promise, and indulge him with at least a sight of the king. Again he had a sad proof of the perfidiousness of Europeans. Sometimes he was told that no one was allowed to see king George; sometimes that his house could not be found. This distressed him exceedingly; he saw little of London, was ill-used, and seldom permitted to go on shore. In about fifteen days, the vessel had discharged her cargo, when the captain told him that he should put him on board the Ann, which had been taken up by government to convey convicts to New South Wales. The Ann had already dropped down to Gravesend, and Duaterra asked the master of the Santa Anna for some wages and clothing. He refused to give him any, telling him that the owners at Port Jackson would pay him in two muskets for his services on his arrival there; but even these he never received.
Mr. Marsden was at this time in London, quite ignorant of the fact that the son of a New Zealand chief, in circumstances so pitiable, lay on board a South Sea whaler near London bridge. Their first meeting was on board the Ann, as we have stated, when she had been some days at sea. His sympathies were at once roused, and his indignation too; for it was always ill for the oppressor when he fell within the power of his stern rebuke. “I inquired,” he says, “of the master where he met with him, and also of Duaterra what had brought him to England, and how he came to be so wretched and miserable. He told me that the hardships and wrongs which he had endured on board the Santa Anna were exceedingly great, and that the English sailors had beaten him very much, which was the cause of his spitting blood, and that the master had defrauded him of all his wages, and prevented his seeing the king. I should have been very happy, if there had been time, to call the master of the Santa Anna to account for his conduct, but it was too late. I endeavoured to soothe his afflictions, and assured him that he should be protected from insults, and that his wants should be supplied.”