In his journal on a tour to the River Shukeangha, he writes thus:
“September 28, 1819.—After we had passed the swamp, we came into a very open country, for many miles round covered with fern. The part through which we walked was gravelly, and not very good in general.
“The wind increased toward evening, and blew strong from the rainy quarter, so that we had the prospect of a very wet night, without a single tree to shelter us from the storm for about eight miles from the swamp we had passed. At this distance was a wood, through which our road lay, which we were anxious to reach, if possible, in order to shelter ourselves from the wind and rain. With this hope we pushed forward, and arrived at the edge of the wood about nine o’clock. The rain now began to fall heavily. The natives cut branches of fern and boughs of trees, and made us a little shed under the trees, to afford us some shelter. The blackness of the heavens, the gloomy darkness of the wood, the roaring of the wind among the trees, the sound of the falling rain on the thick foliage, united with the idea that we were literally at the ends of the earth, with relation to our native land, surrounded with cannibals whom we knew to have fed on human flesh, and wholly in their power, and yet our minds free from fear of danger—all this excited in my breast such new, pleasing, and, at the same time, opposite sensations, as I cannot describe.
“While I sat musing under the shelter of a lofty pine, my thoughts were lost in wonder and surprise, in taking a view of the wisdom and goodness of God’s providential care, which had attended all my steps to that very hour. If busy imagination inquired what I did there, I had no answer to seek in wild conjecture: I felt with gratitude that I had not come by chance; but had been sent to labour in preparing the way of the Lord in this dreary wilderness, where the voice of joy and gladness had never been heard: and I could not but anticipate with joyful hope the period when the Day-star from on high would dawn and shine on this dark and heathen land, and cause the very earth on which we then reposed to bring forth its increase, when God himself would give the poor inhabitants his blessing. After reflecting on the different ideas which crowded themselves upon my mind, I wrapped myself up in my great coat, and lay down to sleep.”
He visited an island where he met with a singular spectacle. A number of natives were at work, breaking up the ground with a sort of spatula, or wooden spade, to plant their sweet potato. Amongst these was Koro-Koro’s head wife, or queen. “Her Majesty was working hard with a wooden spade, digging the ground for potatoes, with several of the women and some men.” The royal infant lay on the ground sprawling and kicking by her side; “the old queen earnestly requested that I would give her a hoe, showing me the difficulty she had in digging with a stick; a request with which I promised to comply.” We leave the reader to admire at leisure the Homeric simplicity of the scene, or to indulge in those sentiments of contemptuous pity to which Englishmen are possibly more prone.
In another place, he found the head wife of Shunghie, though perfectly blind, digging in the same manner, surrounded by her women, and apparently with as much ease as the rest. The offer of a hoe in exchange for her spatula was accepted with joy. The scene drew forth these reflections: “When we viewed the wife of one of the most military chiefs, possessing large territories, digging with a spatula for her subsistence, this sight kindled within us the best feelings of the human heart. If a woman of this character, and blind, can thus labour with her servants, what will not this people rise to, if they can procure the means of improving their country, and of bettering their condition? Their temporal state must be improved by agriculture and the simple arts, in connexion with the introduction of Christianity, in order to give permanence and full influence to the gospel among them. Our God and Saviour, who is loving to every man, and whose tender mercies are over all his works, is now, blessed be his name, moving the hearts of his servants to send relief to the poor heathen, even to the very ends of the earth.”
The journal affords us repeated evidences of a phenomenon, which recent occurrences in India have at this moment deeply impressed on the heart of England,—one with which both divines and legislators ought to have been acquainted (for it is not obscurely referred to in the word of God), but which a foolish and spurious benevolence has led many to deny—namely, that the most Satanic ferocity frequently lurks under gentle manners, and is even to be found in connexion with the warmest natural affection. Nothing, for instance, can be more affecting than the meeting of Tooi and his sister, after the absence of the former in England. Tooi himself anticipated a scene, and half ashamed, when he saw his sister at a distance, tried to avoid the interview in public, and requested Mr. Marsden to order off the canoe in which they were approaching. But her love could not be restrained; in an instant she sprang into the boat, fell on her knees, and clung to Tooi. He saluted her in return; when she gave vent to her feelings in tears and loud lamentations, which she continued for about an hour. “Tooi conducted himself with great propriety, suppressing all his wild feelings, and at the same time treating his sister with all the soft and tender feelings of nature. I could not but view his conduct with admiration.” When Tooi was in England, he had been taught to read and write, and instructed in the doctrines of Christianity; and he and his companion Teterree were general favourites, from their gentle manners and quick intelligence. They were one day taken to St. Paul’s by Mr. Nicholas, who naturally supposed they would be lost in astonishment at the grandeur of the building, but they expressed neither surprise nor pleasure; on which that gentleman makes this just remark; “It is only things of common occurrence, I suspect, that strike the mind of a savage. The faculties must be cultivated to fit them for the enjoyment of the beautiful or the sublime.” One thing, however, did strike them, and caused no small excitement. In walking up Fleet-street, they suddenly stopped before a hair-dresser’s shop, in the window of which were some female busts. They screamed out “Wyenee! Wyenee!” (Women! Women!) taking them for dried heads of the human subject. “I took some pains,” adds their kind conductor, “to beat this notion out of them, lest they should tell their countrymen on their return that Europeans preserved human heads as well as New Zealanders.”
These bursts of feeling were, it seems, quite natural; intense sorrow or savage exultation, the extremes of tenderness and of brutality, were indulged by turns, without any suspicion on their part of insincerity in either. Immediately after, Mr. Marsden mentions that he passed a canoe in which he recognised an old acquaintance, Hooratookie, the first New Zealander introduced into civil society—Governor King having once entertained him with great kindness. Hooratookie was grateful; spoke of the governor’s daughter, then a child, with unfeigned regard, calling her by her Christian name, Maria. But looking into his large war-canoe, capable of holding from sixty to eighty men, with provisions, Mr. Marsden observed on the stern the dried head of a chief. “The face was as natural as life, the hair was long, and every lock combed straight, and the whole brought up to the crown, tied in a knot, and ornamented with feathers, according to the custom of the chiefs when in full dress. It was placed there as an incentive to revenge. It is possible the death of this chief may be revenged by his children’s children; hence the foundation is laid for new acts of cruelty and blood from generation to generation.”
Mr. Marsden’s fame now preceded him, and wherever he went, he was received not with rude hospitality, but with courteous respect. One chieftain offered up an ovation and prayer on their arrival. “He invoked the heavens above and the earth beneath to render our visit advantageous to his people, and agreeable to us, and that no harm may happen to us, whom he esteemed as the gods of another country. We heard the profane adulations with silent grief, and could not but wish most ardently for the light of Divine truth to shine on such a dark and superstitious mind.” Yet this man was a ferocious cannibal; and when Mr. Marsden expressed his anxiety for the safety of the missionaries after he should have left them, he was calmed by the assurance that, as we had done them no harm, they had no satisfaction to demand, “and that as for eating us, the flesh of a New Zealander was sweeter than that of an European, in consequence of the white people eating so much salt.” From this the conversation turned to that of eating human flesh, which they defended with arguments which to them appeared, no doubt, perfectly conclusive. They alleged that fishes, animals, and birds, preyed upon each other; and that one god would devour another god, therefore there was in nature sufficient warrant for the practice. Shunghie explained how it was the gods preyed on each other, “and that when he was to the southward, and had killed a number of people and was afraid of their god, he caught their god, being a reptile, and ate part of it, and reserved the remainder for his friends.”
Shunghie, the greatest of New Zealand warriors, was at the same time a striking instance of that union of gentleness and ferocity which characterized this people. To the missionaries his kindness was always great, and his respect for Mr. Marsden knew no bounds. An instance of his good feeling may here be noticed. In the beginning of 1817, a naval expedition, under his command, sailed from the Bay of Islands. It consisted of thirty canoes, and about eight hundred men. Its object was to obtain peace with his enemies at the North Cape. The chief took an affectionate leave of the settlers, and told them that if he fell they must be kind to his children; and if he survived, he would take care of their families when they should die. The expedition returned, however, in about a fortnight, his people having quarrelled with those of Wangaroa, into which place they had put for refreshment; and being afraid, he said, that the Wangaroa people would attack the settlers in his absence, he, for the present, abandoned the expedition.
Shunghie was again preparing for war when Mr. Marsden paid his second visit to New Zealand; his army, to the number of several thousand men, were already assembled; his war-canoes were ready, and all his preparations complete; yet in deference to the remonstrances of Mr. Marsden, he again abandoned his scheme of conquest or revenge, and dismissed his followers.
Shunghie paid a visit to England about the year 1820. His majestic person, graceful manners, and gentle yet manly disposition were much admired. He was one of Nature’s nobles; what might not be expected from such a man when he returned home again? George the Fourth invited him to Carlton Palace, and received him with marked attention, presenting him with some military accoutrements and costly fire-arms. Yet the heart of a savage never ceased to beat beneath this polished exterior, while his pride was fanned to madness by the consideration he received in England. “There is,” he exclaimed, “but one king in England; there shall be only one king in New Zealand.” Returning by way of Sydney he there happened to meet with Inacki, another chief, with whom he had an ancient feud. He told him that when they got back to New Zealand he would fight him. Inacki accepted the challenge, and Shunghie accordingly assembled, on his return to New Zealand, no fewer than two thousand men to attack Inacki. The latter was prepared to receive him, and for some time the event of the battle that ensued was doubtful. At length Shunghie, who had the greatest number of muskets, and who had arranged his men in the form called, in Roman tactics, the cuneus, or wedge, placing himself at the apex and directing those behind him to wheel round the enemy, from the right and left, or to fall back into their original position as opportunity offered, shot Inacki. The savage Shunghie immediately sprang forward, scooped out the eye of the dying man with his knife, and swallowed it; and then, holding his hands to his throat, into which he had plunged his knife, and from which the blood flowed copiously, drank as much of the horrid beverage as the two hands could hold. Amongst the horrible superstitions of the Maories, one was that the eye of a victim thus devoured became a star in the firmament, and thus the ferocious Shunghie sought for honour and immortality. With the sword which he had received as a present from King George in England, he immediately cut off the heads of sixteen of his captives in cold blood; this was done to appease the spirit of his son-in-law, who had fallen in battle. In this battle, Shunghie and his tribe were armed with muskets, his opponents only with the native weapons, the club and spear. His victory, therefore, was an easy one, but his revenge was cruel. A New Zealand traveller, who visited the spot in 1844, says: “The bones of two thousand men still lie whitening on the plain, and the ovens remain in which the flesh of the slaughtered was cooked for the horrible repasts of the victorious party, and yet so numerous were the slaves taken prisoners that the Nga-Puis (the tribe of which Shunghie was the head) killed many of them on their way to the Bay of Islands merely to get rid of them.”[I] Such was the gentle Shunghie when his viler nature was let loose—a frightful specimen of human nature, varnished by education, but unvisited by the grace of God. We turn aside for a moment to describe a scene in bright contrast with these revolting details. Amongst the few who escaped the general slaughter was Koromona, a chief who became blind soon afterwards, but hearing archdeacon W. Williams preach at Matamata, was converted. “For the last four years,” says the traveller above mentioned, “Koromona has been a native teacher, and may be seen every sabbath day with his class instructing them in the truths of the Scripture with an earnestness which is truly admirable; he is now about to start to preach Christianity to a tribe which has not yet received it. His memory is wonderful; he knows the whole of the church service by heart, and repeats hymns and many long chapters verbatim.” Thus the gospel won its victorious way, and proved itself triumphant over hearts no less depraved and passions no less degraded than those of Shunghie himself. No earthly power could have effected such a change; it was wrought by that “gospel” which is truly “the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.”