Romance of Empire Series
Edited by JOHN LANG

NEW ZEALAND

TO MY WIFE

Heke fells the flagstaff at Kororareka
(Page [169])

ROMANCE OF EMPIRE

NEW ZEALAND

BY

REGINALD HORSLEY

AUTHOR OF 'IN THE GRIP OF THE HAWK,' 'STONEWALL'S SCOUT,'
'THE YELLOW GOD,' 'THE BLUE BALLOON,' 'HUNTED THROUGH FIJI,' ETC.

WITH TWELVE REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR FROM DRAWINGS BY

A.D. M'CORMICK, R.I.

LONDON
THE CAXTON PUBLISHING COMPANY,
CLUN HOUSE, SURREY ST. W.C.

INTRODUCTION

This book does not contain a history of New Zealand, but something of the story of many full and stirring days. Almost like the ghost the Maori thought him, Tasman came swiftly out of the rosy West, struck a blow which harmed his country more than it hurt those upon whom it fell, and yet more swiftly sailed away. Notable enough were his coming and going, but only as the prologue to the drama which began after an interval of one hundred and twenty-seven years. Then there steps upon the stage of Maoriland that well-graced actor, Captain Cook; and so the play goes on until the fall of the curtain upon the peace which closed the long struggle of the brave tribesmen with settlers, soldiers and colonists. Another interval, not so long, and then, fitting epilogue, the Dominion.

The years since 1870 have no doubt held romance enough of their own. Books have been written and may still be written of the romance of peaceful settlement, of sport, of mountaineering in New Zealand, or of soldiering by New Zealanders in other lands; but, save for a few episodes, one may say that the romance of the history of New Zealand ended for the present with the vanishing of Te Kooti. Then, at least, ended the era of turbulence, and began the fat years of progress and prosperity, and it is as difficult for a State as for an individual to be romantic when "with good capon lined."

Yet so crowded with incident is the brief period named that I have practically confined the story to the most prominent of the facts indexed in the New Zealand Official Year Book for 1906. Even with this limitation there is not space enough in which to tell the whole romantic story. At most, an impression of the vivid happenings of the past can be presented, and this is what I have tried to do.

I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to those who, being dead, yet speak—Thomson, Gudgeon, "A Pakeha Maori," and others,—whose vanished hands picturesquely chronicled some of the events with which this story is concerned. From Sir George Grey, the gentle "Knight of the Kawan," I had the legend of the Loves of Heaven and Earth and the defiance of their rebellious sons. To the Honourable William Pember Reeves, High Commissioner for New Zealand in London, I am greatly obliged for books of reference and the loan of valuable photographs.

If I am not one of them, I yet claim the consideration of the Children of the Dominion, since I am connected with them by ties of kin and happy memories of childhood and youth lived under the Southern Cross, here and there among the islands on both sides of the Tasman Sea. Also the Dominion has already given me some of the facts of her colonial days as a basis for fiction. So it is permissible to hope that the shortcomings of this book will be forgiven, and that those of the Dominion who may read will recognise throughout its pages a whole-hearted admiration for their country and all that belongs to it.

If I please some, I shall be rewarded. For the rest, since "'tis not in mortals to command success," then, est quadam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra.

REGINALD HORSLEY.

NEW ZEALAND

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[Heke fells the Flagstaff at Kororareka]
[Farewell to Hawaiki]
[Victors in the Fight]
[The Fight in Massacre Bay]
[Hongi's last "Word" to his People]
[A Dreadful Recognition]
[Signing the Treaty of Waitangi]
[Phillpotts at Oheawai]
[A Boy's Heroism. "Awake! Awake!"]
[Major Witchell's Charge at Nukumaru]
[The Frenzy of the Hauhau. The Incantation]
[Butters gives the Alarm—Poverty Bay]

MAP

[New Zealand]

[PART I]

THE MAORI

[CHAPTER I]

THE COMING OF THE RACE

The voice of lamentation and the noise of weeping were heard in Hawaiki;[1] for men's hands were lifted up to slay their own kin: so that father slew son, and son smote father, and brother strove against brother, until nowhere in all that pleasant land was there peace. Wherefore, little children hid themselves for fear; and women, having cut their cheeks with sharks' teeth, and gashed their bosoms with sharp shells and pieces of tuhua[2], raised the tangi[3] for the warriors who every day passed through the portals which give upon the Waters of Reinga.[4]

But Ngahue, being a great chief, might not weep; so he sat apart in his whare,[5] neither eating nor drinking, while he prayed to the gods and to his ancestors that they would make a way of escape from the threatening doom. For Ngahue was sore stricken, having been worsted in the fight, and well he knew that for the conquered was no mercy. Wherefore, he sat with bowed head and covered face, and prayed for light.

And light came; for the gods had pity upon Ngahue, who was ever their faithful servant.

So Ngahue arose in the black darkness, bidding his wife be of good cheer and patiently await his return, and with noiseless tread stole forth from his whare.

Softly called Ngahue unto him his best-beloved friend, Te Turi, the Stubborn One, and Te Turi's friends, Te Weri, the Centipede, and Te Waerau, the Crab,[6] together with certain warriors, proved in many a fight. He compelled also to his side a sufficiency of tutua[7] and, being come to the beach, launched a great canoe. Then, having commended themselves to the gods, they sailed whithersoever Atua[8] chose to lead them.

Many days sailed they over the placid bosom of moana,[9] passing fair islands whereon they were fain to rest, but for fear of club and cooking-pot dared not land. So they kept on the course which Atua had set, praying ever that they might come to the land which Ngahue had seen in a vision what time the gods gave him light.

But all things have an end. Neither Ngahue, nor his friends, nor his followers, nor the tutua complained or murmured at the hardships they underwent, or reviled the gods; wherefore the Six Great Brethren had compassion upon them.

So the Great Six sat in council—Tumatauenga, god and father of men and war; Haumiatikitiki, god of the food which springs of itself from the earth; Rongomatane, god of the food which men prepare for themselves; Tangaroa, god of fish and reptiles; Tawhiri-Ma-Tea, god of winds and storms; Tane-Mahuta, god of forests and of the birds therein—all were there.

Then spake Tumatauenga, saying, "Behold! I will send ahead of Ngahue my youngest son, Mauitikitiki o Taranga; and I will give him the jawbone of one of his ancestors, whereof he shall fashion a great hook, wherewith he shall fish up a land out of moana for Ngahue; and the name thereof shall be Te Ika a Maui.[10] Behold! I have spoken."

Then spake in turn the rest of the Great Brethren, sons all of Rangi and Papa,[11] promising good gifts to Ngahue and them with him. But Maui, obedient to his father's word, went forth and fished diligently in the sea until, lo! he drew up a land, which, by the might of the Six Brethren, was covered in an instant with forests and plains and mountains and valleys. And birds flew high and low and sang among the trees, and rivers rushed through deep woods, and silver streams flashed by quiet lawns, and the bays and straits abounded in fish, and the earth with good things to eat. All was of the best for Ngahue and his friends when they should arrive.

So Maui gave to Ngahue the new land, which was a land beautiful, a land rich and abounding in all things good and needful; and he and his friends, beholding this fair and gracious land and knowing it their own, gave thanks to the Six Great Brethren and were filled with joy.

Then Ngahue, calling upon the gods, drave the great canoe into a beautiful bay, and made fast to a tree which hung low over the water and flung its red blossoms on the tide; whereafter the wanderers stepped ashore and stood upon the land which Maui had fished up from the sea, and which the Six Great Brethren had given them for their own.

Then, all most reverently standing still, Ngahue gathered a little soil and scattered it to the four quarters of the earth and, having cast his most cherished ornament into the sea in propitiation, he chanted this prayer to the Spirit of the Land:—

We arrive where an unknown earth is under our feet;
We arrive where a new sky is above us.
We arrive at this land,
A resting-place for us.
O Spirit of the Earth! We strangers now humbly
Offer our hearts as food for thee.[12]

And Ngahue loved the new land, for the forest trees were tall and splendid, and the flowers beautiful and radiant as kahukura[13] in the sky. Great eels swarmed in the rivers, fish in plenty swam in the sea, and sharks, whose teeth are for ornament and for women when they raise the tangi. Whales, also, played in the near seas, and seals basked upon the rocks. Birds of song and birds for food flew in the air or ran along the ground or swam upon the lakes and rivers. But one giant bird with feeble wings stalked with long legs over the hills; and, though this bird was twice the height of an ordinary man, and of a strength prodigious, yet did Ngahue slay one such in his wanderings about the new land.[14]

Earth, too, gave of her treasures a most beautiful stone, green of hue and clear as light at dawn or dense as a storm-cloud, and so hard withal that a club which Ngahue fashioned from it cracked the skull of one of his foes, yet itself brake not in pieces.

So, looked Ngahue north or south or east or west; looked he inland where the tall mountains hid their snowy peaks in the bosoms of the rosy clouds, or looked he upon the "many dimpled smile of ocean," behold, the land was very good.

Then Ngahue, having gathered many things which would not perish by the way, called his friends and said, "See now; let us return to Hawaiki, taking these our treasures, which, when our kinsmen see, they will eagerly follow us hither. So shall they gain a peaceful home, and so shall the land the gods have given us be filled with stout hearts, and our seed increase and multiply. What say ye, O my brothers?"

And Te Weri and Te Waerau joyously cried, "Kapai!"[15] and the warriors shouted their war-cry; but the tutua raised their voices and wept for happiness that they should be free of war's alarms.

So they came again after many days to Hawaiki, whence all their kinsmen were willing to go with them to the new and beautiful land which had been given to Ngahue. Moreover, strife still raged; wherefore, they of the weaker side came privately to Ngahue and begged that they might go with him; to which the chief willingly consented, knowing that the more the folk the better for the new land.

But one of the gods—no man knoweth which—angry because Ngahue persuaded so many to leave the land of their birth, set fire to Hawaiki to destroy all therein. But Rangi sent a storm of rain upon the land, so that the fire was utterly killed, save for certain few sparks which hid among the trees where the rain could not reach them, and there abode for ever. Wherefore it is that, if a man rub together two pieces of wood, fire will issue therefrom.

And now, a fleet having been built—some say at one place, some at another, but most at Rarotonga—a great company assembled and filled the double canoes, whereof the names were Arawa, Matatua, Tainui, Takitumu, Kurahaupo, Tokomaru, Matawhaorua, Aotea, and more whose names are forgotten.

Farewell to Hawaiki

Family by family they embarked, taking great store of seeds of kumara,[16] karaka[17] berries and gourds, together with pukeko,[18] dogs, and rats. Thus they set sail in company from the land of their birth.

But an evil spirit let loose a tempest upon them, so that the fleet was scattered, and each canoe must sail upon its own course, its captain having no pilot, but only the knowledge which Ngahue had imparted to the high chiefs. Yet by the grace of Atua they all came safe to the land which Maui had fished up from the sea.

Aotea, Arawa, Tainui, and the rest, all were beached at last, and the exiles bade one another farewell and wandered here and there over the land, each family making choice where they would dwell. Nor was the choice too easy, since every place was so beautiful and inviting. But at last they came to rest, and thus from the beginning was Te Ika a Maui peopled by the friends and followers of Ngahue; and their seed, multiplying as the spores upon the fern, founded and established the nations which compose the Maori Race.

Note.—According to another tradition, the first Maori explorer was Rakahaitu, a chief, who landed in the South Island about one thousand years ago. Other traditions, again, give the credit of discovery to Kupe. In August of this year, an interesting find was made on the south coast of the North Island, in the shape of an ancient stone anchor. This is held by experts to have been used by Kupe, whose canoes, buried under huge mounds of earth, still rest upon the heights to which the adventurers dragged them after landing.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The island—true site unknown—whence the ancestors of the Maori emigrated, according to tradition, to New Zealand.

[2] Obsidian, or volcanic glass.

[3] The Lament for the Dead.

[4] The Abode of the Shades.

[5] House. In Maori there are no silent vowels. Thus whare="wharry," not "whar"; kupe="ku-pe," not "koop."

[6] Maori names were frequently bestowed on account of mental or physical peculiarities, or of real or fancied resemblance to natural objects.

[7] Poor, low-born men to do menial work.

[8] The gods collectively. Fate.

[9] The ocean.

[10] Literally, "The Fish of Maui."

[11] Heaven and Earth. Short for Papa-tu-a-nuku.

[12] This prayer, preserved by tradition, was actually uttered by a chief upon the landing of the exiles from Hawaiki, after Ngahue's second, and final, voyage from his old home.

[13] The rainbow.

[14] The reference is to the gigantic, wingless bird, now extinct, the Moa—Dinornis moa.

[15] Good! Hurrah!

[16] Sweet potato—Ipomoea batatas.

[17] Corynocarpus laevigata.

[18] Water-hen—Porphyrio melanotus.

[CHAPTER II]

THE MEN WHO CAME

The foregoing is more or less traditional among the Maori as to their migration from some other place and settlement in New Zealand. Some facts have been handed down for generations, but the traditions are confused. When the first Pakeha[19] arrived, every Maori believed that certain events had happened in the far past; but there was little agreement as to the manner or sequence in which those events had occurred.

Many investigators—notably Sir George Grey—have inquired in the truest spirit of antiquarian research into the traditions of the Maori; and what between the discoveries of such trained observers, the dabblings of the amateur, and the luck of the "rolling-stones," who have picked up a tale here and a legend there, we have a fairly clear account of the coming of the Maori to New Zealand, as far as it is uncertainly known and hazily remembered among themselves.

One fact, at least, is established. The Maori pertain to the Polynesian section of the great southern archipelago, not to the Melanesian. Most eminent ethnologists agree that the pure Polynesians are descended through the Malays from a very remote Asiatic stock.

No bolder navigators, no more merciless pirates than the Malays ever sailed the sea, and, as they skimmed over the blue in their queer proas, their fierce eyes searching the horizon for the sail of some helpless trader, they not infrequently made some hitherto unknown island. Adventurers all, they occupied the place if it were their whim, and mixed with or exterminated the original inhabitants. Thus their stock spread in the course of centuries over all Polynesia, giving populations to Tonga, to the Samoan, Sandwich, Society and other islands, and, more important to our theme, to New Zealand.

It is reasonably certain that, apart from haphazard adventure, there was once an emigration on a large scale, and it would seem that the pioneers of Polynesian colonisation left their home in Sumatra for the islands of their choice some nine or ten hundred years ago.

Centuries go on their appointed course and become the Past; the immigrants, long acclimatised, have only vague memories and fanciful traditions of their origin. They are no longer Malays; they are Polynesians. Climate, associations, food have worked an alteration in them; their skin is browner, their eyes less sleepy, their figures taller and more symmetrical, their features handsomer than in the forgotten days in Sumatra, cradle of their race. Their language, too, has undergone a marked change, and only traces of the parent stock are discoverable in their customs. One practice, occasional amongst their ancestors, they have unhappily not forgotten; for the Polynesians have established the flesh of their enemies—when they can get it—as the prime article in their dietary. They are not so abandoned in this respect as their neighbours of Melanesia; but they are smirched with the same pitch, and an unpleasant defilement it is.

More centuries roll on; in Europe the night of the Middle Ages is at its darkest, but in far-off Polynesia the dawn is at hand. On an unnamed island within that vast area there is unrest and tribulation, out of which a nation is presently to be born.

Where this island of Hawaiki was situated not even the Maori tradition can certainly determine. Some will have it that Rarotonga in the Cook Islands was once Hawaiki; but all that can be said with accuracy is that, some five or six hundred years ago, a company of Polynesians, perhaps a thousand strong, left the island on which they had been born and sailed the sea in search of a new home.

In time they made the North Island of New Zealand, which, delighted with its beauty and fertility, they decided to occupy. They landed at various points and wandered ever farther south, increasing and multiplying in numbers, until at last some of the most adventurous crossed Cook Strait and began to people the Middle Island. And these Polynesian immigrants were the ancestors of the race of men whom we now know as Maori.

Some recent investigators hold that the North Island was then possessed by peaceable folk calling themselves Moriori, who were speedily subdued by the warriors from Hawaiki. A remnant of the Moriori escaped, it is said, to the Chatham Islands, hoping to dwell in peace; but their evil fate pursued them, for the Ngati-Awa tribe migrated in 1835 to the same place, and the unfortunate Moriori were again conquered and enslaved.

Wherever the birthplace of the Maori, it lay within the tropics. The nearer the equator, the shorter the interval between day and night, and thus it was that the Maori, struck by the beauty of a phenomenon wholly unfamiliar, styled their new home in affectionate admiration, Ao-tea-roa, "The Land of the Long Lingering Day," or "The Land of Twilight." Always poetical, others called it Aotea, or "The Land of the Dawn." These charming subtitles did not displace the original name, Te Ika A Maui, or, as some have it, Eaheinomawe,[20] but they serve to show the poetic mind of the Maori. Later on, the Middle Island received its native appellation, Te Wai Pounamou, or "The Waters of Greenstone," while Ra Ki Ura, "In the Glow of the Sun," denoted Stewart Island, the small triangle which forms the southern extremity of New Zealand.

So they came to their own, these handsome, stalwart men, and "black, but comely" women. You may see a group of them there upon the western beach, led by Te Turi, one of the pioneer chiefs who received this new jewel among countries from the hands of the gods. Perhaps they landed at dawn, for Te Turi called the place of disembarkation Aotea, which is literally "The White Day"; but he may have named the harbour out of compliment to the canoe which had carried them so far in safety, for it, too, was Aotea.

The white day swiftly turns to blue and gold, and all fatigue is forgotten for pure joy of being. The glory of summer is everywhere, and over all is that exquisite charm which belongs to Ao-tea-roa more than to any of the isles of the iridescent Southern Sea. Westward, the great ocean heaves and sparkles in the morning sun—not a cloud that way from zenith to horizon. Southward, far away, Ruapehu lifts his time-worn, snowy head three thousand feet above grim Tongariro's sullen, smoking cones, gazing ever where his ancient comrade, hoary Taranaki,[21] dwells in solitude by the thundering sea.

Long ago, these mighty ones stood shoulder to shoulder; but Taranaki, forgetting friendship, seized Pihinga, Tongariro's love, and strove to bear her away. Then Tongariro arose in his wrath, belching forth smoke and flames and red-hot stones, and smote Taranaki such a buffet that the giant reeled away, nor stopped until he reached the sea. Never did Taranaki return to his comrades. Alone he broods, rearing his great body eight thousand feet above the tide, his stricken head hidden under a veil of perennial snow.

Inland, the forest. But what a forest! Not the light emerald of waving palms of their almost unregretted Hawaiki, but a forest grand, obscure, a very twilight of verdure. Yet not all gloom; for the rata[22] are abloom, and splash the dark-green front with vivid crimson, and the white cornucopias of the "morning-glory," and the gorgeous, scarlet "beaks" of the kowhai[23] bejewel the undergrowth. Up from the ground the little "wild rose" twines the great stems to their topmost boughs, falling back to earth, a cascade of blossom; while, festooning and garlanding tall trunks and leafy tops, are flung the long tendrils of the puawananga,[24] its myriad white stars shining in the green night.

As they gaze, entranced, flocks of parakeets, screaming a harsh welcome, dash from the shimmering sky athwart the sombre front, like a rainbow shivered into fragments. There is a burst of appreciation, a hundred poetic expressions of delight, and Te Turi's company crowd about him, invoking blessings upon his head for his share in the discovery of this earthly paradise.

They are worth looking at, these jubilant Maori: the men strong and well built about the chest and shoulders, and carrying themselves as men should. Their hair is slightly wavy or curls freely, and matches well the steady, piercing eyes, stern lips, pronounced noses and haughty carriage of the head we are accustomed to style "Roman." The Malay type is fully evident, while others recall the Jew, and a very few approach the colour of the negro, but miss his characteristic features and woolly hair.

They are grave, dignified and impressed by the solemnity of the occasion; and the Light is shining in the darkness of their minds, for they stand in reverential attitudes while their great chief chants a thanksgiving to the gods and a short prayer of propitiation to the Spirit of the Land.

Most of the women and girls are weeping, for tears come easily to the Maori wahine (woman) even in moments of joy. But bright smiles presently flash out everywhere, showing dazzling teeth, while, though all are talking at once, their voices are so melodious that the babel is rather pleasant than otherwise.

Considering them more closely, we know that we are looking at a people exceptional, if not unique among savages.

Their intelligence is obvious; the voyage demonstrates their enterprise, and they will later prove their courage upon many a stricken field. Prudent they are, for they have brought the seeds of food-plants, while for companionship and, to some extent, for food, they gave their dogs a place in the canoes. Perhaps the rat, always a bit of an adventurer, stole aboard as a stowaway.

They are emotional, but not less brave because tears stood in their eyes as they listened to Te Turi's prayer. Their great chiefs solemn chant and the exclamations which greeted the forest in its summer dress show their poetic mind and their capacity for felicitous speech. Moreover, they are fond of fun and have a trenchant wit, if not a very lightsome humour. They are quick at repartee, and eloquent in discourse.

When their villages are built, you shall note how kind and hospitable they are to strangers of whatever race. Also, you shall be convinced that among the gentlemen of their tribes a lie is a thing abominable and abhorred, and the word of a chief, once passed, most rarely broken.

Are they then faultless, these newcomers to the land which Maui fished up from the sea? No; for they are men, and men yet stumbling in the night of paganism. There is no need to catalogue their faults; they are those common to savages, and too many of them will show clearly as this narrative progresses. Till then let us pass them over.

Take one more look at the faces of these old-time Maori. They differ from those of their descendants, for they are unmarked by tattoo.

The Maori of the immediate past were noted for the extraordinarily elaborate tattooing or, rather, carving, which embellished their faces and, sometimes, their hips. When the Pakeha arrived a Maori with beard, whiskers or moustache was as rare as the moa; for tattooing necessitated a smooth face, and each warrior was careful to pull out every offending hair from cheek, lips and chin.[25] Thus, neither the process nor the result was interfered with, and this was important, for every line, curve or mark of any kind had its significance.

Tattooing was by no means universal among the Polynesians, and the Maori tradition is firm that the faces of the immigrants from Hawaiki were innocent of tattoo, or moko, as the Maori method is styled, while beards were worn or not, according to individual taste.

It has always been a principle with savages to frighten their enemies by noise, facial contortions, masks, weird head-dresses and so on. When the Maori began to quarrel and fight, it occurred to one genius that a tremendous moral effect would be produced upon the enemy if he—the genius—were to blacken his face before going into battle. One would hardly suppose that a shade only two or three degrees deeper than the original would bring about any startling result; but our genius evidently succeeded, for the next time his tribe took the field the faces of all were black as the back of Tui, the Parson-bird.

Then it occurred to a wise old chief, named Rauru, that, if something permanent could be devised, much time and trouble would be saved. Remembering a visit he had paid to an island where tattooing was in force, he called a council and vigorously advocated the adoption of the practice. The suggestion was accepted and, as the process of moko is decidedly painful, there must have been many wry faces while it was being carried into effect.

No doubt, when their faces had been rendered sufficiently terrifying, this particular tribe had things all their own way for a time. But there is a sincere form of flattery known as imitation and, once the secret leaked out, matters took a turn. Before Te Ika A Maui was many moons older, every able-bodied man on the Island had tricked out his face in the new style, and was ready to meet the inventors upon equal terms.

Note.—Tattoo is a Polynesian word, not in use among the Maori. A skilful professor of the art of moko and whakairo (face and body decoration) was held in rare esteem. Instances are on record of slaves having vastly improved their status by the artistic use of the lancet and mallet employed in tattooing.

FOOTNOTES:

[19] White man. Literally, "stranger," as opposed to Maori, "native."

[20] Really, He mea hi no Maui, "A thing fished up by Maui."

[21] Mount Egmont.

[22] Metrosideros robusta. It belongs to the myrtle order, and is one of the most ornamental trees in the New Zealand bush.

[23] Clianthus puniceus. New Zealand pea.

[24] A variety of clematis. In the flowering season the effect of the white stars amid the dark green of the overhead foliage is most beautiful.

[25] This was done with a pair of cockle-shells, which in Maoriland represented the volsellae of the Romans, and our modern tweezers.

[CHAPTER III]

THE LAND TO WHICH THEY CAME

Where Nature is constantly in a tempestuous mood, where volcanoes spout and earthquakes convulse, and where, on the other hand, "Man comes in with his strife" against Nature herself, comparatively few years may suffice to bring about great changes and to alter the face of a country almost beyond recognition.

Thus, the New Zealand on whose shores the Maori landed differed materially from the New Zealand of to-day. Not only has Nature cruelly destroyed some of the most beautiful of the vestiges of creation, but the white man has cleared off scrubs, eradicated forests, said with effect to the sea, "thus far and no farther," and, by radically altering the original features of the country, has actually influenced the climate.

New Zealand is a land in every way desirable. Save for a trick Nature has of tumbling into convulsions now and then, it is hard to see how any land could have been created more beautiful, more comfortable, more blessed. Not large; indeed, a kind of "Pocket Venus" among countries; for, though there have been smaller, there have been none more beguiling to the senses, more charming to the eye, more responsive to the attentions of its lords. Surely, from such a soil must spring a worthy race.

Before colonisation, and for some time after, New Zealand included only the North Island, the Middle Island,[26] and Stewart Island, and was in area about one-seventh less than that of the United Kingdom. No; not a large country; but packed to overflowing with good and desirable things, and lacking much that is undesirable.

Early in the present century the Cook, or Hervey, Islands were included in the colony; an interesting addition, because Rarotonga, the largest of the group, is said to be the island where the emigrating Maori built some of their canoes for the voyage to Te Ika A Maui, and where they rested when Hawaiki lay far behind them. The new boundaries of the Dominion of New Zealand embrace several other island groups.

Hawaiki lay within the tropics, while the northern extremity of New Zealand is a clear eleven degrees south of Capricorn. As the country tails southward, it falls more within the temperate zone, until, as Stewart Island is reached, the latitude corresponds almost exactly with that of Cornwall in England.

Coming thus from a hot climate to one warm indeed, but cooler than that to which they had been accustomed, it behoved the Maori without delay to make some alteration in their dress. At first they used coverings made from the skins of their dogs; but this was expensive, so they presently began to look elsewhere for what they wanted. Like most peoples unvexed by over-education, they were keen observers, and it was not long before they found the very thing they required.

One day, a certain Te Matanga,[27] The Knowing One, took matters in hand. Winter was coming, and girdles of cocoa-nut fibre would scarcely suffice to keep out the cold. For some time he discovered nothing likely to be useful, and it was in a disconsolate mood that he stood at the edge of an extensive swamp and wondered what was to become of his friends and himself.

The swamp was covered with plants whose like Te Matanga had never seen. Each grew in the fashion of a thick bush; but the leaves—there were no branches—were flat and tapering, yet stiff and irrefragable, while they towered, upstanding, half as high again as the height of a man. Moreover, the leaves were so tough, that Te Matanga had some ado to cut through one with his flint knife. Flowers upon long stalks were in the bushes, and the plant with a red blossom was larger than that which bore a yellow blossom, though both were stately. And, perceiving that there were two varieties of the plant, Te Matanga named the finer Tihore and the larger Harakeke.[28]

When he had prodded here and sliced there, and observed the leaves to be full of strong fibre, Te Matanga immediately perceived that he had found that which he had set out to seek and, his anxiety upon the score of clothing relieved, he began to feel hungry and thirsty. The swamp water did not look inviting and, while he deliberated, he aimlessly plucked a flower and regarded it.

What was this? At the bottom of the floral cup was a considerable quantity of fluid, resembling limpid water.

Not without a qualm, the Knowing One tasted the liquid and found it delicious, resembling water sweetened with honey, or the eau sucrée beloved of Frenchmen. He hesitated no longer, drank off the delightful draught, smacked his lips and drained another flower-cup of its nectar.

Having found so much, Te Matanga told himself that more should be got from so accommodating a plant and, sure enough, he discovered an edible gum in the roots and leaves. What wonder that, with a winter outfit in view, his thirst quenched and his hunger stayed, clever Te Matanga should assume a few excusable airs when telling his joyous news.

Thus, that Providence which they had not yet learned to know, gave to the Maori food, drink and clothing, all within the compass of one specimen of God's marvellous handiwork.

The plant which Te Matanga found is not related to the true flax, though it serves every purpose to which the other is put. The Pakeha speedily recognised its virtues; in 1906 twenty-eight thousand tons of the fibre were exported from New Zealand.

Great ingenuity was displayed by the Maori in the manipulation of the fibre and its manufacture into many useful articles, from the little baskets in which food was served, and which were never used twice, to the magnificent robe, or "mat," known as the kaitaka, which occupied nearly a year in the making. This was peculiarly the costume of people of consideration, and the gift of one was regarded as a mark of high favour.

Among the many varieties of flax mats, the pureki had an interest all its own, for the makers managed to render it rain-proof, so that it was in a sense the prototype of our mackintosh. One might also say that it was the Maori substitute for khaki; for a native, wrapped in his pureki and squatting upon a barren hillside, was scarcely distinguishable from the boulders surrounding him.

Te Matanga went to work again and experimented with the berries of the tutu or Coronaria, extracting thence a beverage as grateful as that which he had quaffed from the chalice of the flax-flowers. Yet the berries, eaten whole, are poisonous.

The beverages which Te Matanga gave to his countrymen were neither noxious nor degrading. It was the civilised Christian who introduced to the pagan savage that "enemy which steals away men's brains." Left to themselves, the Maori showed no inclination towards intoxicating liquors. Even in later days they proved remarkably temperate, their barter with the Pakeha rarely including a supply of what they characteristically designated "stink-water." They did not even brew the highly stimulating yaqona, so popular with the South Sea Islanders; which is remarkable, since the plant (Piper methysticum) grows wild in New Zealand.

Our wise man also taught his compatriots the value of the edible fern, Pteris esculenta, whose bright-green fronds waved ten feet or more above the ground. The underground stem was cut into plugs and matured, and, this done, was eaten plain, or cakes were baked of the flour beaten out of it.

It was not ordained that the Maori should subsist entirely upon a vegetable diet. Te Matanga searched for something more stimulating and readily found it. He showed his people fat eels in creek and river, while from the sea they drew Mango, the shark, Tawatawa, the mackerel, Hapuku, the cod (not that of northern waters) and a hundred other varieties of fish, which they cooked or dried or smoked. It was sometimes their good fortune to slay great Ikamoana, the whale, and Kekeno, the seal, both of which they ate with relish; while for sauce, Tio, the oyster, sat upon the rocks and gaped while they scooped him from his shell.

The dwellers inland had eels and the delicious little green, whitebait-like Inanga of the lakes to eat with their fern-root and kumara. And well for them it was so; for, with the exception of Pekapeka, the bat, who swept by them in eerie flight when the long-lingering day grew pale about them, not a mammal roamed the plains or haunted the deep woods. Kuri, the dog, and Maungarua, the rat, they also ate; for Maungarua[29] multiplied exceedingly, while Kuri took to the bush and ran wild.

Ngara,[30] the lizard, frisked in the sunshine; but no son of Maui looked upon him if it could be avoided; for Ngara were dread beasts, in whose bodies the spirits of the dead found an abiding-place. Even such stalwarts as Ngahue and Te Turi would blanch at sight of any of that terrible race. Moreover, Taniwha,[31] the great, the horrible, whom to mention was unsafe, and to set eyes upon was to perish, was not he, too, a lizard? Nay; close the eyes and mutter a karakia[32] should Ngara cross your path.

How blessed the Maori were in the absence of other reptiles they did not learn till much later. Australia abounds in snakes, from the huge carpet-snake, cousin to the boa, to the "deaf-adder," whose bite is almost certainly fatal; but in New Zealand, as in Ireland, not even a toad is to be found wherewith to point the sweetness of the "uses of adversity."

The clever men now sought food among the birds, and found on land pigeons, plovers, rails, ducks, quails and parrots innumerable. Of these last, one, the kakapo, was almost as big as a fowl, like which it ran about the ground, feeding; for its wings were short and feeble, and it rarely used them except to fly from a bough to the earth and up again. Conscious of its weakness, it chose the late twilight or the night for its rambles, hiding away during the day. Like so many of the interesting birds of New Zealand, it is now nearly extinct.

Among sea-birds, many of which were eaten, particular choice was made of Titi,[33] the Mutton-bird. These birds flew inland at night, and the Maori, anticipating their coming, would choose a likely spot upon the verge of a cliff and build a row of fires. Behind these they lurked, armed with sticks and, as the birds, attracted by the light, flew past, they were knocked over in immense numbers. As the flesh was oily, they were preserved in their own fat, packed in baskets of seaweed and stored until winter, when they formed a staple and highly flavoured dish. The inland tribes made annual pilgrimages to the coast for the purpose of procuring a supply of mutton-birds.

Of all the birds which the Maori found on their arrival the most singular were those which are either extinct or fast becoming so. These were the Struthidae, or wingless birds,—such as the ostrich, the rhea, and the emu,—which were represented in New Zealand by the gigantic moa[34] and the kiwi.[35]

The moa was long ago exterminated by the Maori, who saw in its huge bulk magnificent prospect of a feast of meat. All that is left of it to-day are bones in various museums, one or two complete skeletons, and a few immense eggs.

There were several species of this bird, the largest of them from twelve to fourteen feet in height; but, huge as they were, they appear to have possessed little power of self-defence, though a kick from one of their enormous legs and long-clawed feet would have killed a man. But, like all wingless birds, they were shy and timid, never coming to a knowledge of their strength; so they fell before a weaker animal, but one of infinitely greater ingenuity.

The bones of birds are filled with air, for the sake of warmth and lightness; but the leg bones of the moa, like those of a beast, and unlike those of any known bird, were filled with marrow.

Diminutive in size, and in appearance even more extraordinary than its cousin, the moa, is the kiwi, as the Maori named the apteryx from its peculiar cry. Several species were plentiful in the Islands, but some of them have become extinct, and the rest are fast disappearing. The Maori attract the bird by imitating its call and, as it is rather stupid, it is easily caught and killed.

The kiwi was served up at table, as were most things in New Zealand which walked or swam or flew; but what gave it surpassing value in Maori eyes was its plumage of short, silky feathers, whose beauty they were quick to recognise, and which they employed in fashioning one of the rarest and most ornamental of their mats (kahu-kiwi).

There was little difficulty about the erection of houses and forts, the building of canoes, the shaping of spears and clubs. Given the ability to construct, there was material in plenty. Throughout the land spread magnificent forests, whose plumed tops waved above trunks uprearing one hundred feet, or more, some of them of an age well-nigh incredible. Few and short appeared the years of man beside the life of the giant kauri[36] which for close upon four thousand years had towered there, stately emperors in a company of kings.[37] How brief the age of their forest court compared with their own—the totara[38] with its eight hundred years of life, the rimu[39] with its six hundred, the matai[40] with its four hundred. What are they beside the dominant kauri? Mortals, looking up to an immortal.

Crowded in those forests primeval were trees bearing wood with capacity for every class of work to which man could put his hand. Trees with wood of iron hardness; trees with wood so soft that it fell away in silky flakes at the touch of the knife; trees with wood of medium consistence, durable as stone; trees whose wood under the hands of the artist-polisher took on a beauty indescribable; trees whose bark was rich in all that the tanner needs; trees which yielded invaluable resin and turpentine; trees which gave up no less valuable tar and pitch; trees which could be reduced to wood-pulp for the making of paper when the time for that should come: all these there were, and more.

So the Maori set to work, building houses and forts, and hewing out canoes. For the last, those who dwelt in the north chose the great trunks of the kauri, often forty feet in circumference, and of such diameter that a tall man with outspread arms could not stretch from rim to rim of the cross section. In the south they used the totara, likewise a pine, and great, but a pigmy beside the imperial kauri.

While the builders built, explorers traced the swiftly flowing rivers from source to sea, or gazed with awe at the snow-capped peaks and glimmering glaciers. Others moved northwards towards those giant mountains from whose cones poured tall pillars of smoke, threatening shadows of dire events to come, or stood upon the shore of a lake, marvelling to find the water hot instead of cold.

Imagine one, agape with curiosity, holding in his hand a dead kuri, designed for dinner. Suddenly, with hiss and roar, a column of water shoots hundreds of feet into the air, almost at his elbow. With a cry of terror he starts back, losing his grip of the dog, which drops into an adjacent pool. Too much afraid to run, our Maori stands trembling, and the spouting column presently falls back into the bowels of the earth. Marvelling, he gropes in the pool for his dinner, and with another yell withdraws his hand and arm, badly scalded. But he has got his dog and, to his amazement, it is cooked to perfection.

Small wonder if the Maori muttered a karakia, deeming the miracle the work of the demon of the lake. But their fear departed as time went on, and the hot springs and lakes became health-resorts, where they bathed and strove to be rid of the pains and aches their flesh was heir to. Those who dwelt within reach of this marvellous region soon became familiar with its phenomena, and made full use of the natural sanatorium and kitchen.

Other immigrants gathered for ornament the precious greenstone from the Middle Island, with blocks of jade and serpentine; the snow-white breast of the albatross; the wings of birds; the tail plumes of the infrequent huia;[41] the cruel teeth of the shark. They found another use for the greenstone, fashioning it with infinite toil into war-clubs, or mere, too valuable to be used in the shock of battle without safeguard against possible loss. So a hole was drilled through the handle, and a loop of flax passed through, by which the club was secured to the wrist.

How in the world could they pierce that defiant mineral—they, who had neither iron nor diamonds with which to drill a hole? Their method was as ingenious as it was simple. They took a sharp-pointed stick of hard wood and half-way up secured two stones, which acted after the manner of a flywheel. Above the stones two pieces of string were attached, and these, alternately pulled, imparted a rotatory movement to the stick, whose sharpened point at length pierced the sullen stone.

Their travels over, the pioneers returned, to be welcomed with tears of joy, while prayers were chanted and cherished ornaments offered to the gods in thanksgiving for their safe home-coming. They neither embraced nor kissed; nor did they shake hands after the European fashion. They saluted one another in a manner all their own. Bending forward, they pressed their noses together, sniffing strongly the while; and this act of friendly greeting they called the hongi—the verb hongi signifying "to smell."

One drawback to residence in these fortunate islands was the scarcity of animal food—of red meat there was none, save when a dog was slain for the pot. Still, there was food enough—vegetables and fruit, birds and fish, so that starvation was not a common fate, except a man were lost in the dense bush, where never sight or sound of life was seen or heard.

A real evil was the tendency of the earth to tremble, shake and gape, sometimes overthrowing the evidence of years of toil on the part of man, and occasionally slapping Nature herself in the face. In other words, a large part of New Zealand being within the "earthquake zone," the country is convulsed from time to time by shocks of greater or less severity. Since the arrival of the Pakeha there have been severe disturbances, and one or two heavy shocks have occurred, greatly disfiguring the beautiful face of the land.

In the North Island are many dormant craters, which have on occasion sprung into fierce activity, resulting in widespread devastation and some loss of life. The early Maori were fortunate in escaping eruptions of any magnitude, but the North Island, long before their arrival, must have been in a state of intense unrest. The hot springs and lakes, the geysers of Rotomahana and Rotorua, the more than boiling mud among the smouldering hills, the fiercely smoking cones of giant Tongariro, are so many evidences of that terrible time of earth-pang and convulsion, of belching out of smoke and flame and rended rocks, with vomitings of broad rivers of molten lava, which flowed over the land, effacing everything in their course.

This was the land to which the Maori came; a land of "mountain, lake, and stream," which, could it have remained as the Children of Maui found it, must have endured "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever." But the blind forces of Nature and the needs of the white population have done much to alter the face of the country, and have shorn it of some of that loveliness which once was almost universal, but of which much—very much still remains.

If New Zealand is now so surpassingly beautiful, what must it not have been before thousands of acres of noble forest fell before axe and flame; before the mountain, clad from base to summit in primeval growth, stood bare and grey and grim, pierced with a thousand unsightly wounds, deep in which man bends his back and delves for mineral wealth; before the valleys, radiant with the beauty of fern and flower, were trodden into mud by the marching feet of the "army of occupation"; before the rivers, racing towards the shining sea, tumbling merrily among rapids, glissading recklessly over the falls, were chained to the log of commerce, their banks shorn of the fringing green to make way for the houses of the moderns, their pure and limpid waters polluted by the refuse of factories and the filth of towns? If those who have seen it now and love its loveliness could but have seen Maoriland as it was then! There is no help for it. It is inevitable that, when Man steps in, Nature must in large measure lose her sceptre and resign her sway.

Such was the land to which the Maori came—a land with no extremes of heat or cold, though it sometimes showed a little ill-humour and shook down a house or two; a land which gave them most that they could desire and all they really needed, if it denied them overmuch strong animal food; a land in which, but for their turbulent passions and their lust for war, they might have lived out their lives in peace and comfort and almost unqualified happiness; a land of unsurpassed magnificence, of radiant beauty, of unbounded fertility.

FOOTNOTES:

[26] Designated South Island in New Zealand Official Year-Book for 1907.

[27] Te Matanga never had existence outside these pages. He typifies those energetic men, found in every nation, who devote themselves to the service of their fellows. The discoveries attributed to Te Matanga were the outcome of the application of many minds to various problems, as the Maori spread over the country and became acquainted with its capacity and products.

[28] Phormium tenax, the so-called New Zealand flax, flourishes in swampy ground. In appearance it is a collection of broad, stiff, upstanding leaves, tough enough to stop a bullet, dense enough to conceal a man. Many a fugitive has escaped by dodging from the heart of one bush into that of another. Both of the varieties come to highest perfection in the north.

[29] The grey rat, which accompanied the Pakeha, exterminated the native rat, and was never eaten by the Maori. Curiously enough, during the wars, the Maori were accustomed to speak of the "Pakeha Rat" just as in the days of the first George, Englishmen spoke of the "Hanoverian Rat," and with the same significance.

[30] Not any particular species of lizard, but a generic term for the whole family.

[31] A mythical monster, presumed to have had the shape of a saurian, inhabited the sea and, according to some, the depths of vast forests. The powers of this demon for ill were boundless, and it was regarded with the deepest awe by every Maori.

[32] A charm.

[33] Oestrelata neglecta (Schlegel's Petrel).

[34] Dinornis moa.

[35] Apteryx.

[36] Dammara australis, the kauri pine.

[37] This is no exaggeration.

[38] A pine.

[39] Red pine.

[40] Black pine.

[41] Heteralocha acutirostris.

[CHAPTER IV]

THE GROWTH OF THE RACE

The various Maori tribes were not bound by any common tie save that of race, nor did they own allegiance to a chief chosen by all to rule over the whole nation. Their laws and customs were for the most part similar; but cohesion between them gradually dissolved as each tribe realised its ability to stand alone.

The tribes (iwi) took origin in the family,[42] and were subdivided into sub-tribes (hapu), and, if the latter were large, into family groups, also termed hapu. Every division had its acknowledged chief, and the ariki, or chief of the highest class, who by right of birth stood at the head of the whole, was styled the Paramount Chief.

Powerful though such a man was, his actions did not go unchecked; for that ancient principle, noblesse oblige, was strongly implanted in Maori of rank. For a chief to be convicted of lying, of cowardice, of tyranny was black disgrace, and were these vices proved against a lord paramount or the head of a sub-tribe or hapu, action was at once taken. The offender was not deposed, but another man of rank quietly took his place for all practical purposes, save one.

A second check upon the chiefs was that mighty power which has been styled "the voice of God," namely, the voice of the people. General assemblies were from time to time convened, at which every man, and woman too, had the right to express opinions.[43] So, if only to escape the shame of exposure, the chiefs strove to conform to the established code of honour; but it is fair to say that they seem to have been animated by higher motives than concern for public opinion.

Each tribe was thus practically a republic, governed by a perpetual President, whose dignity and office were hereditary, but who was obeyed by the people only so long as he continued to deserve their allegiance.

The ariki was hereditary chief priest as well as chief citizen, and was a man apart. His back was not bent, nor his hands gnarled with toil, his person was inviolable, his sanctity great, and he was all in all to his people. He helped and consoled them in time of trouble, read their fate in the stars, their future in a host of natural objects, and interpreted their dreams. On one day he saw visions and prophesied; on the next he was busy with the work of a Lord Lyon or Garter King-of-Arms, instructing the Master of the Moko on behalf of some lusty warrior desirous of commemorating his own doughty deeds;[44] while he selected on a third a name for an infant, or presided at the obsequies of some notable chief or rangatira.

In Maori mythology Rangi, Heaven, and Papa, Earth, long ago dwelt in happiness with their six children, but the brothers, with the exception of the god of winds and storms, rebelled against their parents, and cruelly dragged them apart.

Yet their love remains unshaken, and Earth's sighs of longing, draped in clinging mist, every day ascend to Heaven; while Heaven's tears, a rain of refreshing dew, fall all night long upon Earth's sorrowful breast.

Rangi and Papa were in part avenged. Their dutiful son, Tawhiri-ma-tea, rushed against the rebels, thunder rolling, lightning flashing, hailstones rattling and hurricanes raging in his van. Scared by this stupendous manifestation of wrathful force, Tangaroa hurled himself into the sea, Rongomatane and Haumiatikitiki buried themselves under the earth they had insulted, and Tane Mahuta called upon his forests to cover him. Only Tumatauenga, father of men and god of war, stood firm, scowling defiance at his brother of the storm.

So has it been ever since, and Tawhiri-ma-tea, unable to overthrow his brother, continues to take a bitter vengeance upon the war-god's children. Men, whom he pursues on sea and land with tempest and tornado, ever seeking to slay and make an end.

Under the collective name of Atua, the above were the principal gods of the Maori. Every tribe possessed an honoured tohunga-whakairo, or woodcarver; but the quaint finial figures upon the gables of their houses were not adored as gods, the Children of Maui never having been idolaters.

The Maori looked forward to a future existence wherein their state and condition would remain very much as they had been in this world. A slave in life continued a slave after death, and, when a great chief died, several of his slaves were slain, that he might not go unattended among his fellow shades.

The abodes of the departed were Rangi, occupied on different planes by gods and men of heroic type, and Reinga, under the sea at the extreme north of the North Island, where dwelt only the spirits of men.

There was no question of reward or punishment. The dead simply continued to exist in spirit form, occasionally revisiting the scenes of their former life. These visitors preferably occupied the bodies of lizards, which explains the abhorrence in which these reptiles were held by the Maori, who, though they revered and prayed to their ancestors, were terribly afraid of meeting their pale ghosts, or transmigrated souls.

The tohunga, or sorcerers, exercised unbounded influence over the minds of the Maori. Their duties on occasion coincided with those of the ariki, and their position, too, was hereditary; but, while men revered, and often loved their chief, their respect for the tohunga was tinctured with fear and, not seldom, with hate. The chief could lay tapu upon a man, which was bad enough; but the tohunga could bewitch him outright, condemning the poor wretch to loss of worldly gear, aches and pains, and even to death itself. The ariki thought it no shame to go in dread of the tohunga, while, let the tutua, or common fellow, be once convinced that the malign eye of the wizard had bewitched him, and he not infrequently laid him down and died.

There did not exist among the Maori a middle class as we understand the term. Every Maori whose birth placed him in a position between the aristocracy and the tutua class was a warrior by choice. Among such were men of property, poets, philosophers, literary men who did not write, but told their stories to eager audiences—in a word, gentlemen of leisure until the need for fighting arose. In the infrequent intervals of peace these, if you will, represented the middle class; but, once "let slip the dogs of war," and they cried "havoc" with the best of them. The Maori warrior, or toa, unlike the Japanese Samurai, did not live for war alone, but was ever ready when it came.

When speaking of the conduct and character of the high chiefs, it was mentioned that they were rarely deposed. The reason why, may be expressed in one word—land. Bad or good, the chief had a fuller knowledge with regard to land than any other person concerned.

It is necessary clearly to comprehend what follows; for the misunderstandings which arose between the Maori and the colonists over the tenure of land had much to do with the origin of the long strife between them.

When the canoes from Hawaiki had discharged their passengers at the various spots selected by the chiefs in command, each one of the latter took possession of a district which became his property, and the property of all his followers, every free male and female among them being part proprietor. In other words, the land was common to the tribe.

In consequence of this community of ownership every additional person born claimed ownership by right of descent. As time went on only the few could have told exactly what their rights were; but every Maori was assured that the land belonged to him and that it could not be disposed of without his sanction.

The chiefs share was the largest, because of his direct descent from the chief who originally took possession of the district; but even in this distinguished instance the voice of the people made itself heard, and the chief himself could not part absolutely with the land unless by common consent. The land might be leased to strangers, but the only way in which the owners could be dispossessed was by conquest.

As with chiefs, so with humbler folk. The land held by a family was not theirs to dispose of without the consent of the tribe. A family of one tribe might lease to a family of another tribe; or an entire tribe might transfer its holding; but the land was not given away for ever, and could be reclaimed at a future date.

The colonists could never understand this principle; nor could the Maori comprehend that land, once exchanged for money or goods, had for ever passed away from them. Endless difficulties arose with the Pakeha, because every descendant of the original possessor of land claimed a share of the property and of the price. It is indubitable that this conflict of the laws of one race with the law of another caused much of the bitter strife which arose later.

The position of the chief thus rendered him the person of most importance with regard to land. In his family were kept records, such as they were; in his memory were stored facts concerning the district, which he had received from his father, who, in his day, had received them from his father.

Who, then, so well fitted to decide an argument, adjust disputes, settle the right and wrong of any questions concerning land? The deposition of such a man might have been followed by his withdrawal from the hapu, perhaps from the tribe itself, an irreparable loss to those who relied upon him for correct information respecting their landed property.

The origin of tapu, that tremendous engine of power, that law above the law, is lost in obscurity, so very ancient is the custom, and all that we know about its curious working is derived from observations made in the South Sea Islands, where alone it is now found in anything like its old power.

The law of tapu served as a fairly efficient, if vexatious, promoter of law and order. Broadly stated, tapu stood for two principles—protection and punishment, and the person or thing affected by it was a person or thing apart, not even to be touched under pains and penalties the most severe.

Chiefs were permanently tapu, as it was necessary that their exalted state should be clearly recognisable; so they were placed upon a pinnacle of isolation which extended to their property as well as to themselves.

Food of many kinds was permanently tapu; for animal food was always scarce, and choice vegetables could be cultivated only after a tough struggle with the land. Therefore, since one tribe frequently infringed the rights of another it became necessary to render the common stock of provisions secure against depredators from within. Ordinary food which happened to come in contact with anything tapu, was instantly thrown away, lest by touching or eating it some innocent person should himself become tapu.

Swift retribution fell on him who with greed in his heart stole, or even touched with itching fingers, the succulent kumara, if the mark of tapu were upon them. Such a fellow was stripped of his possessions, cast out, perhaps, of the tribe, or, for the worst offence of all, had his brains deftly scattered by order of his chief.

The plight of the poor wretch who touched the dead, accidentally or in the way of business, was dismal in the extreme. For the dead were tapu in an extraordinary degree, and who touched a corpse became as a leper, shunned by all, lest they, too, should be tainted. Among other disabilities, such an one must not touch food with his hands. Did he so, the food became tapu, and was thrown away from the very jaws of the hungry one, who was consequently obliged to put his mouth to the platter and eat like a dog, or else submit to be fed with a very long spoon by some friend more sympathetic, or less timid than the majority.

This principle of noli me tangere was also applied temporarily. Trees from which canoes could be made were tapu, while stretches of coast abounding in shell-fish, the haunts of sea-birds and rich fishing-grounds were preserved for the common good. Many customs, related to tapu, were followed in time of war by the warriors, while non-combatants by prayer, fasting, and the practice of severe austerities, proved how closely the idea of tapu was allied with that of religion.

Tapu was simply imposed, but its removal was a serious business. Prayers were chanted, water freely sprinkled over the person or thing to be released, and the ovens were busy cooking food during the whole time of the proceedings. Here it seems possible to trace a connection between tapu and parts of the Jewish ceremonial law. As sacrifices and burnt-offerings were required before an unclean Jew could be pronounced clean, so among the Maori it was impossible to lift tapu without the simultaneous cooking of food. How, if ever, the Jews influenced the Malays, Polynesians, and Maori, antiquaries may be able some day to determine.

When the Pakeha first came to New Zealand, they often ignorantly violated tapu, and how much they suffered in consequence depended upon the character and temper of the community. The Maori were not ungenerous, and in cases of inadvertence frequently made allowances and spared accordingly. On the other hand, two great navigators, Captain Cook and Marion du Fresne, were slain because of their trespass on ground which was tapu, and sacred in the eyes of the South Sea Islanders.

Tapa—to command—was in effect the law of might against right, that

Good old rule, the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.

In practice it consisted in commanding, or, as we might say, "commandeering" anything one fancied to one's own use.

Indicating the desired object, the claimant would observe, "That club"—or tree, or canoe, or whatever it happened to be, "is tapa to me. It is my skull," or "my eye," or "my backbone. I command it to myself."

The article thus denominated was held to belong to the claimant, since no one could justly urge that a man's skull, eye or backbone was not his own. Yet, if the practice were abused, an appeal could be made, and a chief had power to undo the tapa and order restitution of the property claimed. After a battle, disputes frequently arose between those who claimed priority in having applied the tapa to articles in possession of a foe whom they had then still to vanquish.

This was the law of muru, which the Maori accepted philosophically enough, because, though vexatious, it fell with equal severity upon all.

If a man committed an offence against the community, he was punished by the community, his fellow-tribesmen adjusting the fine and collecting it with a generous appreciation of their individual requirements.

For example, if one accidentally killed another, he was punished for depriving the community of a useful member. If a man carelessly damaged public property, he was punished by the loss of his own. Even if the damage done merely affected another private person, compensation was assessed by means of muru, and, as no money circulated in those days, the fine was exacted in goods.

The victim of his own indiscretion, sighing at the crookedness of fate, always made provision against the day of reckoning and, having politely inquired on what day muru was to be enforced, issued instructions to the ladies of his family to prepare the best feast possible in the time at their command.

On the appointed day the avengers arrived, yelling "Murua! Murua!" An idea of the justice of what followed may be gathered when it is stated that muru means "plunder."

Each member of the party is armed, and so is the rueful sinner who awaits developments with sensations much resembling those of the Jew in presence of King John and his rough-and-ready dentists.

A lull occurs in the yelling, and the dolorous knight inquires ingenuously, "What is this, O my friends? Why do you brandish spear and club as though to point the road to Reinga?"

"You killed my brother!" a tall fellow shouts in return. "Now I am going to kill you. Step forward at once to be killed!"

With horrid grimaces the bereaved gentleman capers before the doomed one, who divests himself of his mat, flourishes his spear, and replies with great fervour, "Since you so greatly desire to be made mince-meat of, you shall not be disappointed. I am for you!"

With that the two fall upon one another with frightful ferocity—or so it seems. Blows are dealt and thrusts exchanged amid the continuous howling of the champion's bodyguard, who, singularly enough, make no offer to rush his antagonist.

Why not? Because it is point of honour that no great harm is to be done. A gentleman is to receive punishment at the hands of his peers, but life must be left him, though almost everything which makes it worth the living is to be snatched from him. So, after a few bruises and scratches have been given and taken, the mimic combat ceases.

There is a short pause while the champion recovers his breath. Then he shouts at the top of his voice, "Murua! Murua!" which, freely translated, means "Loot! Loot!"—advice which is promptly followed.

As the sack proceeds the principals chat cheerfully, the plundered taking no notice whatever of the plunderers; for to betray the disgust he feels would be the height of ill-breeding.

At last, when every article which their unwilling host has thought it injudicious to conceal has been secured, the "collectors" reappear, laughing and eagerly expectant of an invitation to dinner.

It comes. The stricken gentleman courteously expresses his delight at this "unexpected" visit. Had he but known earlier he would have made adequate preparation. As it is—he waves his hand in the direction of the feast—there it is; and he bids his "dear friends" fall to.

Gorged and happy, the myrmidons of this queer law depart by and by, having carried out the muru, and left behind them a sorrowful gentleman, stripped of worldly gear. However, the unfortunate has the consoling knowledge that he has comported himself under trying circumstances as a man of breeding should, and also that, when opportunity shall arise, he will be entitled to go and do unto others as they have just done unto him.

FOOTNOTES:

[42] Shown by the frequency of the prefix Ngati, "children of." Thus, Ngati-Porou, Ngati-Awa, etc.

[43] New Zealand was one of the first countries—if not the first—to admit women to the franchise and to represent their fellow-citizens in municipal affairs. The first instance of a woman having been elected "mayor" occurred in New Zealand, where, perhaps, the spirit of some old-time Maori is awake and influencing his Pakeha successors.

[44] The Maori, not content with ordinary tattooing, cut and carved intricate designs upon brow and cheek and chin (sometimes also on the hips), thus making it easy for all to read their personal history and the record of their deeds of derring-do. The absence of such scars indicated extreme youth, or a lack of courage exceedingly rare among the men of the race. Each line had its own significance; and a celebrated chief who visited England early in the nineteenth century, directed the artist who painted his portrait to "be sure to copy accurately every single mark" upon his face.

[CHAPTER V]

THE LIFE OF EVERY DAY

The Maori of old had two habitations—the kainga, or village, wherein they dwelt in "piping time of peace," and the pa, or fortress, in which they shut themselves up when harassed by war's alarms. Fire-eaters though they were, they had their moons of peace, during which they accomplished some astonishing results, considering their ignorance of iron, and that their tools were fashioned out of hard wood and yet harder stone. With incredible patience they ground and rubbed and sand-polished, until from lumps of greenstone, jasper, or granite they produced bevelled edge and rounded back. The head was drilled and fitted to a hardwood handle, and there was axe or adze. Imagine the labour of it, you who put down a piece of money and receive the perfected tool of iron!

Axe and adze were blunt enough; yet with them the Maori hewed through the mighty bole of the kauri-pine; and it was with tools of stone that they chopped and gouged and scooped, until there lay before them the shell of a canoe, eighty feet in length, and capable of holding close upon a hundred men.

To work again with knife and awl and chisel, each of stone, and presently the stern-post, ornately carved, rises in an elegant curve to a height of fifteen feet. The prow, too, rises in a curve, but not so high, and is adorned by a huge, grinning head, correctly tattooed, with goggle eyes and defiantly protruded tongue.

Paddles are shaped from the tough wood of the ti-tree, one for each of the rowers, who kneel in equal numbers on each side, facing the prow, while the steersman wields an oar nine feet in length.

The canoe is finished—begun, wrought at and completed with never an iron tool, with not one iron bolt to stay or strengthen. Yet it is beautiful and strong and serviceable, and will skim the stormiest sea as safely as would a gull.

The whare was often rendered attractive on the outside by elaborate carving, and quaint by the grotesque figures surmounting the gables. It was within only a wide, low room, with roof of raupo-thatch[45] and eaves within three feet of the ground. A stone-lined hole served as a fireplace, the floor was strewn with fern upon which were thrown the sleeping-mats, and a sliding panel formed a door, which was blocked when privacy or warmth was desired. Furniture there was none; but this mattered little, since the house was rarely used save as a dormitory, or a shelter during cold or wet weather.

Within the village a piece of ground was set apart for the marae, or public square, whither folk repaired for gossip or recreation when the work of the day was done. Without the enclosure were home fields of kumara and taro, where the women laboured as many women labour in the potato and turnip-fields in Scotland.

The heavy tasks as a rule fell to the men, and were undertaken cheerfully enough, though the Maori became less careful in this respect after years of intercourse with the Pakeha. To the men also belonged the duty of supplying the commissariat and, while some hunted or fished, others cleared the forest trails, upon which the undergrowth reproduced itself with extraordinary rapidity. The question of animal food was always a vital one in the days before the poaka, or pig, rioted through the bush, and there were many days on which the Maori were forced to content themselves with fern-root and kanini berries for the two meals in which they daily indulged.

Though they had neither books nor writings upon parchment, stone or papyrus, the Maori were not without a literature of their own. Great deeds of heroic ancestors, notable events of the past were immortalised in song and story, and handed down from generation to generation. On summer nights an eager audience thronged the marae, listening, rapt, to some "divine-voiced singer," or to some other, who told with every trick and charm of the finished orator the story of "the brave days of old," when Ngahue fought in far Hawaiki, or sailed the sea with Te Turi to find the land of Maui.

Always decorous, the listeners applauded discreetly, and chewed incessantly the hardened juice of the sow-thistle, the precious gum of the kauri, or the mimiha, bitumen from the under-sea springs of the west. None of these was harmful like the opium of the Chinaman or the kava of the Polynesian. The Maori chewed his gum much as the fair American chews hers, or as the youthful Scot surreptitiously sucks his peppermint during the Sunday sermon in the kirk.

As night fell quiet reigned for a time, for night is the council-time of the Maori. Encircled by pineknot torches, chiefs and rangatira sat together, gravely discussing the common weal, or planning great schemes of attack or defence. One after another, each stern-visaged councillor arose, and with dignified gesture and speech rich in metaphor expressed his views, his fellows hearkening with respectful attention, expecting, and receiving, the same when their own turn came to speak. So the discussion went on until the council broke up and the senators dispersed, stalking through the double row of armed guards who, themselves out of earshot, had stood like bronze statues throughout the deliberations.

When the need for quiet had passed, the warriors gathered together and fought their battles o'er again, while those more peacefully inclined applauded the efforts of a flautist and a trumpeter, whose instruments were limited to five and two notes respectively.

Careless youth sat here and there, asking and guessing riddles or playing that most ancient game, familiar alike to the English child and the aboriginal of Australia, "cat's cradle." Youngsters stalked upon stilts, played at "knuckle-bones," or gambled at "odd or even," and, in strong contrast, a group of philosophers discussed abstruse questions with a keenness and cleverness which amply proved the capacity of the Maori brain. Some, too, there were who wandered off, as young folks will, youth and maid together, to whisper of matters unconcerned with logic or philosophy.

The fires burnt low, the torches sputtered towards extinction, the various groups dissolved and, as a last good-night, the warriors raised their voices in a swelling chant, and from a thousand throats the chorus of triumph or defiance rose and rolled from hill to distant hill. A few short moments later the village was hushed and still, only the vigilant sentries giving evidence of the life which slumbered within its crowded whare.

So the Maori rose and toiled and played and fought, until at last came the time, inevitable for all, when must "the silver cord be loosed and the golden bowl be broken," and potent chief, in common with meanest slave, yield up his life to God who gave it.

No tangi was raised for the slave; but how different when the chief set his face to the north and walked with slow and solemn step towards the gates of Reinga. Even as their muffled clang resounded and the breath went out of the chieftain's body, the crowd of mourners who had till then been repeating with fervour the "last words" of the dying man, burst into noisy lamentations, many of the women gashing their arms and breasts. In some instances slaves were immediately slain, so that the dead man might not plunge alone into the waters of Reinga, or go unattended in the next world.

The dead body was exorcised by the priests, dressed in its best, and allowed to sit in state. The dried heads and skulls of ancestors grinned from their pedestals at the latest addition to their ranks, who, with face painted, head befeathered, his costly ornaments upon him, his clubs and spears set ready to his hand, stared back at them with unseeing eyes, a lifelike figure enough among those musty relics of the long-ago dead.

The pihe, or dirge, was sung, the choir standing before the body, and days went by, during which the long procession of relatives, friends, subjects and delegates from other tribes paid their respects to the mighty dead, grasping his cold hand, talking to him as though he were alive, speaking panegyrics and chanting laments, often of singular beauty, in his honour.

Then followed the last act but one in the drama of death. "No useless coffin enclosed the breast" of the dead man, whose body, wrapped in flax mats, was either buried beneath the floor of his house, or hoisted to a high stage in the vicinity of the village and allowed to remain there for a twelvemonth.

The year of mourning over, the dead man's effects, his valuable greenstone clubs, other weapons and ornaments were distributed amongst his heirs.[46] A great feast was also arranged and, while the attention of all was occupied with eating and drinking, the priests stole away, bearing the remains with them, to hide them for ever in some solitary sepulchre within the scarred bosom of the hills, or deep in the green twilight of the silent forests.[47]

FOOTNOTES: