"Hongi's great idea was to make himself king of all New Zealand. In pursuance of this plan he armed his fighting men with fire-arms, and when they were drilled in the use of them, he started on a grand maraud all through the island. His notion of kingly power seems to have been to kill and eat, or enslave, every other tribe but his own. He certainly slew his thousands; and utterly depopulated the country wherever he went.

"The Ngatewhatua, whose country lay all round these waters, were the ancient foemen of the Ngapuhi; consequently, they were among the first to experience Hongi's new mode of civilizing. A great battle was fought up on the Wairoa, where two or three thousand of our fellows were discomfited by Hongi's army. The fugitives came down the rivers and rallied again. Every man of the Ngatewhatua who was able to bear arms, took up his mere and patu and spear, and went forth to fight for his fatherland. They fought the invading Ngapuhi all the way down from the Wairoa, as they marched through the forests between this and Mangapai.

"But badly-armed bravery had little chance against the superior equipment of Hongi's bands. Do all they might, the Ngatewhatua could not stay the progress of their foes. When, at last, the invaders drove them as near as the Maungaturoto bush, our tribe gave way in despair, and came back to this place. They had still one hope, one refuge, the hitherto unconquered Marahemo Pa.

"Into that pa, then, where we stood this morning, crowded the whole population of the district--men, women, and children. Here they would make their last despairing stand. The attack would come from the north-east, consequently this bay would be in rear; and in it the canoes were drawn up for flight, if that were necessary.

"Then Hongi and his ruthless army swept out of the woods, and rushed upon Marahemo. They surrounded the hill, and, advancing to the fortifications, poured in a hot fire. Frightful were the losses among the besieged; and little could they do in return, spears and stones being their only missiles. Still, they held out for three days, their crowded ranks gradually thinning and thinning.

"At last, at daybreak on the third day, Hongi delivered a grand a.s.sault.

The Ngapuhi came up in three columns on the eastern slope of the hill, where the princ.i.p.al gate of the pa was. The two outer flanks concentrated all their fire on the point, while the centre, headed by Hongi himself, wearing a helmet and breastplate that King George had given him, const.i.tuted the storming party.

"The struggle at the gate must have been terrific. At close quarters fire-arms were no longer of service, and the Ngatewhatua would be equal to their a.s.sailants. Both sides fought with all the fierce courage of their race. Tama says that the bodies of the slain lay in piles, and that their blood flowed in streams down the hill.

"Tuwhare was the name of the ariki or supreme chief of the Ngatewhatua; he was also a tohunga, or priest. A lion-like old man he seems to have been, from Tama's description. Seeing that all was lost, when the conquering Ngapuhi had forced their way into the pa, and were mercilessly slaughtering men, women, and children, he did the only thing left to be done. He took from its perch the palladium of the tribe, an heitiki ponamu, or greenstone image, and, summoning around him the remnant of his men, together with some of the women, they fled from the western side of the pa, hotly pursued by the victors.

"The fugitives came down through that little gully, here to the bay, intending to take to their boats, and escape down the river. Tama was among them, and he afterwards concealed himself in a tree, and, thus hidden, was a witness of the final scene; for a band of Hongi's men had come along the beach, and had captured the canoes beforehand, so that retreat was cut off.

"But a short time was there to consider what should now be done. The pursuing Ngapuhi were close at their heels. The sacred tiki was placed in the branches of a tree for safety. And as the yelling and elated victors came bounding down the gully, brave old Tuwhare and his remaining warriors, with mere in hand and war-cry ringing through the woods, hurled themselves against the foe. Overpowered by numbers, and by superiority of weapons, the grim fight was soon over, and the last of the Ngatewhatua were slain. But, beside their bodies, many a Ngapuhi corpse showed that the vanquished had died as warriors should.

"The Ngapuhi who had slain Tuwhare, cut off the dead chiefs head, and placing it in the nearest tree, rushed back towards Marahemo to summon Hongi. Now Hongi was brave as man could be, but, like all Maoris then, he was intensely superst.i.tious, and held all the Maori G.o.ds and devils in the very highest respect.

"Hongi and his princ.i.p.al warriors were led across the field of battle by the lucky slayer of the Ngatewhatua chief, in order that they might insult and taunt Tuwhare's head, as was their custom. When they were all a.s.sembled round the tree, with the bodies of the dead lying about where they had fallen--'There! that's the place, to the left yonder, where the koraka trees are thickest!'--the branches were drawn aside to expose the grim trophy of the conquered chief. There it was, sure enough, just where the victor had put it, fresh and gory, with its white locks and richly tattooed features. But, oh, horror of horrors! right above the head, with all its hideous fluttering adornments of feathers and ta.s.sels, was the horrible, grotesque, and grinning idol!

"Chance had led the slayer of Tuwhare to put his head into the self-same tree where the dead ariki had, a short time previously, disposed the tiki. There it now appeared, stuck in a fork, just where he had put it for safety. None of the Ngapuhi knew how it had got there, and to their superst.i.tious minds it seemed to have come by supernatural means. And this thing was tapu in the most deadly degree.

"The mighty and terrible Hongi trembled and shrieked when he saw the unlooked-for wonder. He and his men turned and ran out of the amphitheatre of the bay as fast as they could, shouting, 'Te tapu! te tapu! The G.o.ds have taken to themselves the bodies of the slain!'

"So they left this part of the battle-field, not daring to carry off the bodies as usual for a cannibal orgy. A long time afterwards, Tama, and certain priests of the almost exterminated Ngatewhatua tribe, ventured to return here. With much solemn karakia and propitiatory sacrifice, they tremblingly crept into the precincts of the bay. They placed the remains of their kindred in the forks of the trees, and hid the sacred tiki for ever from mortal eyes. Then they departed, and the aegis of a holy place invests for posterity Te Puke Tapu.

"It is a charnel-house if you like, under those trees there, but a very beautiful one as is evident. We ought to keep alive the memories that make the place romantic. It would be a pity if utilitarian axe and fire were to spoil the beauty of Te Puke Tapu. There is plenty of other good land to be had. No need for us to covet this, fertile as it is; no need to make a commonplace farm out of that picturesque old battle-ground.

May it long remain just as it is now--a lovely natural monument to ancient Maori valour, a quiet undisturbed resting-place for the warrior dead, the patriot chivalry of the Ngatewhatua!"

Such is our show-place and its tale.

CHAPTER X.

OUR NATIVE NEIGHBOURS.

A great friend of ours, and a near neighbour, is Tama-te-Whiti, the old Maori. He is not _the_ chief of the Ngatewhatua, but as he comes of the royal stock he is _a_ chief. He belongs to the caste styled tana, or chieftains, a degree above that of rangatira, or simple gentlemen-warriors. In the old feudal times--for the ancient Maori system may be so designated--Tama would have held a delegated authority over some portion of the tribe, just as a Norman baron did in the elder world.

Now the tribe is very small, having been almost exterminated by the Ngapuhi fifty years ago. Three or four families form the section over which Tama presides. But civilization and European colonization have abolished the old order of things, so that even a head chief's authority is now more nominal than real.

In his youth Tama was a warrior, having taken part in the battle which ended with the affair at Marahemo, as described in the previous chapter.

A fugitive from his own district, his hopes of one day becoming a lordly ruler over some large kainga of his own being shattered by defeat, he fell in with Samuel Marsden, and by that Apostle of New Zealand was converted to Christianity.

So now, in his old age, Tama is a worthy exponent of the new dispensation. Born to warfare, he is now an ordained deacon of the Anglican Church; instead of cannibalism, he has taken to thrifty farming; instead of fighting, he preaches among his countrymen; instead of leading a ferocious taua, he finds himself the venerated pastor of a little community of earnest Christians.

Tama's place is some seven or eight miles away, down the Arapaoa. He has a very comfortable little kainga, a fenced-in enclosure, wherein are raupo whares built in the best styles of Maori architecture, with little verandahs in front of them, and curiously carved doors and fronts.

Here reside Tama and his wife, and one or two others; while just across the river is a larger kainga, where live the remainder of Tama's flock.

Round about his whares is a plentiful clearing, whereon are to be seen pigs and poultry, a few cattle, and a horse or two. On a well-selected hill-side close by are his cultivations--some few acres of maize, potatoes, k.u.mera, melons, taro, fruit-trees, and so on, surrounded by a strong stake-fence. A few yards below the kainga is the beach, where a capital boat shows that Tama prefers Pakeha workmanship to the native article--a canoe that also lies near. Nets and other matters prove that he reaps a harvest in the water as well as on land.

A very "comfortable" man is our Maori friend, for he has a claim over many hundred acres of good land around, some of which has already been sold to the Pakeha. Much of this is heavily timbered with valuable kauri and puriri. Bushmen cut on his land to a small extent, and pay him a royalty of a pound per tree. We often say, jokingly, that the old fellow must have a tolerably well-filled stocking somewhere.

Tama is amazingly industrious. He and his wife together get through an immense amount of work. The produce of the farm is amply sufficient to provide them with all necessaries. More than that, the surplus produce probably pays for all the groceries, tools, and clothes required by the family. His seventy years weigh lightly on him. He is as strong and active as most men of forty, and is never idle. He fully understands the duty that devolves on him of setting an example to his flock, as well as of preaching to them.

Tama's ordinary costume is much the same as ours, except that he prefers to go barefooted. On Sundays and occasions of state he dons the black cloth and white choker of an orthodox clergyman; but even then he avoids boots. Only on very special occasions, such as when there is a grand gathering at the township, or on the rare occurrence of an English clergyman's visit, only then does Tama put on boots; even then he brings them in his hand to the door of the place of meeting, puts them on before entering, and takes them off with evident relief directly he feels free to go.

Tama is about five feet ten inches in height. He is broad and square, very muscular, and without an inch of fat on him. His body is long and his legs short; the usual Maori characteristic. His face bears the elaborate moku that denotes his rank, and is without hair. The hair of his head is grizzly; but his features, the shape of his head, and the expression of his eyes, bespeak an intelligence superior to that of many Europeans who come in contact with him.

Tama visits us very frequently, and often brings his wife with him. She is a pleasant, buxom body, with a contented smile always on her face.

Though not young, being probably between thirty and forty, she has not yet grown at all hag-like, as Maori women generally do. She dresses cleanly and nicely--cotton or chintz gowns being her usual wear--but she leans to an efflorescence of colour in her bonnet, and has a perfect pa.s.sion for brilliant tartan shawls. I think I once saw her at the Otamatea races in a blue silk dress. But, both she and her husband have discarded all the feathers and sh.e.l.ls and pebbles that are purely native adornments.

Astute and intelligent as Tama really is, it is, of course, to be expected that he cannot comprehend all the novelties of civilization.

His deportment is always admirable, and he would carry himself through a drawing-room without any sensible _gaucherie_. He would be calm, composed, and dignified among any surroundings, however strange to him; only his keen and roving eyes would betray his internal wonder. Like Maoris in general, he is critically observant of every little thing among his Pakeha friends, but, with true native courtesy, endeavours to hide from you that he is so. But the extraordinary mixture of grave intelligence and childish simplicity in him is perpetually leading to very quaint little incidents.

One day, when routing among the "personals" I had brought with me from England, I discovered at the bottom of my chest an umbrella. Now, in England, I suppose most people consider an umbrella as quite an indispensable article of attire, and even in colonial cities its use is by no means uncommon; but I need hardly say that in the bush such a thing is never seen.

I brought out my relic of other days, and displayed it to the boys in the shanty. It was received with great applause, and I was unmercifully chaffed. It pleases our community to regard all the comforts and luxuries of a more complete civilization as effeminacies; and it is the received theory among us that we live the purest and highest life, having turned our backs upon all the corrupting influences of an effete, old world.

There is among us a party, headed by O'Gaygun, who take the position of ultra-conservatives; the object of their conservatism being the keeping alive of all the most primitive usages of the bush. To them anything new is an insult; the introduction of imported comforts and appliances a horrible iniquity. It will be remembered how fierce was O'Gaygun's wrath on the occasion when forks and spoons were brought into the shanty. Now, his sublime indignation was roused to the utmost at the spectacle of such an outrageous incongruity as an umbrella, in the pure and holy atmosphere of our shanty. An umbrella! Did it not convey an instant recollection of all the worst emasculating tendencies from which we had come out? Why, it was almost as bad as that acme of horrors, a chimney-pot hat!

"Smash it! Burn it!" he shouted. "Mother av Moses! f'what nixt?"

However, it was eventually decided that I should give the umbrella to old Tama, it being a handsome one, with carved ivory handle, silver mounting and crest, etc. This would ensure the removal of the obnoxious invention from the shanty; and, moreover, so O'Gaygun declared, the vile thing would be an acceptable addition to a museum of Pakeha curiosities, which, he said, Tama was collecting.

The next time that Tama visited us I formally presented him with the umbrella, giving him the minutest instructions concerning the spreading and furling of it. He had taken a strong fancy to me; and was much pleased with the gift. His first inquiry was, naturally, what I expected to get out of him by such a splendid gift. Knowing that it would be futile to attempt to persuade him that I gave the thing freely, and without expecting any return, I said that, although the umbrella was worth a mere ponamu,[6] at least, yet that I should be satisfied if he would give me a kitful of taro in exchange.

This thoroughly jumped with the old man's humour. Not only did he shake hands with me, but he also accorded me the nose salutation. The rubbing of noses is now disused; and when a Maori confers it on a Pakeha it means an extra display of feeling, almost a making brotherhood. It was the highest honour old Tama could pay me.

I thought I had fully explained to the reverend gentleman the uses of an umbrella. I had over and over again hammered into him that it was meant to protect one from rain. But it appears that the idea failed to reach his mind.

When Tama left the shanty it looked threatening to rain, so I unfurled the umbrella, and placed it open in his hand. He stumped off proudly with it held above him. We watched him go down the clearing towards the river, where his boat was moored. Presently it came on to rain in earnest. Then Tama seemed to hesitate, it evidently occurring to him that something was wrong. In an undecided sort of way he inverted the umbrella, and held it handle upwards in front of him; but as the rain came thicker and faster, even this seemed unsatisfactory.

At last he stopped altogether, having apparently come to the conclusion that the wet would injure the umbrella. After a prolonged struggle, for the catch was a mystery to his unaccustomed fingers, he managed to close it. Then he took off his coat, laid it flat upon the ground, and placing the umbrella upon it, wrapped that up in the coat. Lastly, he cut some strips from a flax-bush close by, and carefully tied up the parcel. Then he put it under his arm, and marched off in his shirt-sleeves contentedly, evidently feeling that he had got the better of the pouring rain.

Tama keeps the umbrella stowed away in the recesses of his whare. He often tells me, with a quiet, good-humoured sneer, as of one talking to a child, that it does not keep off the rain. His view is that I, in my incomprehensible Pakeha way, imagine the thing to be an anti-rain fetish; a notion which superior Maori wisdom has found to be erroneous.

I saw that umbrella once again. It was a fine moonlit night, and two or three of us were rowing up the river on a return from some excursion. On the way we pa.s.sed a boat-load of Maoris coming down. In the stern of their boat sat Tama, and above him he held the umbrella open. As the boats crossed, he called to me:--

"It is not raining to-night. But it is not this thing that keeps it off; it is G.o.d only who does that!"

And so the good man went on his way, doubtlessly glowing at the thought that he had fitly rebuked my folly; for, like some other Christians, though he might retain some superst.i.tions of his own, yet those are real, and all other people's false.