Meanwhile, Te-Whero-Whero had died. A concert of tribes had made him Maori King, and his son Tawhiao succeeded to the newly set up throne. It was the symbol of a movement to keep the Maori nation intact, though land rights were the immediate subject of clash. Many things had happened while Sir George Grey was in South Africa; he was the problem-solver called in late.

'You might put it broadly,' he expressed the problem, 'that the Maoris were making a last stand for their fatherland, and credit be to them in that sense. They, no doubt, wished to be full governors of New Zealand, and they talked of driving out the Europeans. I set to work, with my best energies, to smooth away the troubles which threatened so thickly.'

Sir George went quietly among the disaffected natives, hence a dramatic scene at the graveside of Te-Whero-Whero. He journeyed alone to the Maori headquarters, feeling that he was in no danger. When he arrived, the place was almost deserted, the Maoris being elsewhere in council. He sought out the grave of Te-Whero-Whero, bowed his head in tribute over it, and there stood to ruminate on old a.s.sociations. Thus the Maoris discovered him, to their astonishment, and they cried: 'Come here! Come here!' If there had been no welcome for him the Maori cry would have been: 'Go away! Go away!'

'Word of my presence,' Sir George remembered, 'was sent to King Tawhiao, and he started to ride to me, but was unable, being worn out, to complete his journey. With royal etiquette, he had a certificate to that purport made out and sent on to me for my satisfaction. It was drawn up and attested with every precision, and I got it all right, nor could I help laughing at the idea.

'But Tawhiao's anxiety that I should be a.s.sured of his good faith, even in so trifling a matter, struck me as a pleasing item of character. I took a fancy to him after we became personally acquainted, and he was one of the last persons I saw, when I finally left New Zealand for England.

Years before, I had bidden him another good-bye, he being then the one who was setting out on a visit to England.'

Estimated by his name, Tawhiao was a 'scorner of the sun,' but unhappily not of spirits. They were apt, in the days when his kingship had grown an empty name, to make him quite unkingly. He naturally called upon Sir George Grey, for years out of official life, to learn about England.

'Will you answer me a question?' Sir George broached him, adding: 'There need be no false modesty between friends.' Tawhiao waited sedately for the question, which was: 'What would you think of a man who, by some wrong means, had brought about the death of a fellow-being?'

'Why, he would be a very bad man; a man deserving of most severe punishment.'

'If a man brought about the death of several other men, what would you say?'

'Who could be so cruel? It is not possible that anybody could be so wicked.'

'If that is your view, Tawhiao, what words would you have for a man who destroyed the happiness of a whole nation, and that his own?'

Tawhiao could not frame words for such a person, more especially as he now began to realise that the parables were fitting himself. 'Yes, yes,'

was his exclamation, 'I understand, I understand!' Then he cried like a baby.

What judgment would England pa.s.s upon King Tawhiao if, while a visitor there, he gave way to drink? He would disgrace, not himself only, but the whole Maori race.

'Alas, yes,' sobbed Tawhiao; 'what can be done?'

'I'll tell you,' said Sir George gently. 'We'll both sign a pledge, agreeing to abstain from alcohol in any form. That pledge will mutually bind us for a term of years, and there could be no more sacred contract.'

It was a bright contract for Tawhiao. And now here he was, at a New Zealand wayside station, where there drew up the train carrying Sir George Grey, on his last New Zealand journey, to the Plymouth-bound liner. 'I wished him farewell,' Sir George described this parting, 'and he wept. I was much touched, remembering that he had been all through a Maori war against me.'

That was retrospect. The second Maori war afforded Sir John Gorst an experience not without humour.

In Sir George Grey's phrase, Sir John Gorst went out to New Zealand to do good and did it. He conducted a school for the education of the Maoris, and acted as Government Commissioner. 'He had been at work for some time,' Sir George added, 'and had achieved excellent results altogether.

He was popular with the Maoris, and indeed they never had a truer friend.' However, some of those ardent in the 'king movement,' regarded his mere presence in the heart of their territory, as an influence against its success. The crisis arrived from an encounter of wits which fairly set the Waikato river on fire.

'The Maoris,' Sir George retailed this affair, 'had founded a paper to propagate the king movement. They christened it by a name which might be freely translated as "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft." With my approval, Sir John Gorst brought out a protagonist to the Maori weekly. I furnished the requisites for the venture, the money coming from revenues applicable to native purposes.

'The idea was to counteract the teaching of "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft"; to show how absurd it was for any section of the Maoris to think they could beat the English. Our organ was designed to be educative, and in that respect to help in the maintenance of peace. The t.i.tle of the Maori paper was in allusion to a great eagle, which, at a remote period, had existed in New Zealand. The Maoris had chants about it, and in their legends it was described as "Bed-fellow of earth-shaking thunder." 'Very well, Sir John Gorst replied to their grand t.i.tle by another in Maori, signifying: "The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top." This, of course, was suggested by the Scriptures, and its force of contrast at once tickled the Maori sense of humour. Sir John Gorst's satire was so keen that they could not, themselves, help laughing over the fun which "The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top" made of "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft." It went on for several numbers, perhaps half-a-dozen, when the Maoris informed Sir John that he must stop his paper, or they would throw his printing materials into the river.

'The conductors of "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft" had the view, if I am not mistaken, that "The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top" did not fight with adequate dignity. It was too anxious to make merriment of its adversary, so causing the latter to appear ridiculous to many Maoris. Sir John Gorst paid no heed to the threats against him, and next, there arrived a band of Maoris who uprooted his printing machinery. He happened to be from home at the time, and when he returned it was to find this disorder, and the Maoris in possession. 'The scheme thus to dispossess him and the "Lonely Sparrow on the House Top," had been headed by the chief Rewi. It was Rewi who flung, from a besieged pa, the defiant message that the Maoris would never surrender, that they would fight "For ever, For ever, For ever!" I am inclined to believe that he put himself at the head of the raid upon Sir John Gorst, in order to be able to protect him from any hurt,'

Be that as it might, Rewi and the raiders were determined that Sir John Gorst should depart the 'king country.' They p.r.o.nounced this verdict upon him with every ceremony, and his answer was equally determined. It was: 'Nothing but a direct order from Sir George Grey shall induce me to leave my post.' At that, Rewi granted time for a reference to the Governor, who instructed Sir John Gorst to withdraw. Had it been otherwise; or had the order lagged, Sir John would most likely have shared the fate of 'The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top!' The sword proved mightier than the pen in that duel.

And despite Sir George Grey's efforts, the sword was again to be drawn over a wide area of New Zealand. A particular land dispute, which meant cleavage with the confederated Maoris, had been gnawing its way along.

Sir George investigated it, reached the decision that the Maori claim was just, and made up his mind to rescind the purchase. He was not autocrat now, as he had been before, the New Zealand const.i.tution which he had drafted, being in operation. Things had to move by routine, there was muddling somewhere, and in the middle of it all, the Maoris waylaid a small party of soldiers.

n.o.body had dreamt of such a thing. Sir George's ministers asked him: 'What are you going to do after this outrage and challenge?' He answered: 'We must give the land back, according to promise. The duty of a powerful State is to be just, and re-introduce the proper owner to the land. We cannot refuse to do so, because persons, over whom he has no control, have ma.s.sacred our soldiers.' But war surged across New Zealand, a wild, unwholesome spectre, and Sir George must take it so. It had the tale of Wereroa Pa, which again presents him as the mailed hand.

A British officer held a post which could not be relieved, until the Maoris in Wereroa Pa had been scattered. That enforced the necessity, urgent enough in itself, for capturing the fortress. The Maoris had spent all their craft of defence on Wereroa, as, in the former New Zealand war, they did on Ruapekapeka. Engirt by palisades of wood, high and strong, they cried defiance to the Pakeha. The general in control of the British troops would not tackle Wereroa with the strength at his disposal. Sir George Grey resolved to do it himself, and got together what force he could. It was bestriding the military regulations, usurping all forms and traditions, but it was war.

The Maoris in the pa had a pa.s.sing mind to surrender, and Sir George was anxious to catch them thus. He rode up to take possession, though those with him counselled 'Be careful lest we come to grief.' The parley was perilous, for the bulk of the Maoris inside the pa were inclined, after all, to resist to the uttermost. Sir George and his escort drew up within easy range of the Maori muskets, and he was loth to turn back. He only did so, when it had become evident that further delay might bring a disaster. 'I wanted to convince them,' he emphasised, 'that if they would not give up the place we should have to take it. Our welcome was so risky that we might, perhaps, be compared to the little boy who scrambled up a garden wall, only to find himself face to face with the Scotch gardener.

"Where are you going?" demanded the gardener; and the boy answered, "Back again."

'That was our situation; we must return, since nothing could be achieved by debate. No, I don't think that I had any bodily feeling as to the danger we ran, any burden of danger. n.o.body can be afraid who has the lives of others hanging upon his actions. A man who every instant is applied to for orders, has not time to think of fear. It finds scope when a person is acting under the direction of somebody else, and thus is ignorant of the measures being carried out for the common protection and success. Ignorance is ever the channel through which fear attacks a human being, as watch a little child when it understands, and when it does not.'

Perhaps Sir George Grey's nearest pa.s.sage with death, in Maoriland, occurred during the first war, but he did not learn of it until later. 'I was,' he said, 'in the habit every forenoon of riding between our military camp and the sea-sh.o.r.e, where the warships lay at anchor. Having regard to the unsettled state of the country, it was maybe imprudent of me to do this, and moreover I was only accompanied by an orderly sergeant. It seemed that some Maoris hid in wait for me in a valley, intending, I am afraid, to fire upon me. Two things fortunately happened.

I rode down very early that day, and some turn of duty took me back by another road. Then, it proved to be the last day on which it was necessary for me to communicate with the ships. Good luck attended me, as I congratulated myself, when informed of the plot and its failure by a Maori who had knowledge of it, Upon what slight chances do things depend!

No, they only seem so to depend!'

As to Wereroa, it must be captured by strength of arms, or rather by a subtle use of these. There could be no idea of attacking it from the front. That would have been a funeral march for Sir George's handful of men. He devised the capture of a rough spur of ground which commanded the pa. The Maoris built square to a hostile world, and forgot this height behind them. If it should be attained, they were out-manoeuvred and helpless. The British fighting men, with Maori allies, marched off to break in upon the rear of the Wereroa. They filed past the Governor, shaking hands with him; the moment was tense.

'a.s.suredly,' Sir George remarked, 'the mission was not without danger, as what venture can be in war? Only, my people must have felt that I would not put them to it, unless there was every hope of success. That little parade brought up thoughts in all of us, and was very touching.'

The vital spur was captured, and with it a cohort of Maoris who were marching to relieve the pa. The garrison of Wereroa were beaten by tactics, the most deadly of weapons, and they accepted the verdict. The victory was the more complete, in that the Governor lost never a man of his tiny army. It would be hard to aver that he did not, even as the grave Pro-Consul, love such an adventure for itself. That tune sang in the blood.

Here a signpost is reached. Thirty years had pa.s.sed, since Sir George Grey waded into the surf where savagery and civilisation meet, stilling it for the latter. The harness of empire on him, had been at full strain all the time. He had come through the pa.s.ses, alike in the conduct of wars, and in the higher mission of spreading light and happiness on the wings of peace. But much sunshine had covered his track, and it was a light which would not fail.

What think'st thou of our Empire now, though earn'd With travail difficult?

No, the cold hand of Downing Street intervened; his second Governorship of New Zealand slammed to a close. It was an era when the Imperial spirit was n.i.g.g.ardly, obscurantist. Brushing aside details, it is easy to see how the servant and the official masters, choosing different roads, would ultimately part. The 'dangerous man' was outcast, and thereon he said in ripeness: 'If my going was equivalent to recall, I have nothing to regret in what I did. Farther, I think history has vindicated my work as a whole.'

XVII FOR ENGLAND'S SAKE

'Suppose,' urged Sir George Grey, 'that in my lifetime a hundred men have died from disappointment and chagrin--that is enough to condemn the whole system!'

He was speaking of Disraeli's discovery, that the great colonial Governorships should go to those who had been 'born in the purple' or had married into it. It was, in a way, a matter personal to him, because the plan came into operation about the date his Pro-Consulship ceased. He felt that possibly it influenced the manner of his going, and, if so, that a wrong was done him as an individual. But he was merely bringing out his att.i.tude to the system itself.

'I thought it was bad for everybody. In effect, it shut the field against simple merit; anyhow, discouraged it. A person might have all the qualities for a Governorship, except part and parcel in the peerage. On the other hand, it was injurious to the Colonies, because it set up men on an eminence, not for sheer merit, but because they happened to be born to rank. How did Napoleon Bonaparte make his army? By opening the very highest places to whoever could best fill them.'

Governor or no Governor, Sir George Grey must still work for his ideas and ideals, and after a little he hied him to England. Thinking, perhaps, that it had been abrupt with him, Downing Street was affable and kindly.

But he was never, no matter how British Governments came or went, to be more employed. South Africa yearned for a strong pilot, and he was ready to step aboard. 'I even asked,' he said, 'to be sent back there, the one occasion on which I ever asked for anything, but without result.'

Disraeli offered to find him a seat in Parliament, perhaps as a sort of balm for wounded feelings. 'I put that meaning on the offer,' Sir George remarked, 'and really it was very good-natured on Disraeli's part. It was so, all the more, when I remembered our contest over the affair of the Kaffir chiefs and their allowance. You see, I rather had the best of that, and his friends chaffed him about it.' Sir George was his own political party all through life, so far as he was a politician at all.

Disraeli asked no pledges, but, as Sir George observed, 'We were far divided in our views, and I should have been in revolt almost before I had taken my seat. Therefore I declined with thanks.'

Meanwhile, being free of official shackles, he hurled himself against the movement, rampant in England, to throw off the Colonies. He was Pro- Consul at large, under warrant of a duty for which he held himself accountable to the English-speaking people. He doubted whether he was not, thus, doing even better work, than he would have found to his hand as an employed Governor. There rang from end to end of the country a shriek of dismemberment: 'Cut the painter, chop off the Colonies, they are a burden to us; we should confine ourselves to ourselves!'

'It is difficult,' said Sir George, 'to make anybody, who was not in that struggle, understand it. One would have called it simply freakish, if the possible outcome had been less grave. It was a strange fit to seize upon the country, and unfortunately it expressed the view of nearly all the leading statesmen. Cut the painter! You cannot imagine any sensible person of these later, and regenerate, days having such an idea. Throw away Australasia or South Africa! You have heard my retort on such a demand. Who had the right, to tell another man, of the same blood, that he was no longer a Briton, because he lived many sea miles distant? Who could answer that? None! It was all a whimsy, a craze, a nightmare, which will never return--Never, Never!'

Sir George instructed the country, by word and pen, on the true value and destiny of the Colonies. He moved about, a crusader, indignant at separatism, eloquent to knot, and re-knot, the painter. For the slash of the knife he offered federation, and, springing therefrom, a happier, better world altogether. He did not doubt, to his last days, that the peril of the Empire was very real. Neither did he doubt that it was overcome, largely by the wisdom and foresight of the Queen. 'But for her action,' he declared in so many words, 'events would most probably have ended in the cutting adrift of some of the colonies. She saw true, and clear, and far, as the Prince Consort when alive had seen, and the Anglo- Saxon race has reason to be thankful.'

Wherever he had been, Sir George Grey had endeavoured, in his own phrase, to extend the liberties and right's of the people. 'Thus,' he instanced, 'until I went to the Cape, no judge had been appointed to the supreme court there, except from England. On vacancies occurring, I named two local men, both, I fancy, of Dutch family, thus breaking down a bad custom. I felt that it was impossible to govern a nation upon terms which hurt its manhood and dignity.' His crusade in England was on a like note, and eventually it found him a parliamentary candidate for Newark.