1863 - Hodder, Edwin. Memories of New Zealand Life. 2nd ed. - TARANAKI

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TARANAKI.

THE war in Taranaki rendering it unsafe for women and children to continue in that province, they were all sent off hastily to Nelson to take refuge there until hostilities should cease. Surrounded as I was by these refugees, it was impossible not to have my sympathies largely called forth with regard to their sorely trying misfortunes. Every person had his or her tale to tell, all more or less harrowing. My next-door neighbours were an old man and woman, who had lost their son, a fine, manly young fellow, recently married. He was shot and tomahawked by the natives, when outside the trenches, seeking to render relief to the passengers in a vessel which was wrecked near the town of Taranaki. A few doors off was a widow lady, with four daughters; her husband had been murdered in endeavouring to reclaim some of the property he had been obliged to leave in his house, when the natives first drove the settlers from their homes. All around were families who, upon the alarm of the natives rising to invade the town, had

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escaped from their dwellings in the outlying district, and gone to the garrison for protection, taking with them only such few articles of clothing as they could carry in their hands.

Fathers had tales to tell of farms destroyed, houses burned, and cattle stolen, for which years of arduous toil had been expended, in order to establish their children comfortably, and where they might spend in peace the remainder of their days. Mothers had griefs to detail of household comforts, which had been gained little by little through years of frugality, all left to be plundered by the ruthless enemy. Wives who had husbands in active service at the war were full of care and anxiety, fearing that the next news might tell of an engagement in which their last earthly support and comfort was destroyed. Parents were in hourly suspense for their sons, who were exposed to dangers of many kinds; and every one had friends or relatives for whom they were distressed and anxious.

A hard sight, too, was it to see the number of people in mourning for those who had already lost their lives in the different encounters with the natives which had taken place. There were Rachels "weeping for their children, and would not be comforted because they were not;" and Davids mourning, "O Absalom, my son! my son!"

When the steamers from the seat of war were sig-

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nalled in Blind Bay, it was a melancholy sight to watch the distressed countenances of those whose interests were so intimately connected with any intelligence that might be brought; numbers from the outlying districts of Nelson would hasten down to the town, and when the steamer came slowly into the harbour, hundreds of beating and almost bursting hearts were waiting to be told the news. Perhaps the intelligence would be hurriedly given, "Another engagement; four Europeans killed, six wounded;" and that must have been a hard-hearted man or woman who could look on unmoved, as the tears started simultaneously to the eyes of those unhappy people, and they questioned among themselves, "Is my son, or is my husband, one?" or breathed a prayer, "God grant my George is not among the number!"

The newspapers were every week full of war news, and the untiring topic of conversation was Taranaki. Knowing, as I did, so many of the refugees, and their unfortunate histories, I shared in the curiosity which would naturally be felt under these circumstances to visit the place where such stirring events had happened, and hear the opinions of settlers and soldiers there as to the policy and conduct of the war. I started, therefore, one day in November, 1860, by the mail steamer, "Prince Alfred," for Taranaki.

We anchored in the roadsteads late on a dark night, when no view could be obtained; and as I had

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been told by my Taranaki friends that, to see Mount Egmont and the surrounding scenery in its full beauty, it must be viewed at sunrise, I made a compact with my eyes not to strain them in uselessly endeavouring to get a glimpse that night, but to wait patiently until morning.

I was amply rewarded for my self-denial. The glorious sight that burst upon my vision, when I went on deck the next morning, I shall never forget! There lay stretched before me the "garden of New Zealand," the combination of all that is lovely and majestic in Nature; there rose Mount Egmont, "the snow-crested Apollo of mountains," eight thousand feet above the level of the sea, glistening in the rays of the rising sun. On the edge of the beach was the town, with its neat and homely houses, stores, churches, and chapels; along the coast lay the principal agricultural and pastoral lands of the province; and, far away, stretched a densely-wooded semi-circle of hills, terminating in the Sugar-loaf Rocks, which stood out alone in the sea.

All looked calm and peaceful; the birds were making the bush ring with their glad songs; the bright sunlight was dancing upon the little granite church on the hill, and other places of worship and public buildings; and the rustic scene of simple village life was enhanced in beauty by the majestic Mount Egmont, wearing its crown of eternal snow.

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and standing isolated in its elevation, towering alone to heaven. Who would have thought, to look upon that quiet, rural scene, with God's sunshine smiling down upon it, and the face of Nature lighted up with a smile in return, that the horrors of war had made it a desolation; that those churches and chapels were the refuges of homeless settlers; that every house was filled with soldiery; and that, even then, the sentinels were upon the watch, guarding it from the approach of enemies? Who would have thought, as they gazed upon the town still slumbering in the early morning, that restless nights had been passed by hundreds of men with aching hearts, separated from homes, wives, and families, with earthly prospects blighted and all their brightest hopes faded; that many a house there was filled with mourners, who had lost friends or relatives either by the murderous hands of the natives, or in the terrible heat and conflict of battle? Taranaki, the garden of New Zealand, reminded me that morning of Eden when man had sinned, and the curse had fallen upon it.

At eight o'clock the passengers were allowed to go ashore. I hailed a boat, and, in company with several friends, went to see and hear all that was to be seen and heard in Taranaki in the short time allotted to us for our visit.

The great drawback to Taranaki is the absence of any harbour, the only shipping place being an open

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and not over good roadstead. We were anchored about a mile-and-a-half off the beach, and the wind, which had been blowing for two days previously, had caused the sea to run so high that our short journey occupied a full hour to accomplish. At a distance of about two hundred yards from the beach are buoys with ropes attached; and the boatmen, as they come up to them, run these ropes through rings at the head and stern of their boats to pull them to shore. This is not attended with danger, but often with great inconvenience, as it proved in our case. The waves break upon the shore with great force, and the difficulty in landing is to be able, when a wave is coming up, to have all hands to the rope and pull the boat along with the wave, otherwise it will break over the boat, and the consequence is a thorough wet jacket and skin. No sooner is a wave safely pulled over and an impetus given to the boat than another is ready to swamp it, unless at the exact nick of time, and with a hearty long and strong pull together, all hands are ready at their post. Not being used to the service, we had escaped one wave and were congratulating ourselves with some complacency just at the very moment when we should have been ready for the next pull, and to our great discomfiture the wave broke in the boat and we found ourselves minus our equilibrium, and provided with a copious shower-bath gratis. Fortunately we were not far

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from the land, and a good muster of strong hardy boatmen were after us, almost as soon as the next wave came up, and on their backs we were conveyed safely to the beach.

No sooner were we ashore than a crowd had assembled, for the vessel in which we came had brought the mail from Nelson, and almost every person had relatives or friends there from whom they were anxious to hear. Nor were we long in hearing Taranaki news; the whole place was in an excitement about an engagement which had only very recently taken place--the famous battle of Mahoetahi. 1 Every person had a different version to give, none of which agreed with others, and the last account always the most exaggerated. Some said sixty natives had been killed, others made the number a hundred-and-sixty; while some were giving all the credit of the victory to the militia, and others to the volunteers.

The first object of interest on landing is the beach itself. It is formed, for many miles, of the finest iron-sand, only requiring skill and capital to convert it into good merchantable iron. It "consists almost wholly of crystals of the magnetic oxide of iron. These crystals are remarkably uniform in size, but their angles and edges are much worn, as though by attrition. They are not contaminated by any sul-

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phuret of iron, but are mixed with a small quantity of a white mineral. Acids resolve this black iron-sand into the following constituents:--Magnetic oxide of iron, 93.95 percent.; white mineral, 5.52; trace of lime and loss, 0.52." 2 The sand has been smelted on the spot and converted into bar-iron of good quality. A Company has been formed to turn this substance to commercial account, and there can be no doubt it will prove a great source of wealth to the colony. 3

As we walked through the town, its warlike appearance, which had not been seen from the vessel, became manifest. Every other person we met was a soldier; soldiers were standing in groups at the corners of the streets, or in heated and excited manner were talking at every public-house door about the recent victory. Sentinels were parading the streets, and at intervals throughout the whole town sentry boxes were stationed, made of branches of the manuka tree. There were trenches and fortifications all round the town, which seemed to me, unused to the details of war, to be more for show than practical use. From the barracks, which stand in a very commanding position on a hill, cannons were pointed down the streets; and from the church and other prominent places the same formidable fear-inspirers

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were staring us in the face. The shops in the town were open; in many of them, men in uniform were serving, and notices were exhibited in several windows to the effect that "the premises would be closed at twelve o'clock during parade."

It was the first time any of us had been in the immediate vicinity of war, or witnessed any of its sad realities. It was lamentable to walk through that once flourishing and prosperous town, and see what ravages had been made. Business was at an end, except for articles of daily consumption; the streets were almost desolate--not a woman or child was to be seen,--only soldiers, who were all in bustle and confusion. In many of the streets camps were pitched, and every available piece of land was used for building temporary habitations to shelter the number of people who overcrowded the town.

We went on the Barrack Hill, and there a fine view was obtained. An old Taranaki settler accompanied us, and pointed out all the objects of interest. In a moment we had explained some of the mystery which had overhung the proceedings of the past few months in the prosecution of the war. People, who had not been to Taranaki, wondered why on earth Colonel Gold and General Pratt did not follow the natives into the Bush, instead of perpetually dilly-dallying until they came out into the open. A glance at the country spoke volumes. Around the town of New

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Plymouth were the trenches; immediately outside, open agricultural and pastoral lands, with little suburban hamlets; and beyond that the dense bush, in which ten thousand natives might be secreted, and those gazing upon the spot a mile distant be none the wiser.

Our Taranaki friend pointed out the beautiful district of Omata, where not long since the flourishing little village of the same name stood, but which has since been totally destroyed by the enemy; the Waitara, the scene of so many disasters; the well-garrisoned Bell Block stockade, and all the other localities which have been rendered notable by reason of the events which have happened during the present war; and as he recalled the different districts, the incidents associated with them came afresh before his mind's eye, and he gave us many harrowing details of the perils in which he and his fellow-settlers had been placed. A big tear stood in his eye as he pointed out a charred and ruined heap, which was all that remained of a home for which he had anxiously and perseveringly toiled through long and weary years.

At twelve o'clock we perceived a procession making its way up the Barrack Hill to the terrace where we were standing. It was General Pratt and his suite, who were going the rounds of the trenches, and were inspecting the troops, all of whom had been summoned to attend parade that day. I was very anxious

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to see him,--the man upon whom so much depended, of whom so much had been written and spoken, and who was looked upon by many as the man who could save Taranaki, and by others as the man who would signally fail in his measures, and multiply troubles upon the doomed province. I was very much disappointed in his appearance. He looked every inch a General, but one whose day had gone by; his hair was white, head bent, and face furrowed with the marks of time. This did not look to me to be the man who would "put an end to the war within two months;" however dashing and determined a man he might have been in younger days, I thought that Major Nelson, who was walking by his side, a resolute, brave, and active soldier--who with little pretension has done much--was a far more likely man to bring the war to a close than the aged General.

We then went over the barracks, found some friends in the officers' rooms, and were shown some of the trophies of the war. Rifles bent and broken, swords shattered, guns and weapons captured from the natives, and the Maori flag which was taken at the memorable battle of Waireka. The devices on the flag were "M.N." (Maori nation), Mount Egmont (Taranaki), the Sugar-loaf Rock, and figures of the sun and a heart on a red ground. The explanation given by the natives of the meaning of these symbols is, that their land and the land of their ancestors extends from Taranaki

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to the Sugar-loaf Rock, that the eye of God is fixed upon it, and it is determined in the heart of the Maori nation to possess it.

We went also to the hospital, where one or two wounded natives and more Europeans were lying, and two of our brave countrymen lay dead, killed in the recent engagement.

I was not ambitious to remain long in Taranaki. The place was gloomy; true, the military were in high spirits enough, the martial sounds of drums and bugles were heard in every direction, soldiers were parading, and all was activity, but it was the activity of war, all terminating in distress, disaster, and death.

There was little to remind us of the happy homes of peaceful and contented settlers, or the calm and delightful tranquillity of a colonial settlement. There were no sights or objects of interest to view, bespeaking the advancement of art or education; everything proclaimed that "the abomination of desolation was standing where it ought not." The churches and chapels were turned into temporary dwelling-houses; the schools were closed, as nearly all the children had been sent away; the printing-offices were full of business, not in extending and influencing commerce, or in announcing the progress of the colony as formerly, but in issuing proclamations and war-news. The agriculturist's occupation was gone; men who

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had gone to their duties, summoned by the lowing cattle or bleating sheep, now responded to the bugle call, and thought of their waving corn-fields as things that were. We felt no sorrow, therefore, that our stay was short, and we left the shores of Taranaki with a feeling of deep sorrow at our hearts, not merely for the misfortunes of our fellow-settlers, but for the doom of that lovely province.