[Pages 51-100]
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Now matters began to assume a really serious appearance; and I could not rest without endeavouring to learn how far it was safe to remain, almost alone, so near to a native pah (Poutoka). It was true these natives were friendly, and professed to be neutral, but we had soon to doubt the profession of some friendly natives.
Manahi, a chief at Ratapihipihi, had declared his intention as a friendly native to assist the Governor, and had thereupon received munitions of war. To him, and also to a large number of friendly natives, who met the Governor on Saturday, March 3rd, welcoming him to Taranaki, his Excellency
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said "he had perfect and entire confidence in his native friends, and that he should be glad of an opportunity to prove it."
In the case of Manahi this confidence was misplaced; for he, with his followers, joined the southern natives, when their intention of joining in the fight became evident.
The eagerness of the natives about Omata to thrash out their wheat and to dispose of it at once--the frequent galloping past of single Maories on horseback, evidently couriers hurrying with intelligence southward -- the sullen expression on the face of the few natives occasionally to be met with--all foreboded something evil. So, on the other hand, the feverish excitement of the settlers, who were also anxious to get their corn to market --even working thrashing machines on the Sunday--driving their milch cows into town-- burying some of their property--the suspicions generally entertained against the friendly relatives--the absurd reports in circulation-- gave an air of probability to my expectations
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that Omata would share in the disturbed state of affairs. To my mind, such excitement and reports suggested only a confused and chaotic state of things, which was not an unnatural effect of the general disturbance caused by the shaking confidence in those natives who had hitherto professed friendship. I frequently asked myself if I did right to remain, or keep the boys with me, and thus run the risk of sharing the indiscriminate slaughter it was too evident many of the natives had determined upon, in their savage and frantic discussions at their meetings down the south coast. Yet I felt that, whatever I might be called upon to suffer and to struggle with, my heart could find no repose or certain safety but in a firm trust in the infinite love of God; that for my mind there was no friend nor helper in the universe like unto my heavenly Father.
The Wednesday following the commencement of hostilities at Waitara, I was rather startled, just about dusk in the afternoon, by a native walking without ceremony into my
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room. This was Epiah, the nephew of Paratena, a great chief of the Taranaka tribe. He was very much excited, and said, in almost breathless haste, "Don't you go town. The Maories are all coming up from the south. They will kill all who are armed. There are 400, all armed, as the Maories reckon; 1 800 as you count. One Maori is as good as a hundred soldiers." I said, it was nonsense to talk like that; the Governor would send to England for more soldiers; and that while every Maori slain would be an irrevocable loss, for every soldier or white man slain the Queen could send a hundred. He replied, "Never mind, you'll see--better stop, although I tell you I might be obliged to kill you if you were in town." I endeavoured to make as light of his intelligence as I could. He evidently saw this, and became vehement in his manner, and at last said: "Go and see Mr. Brown. I tell
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you, the Maories intend to attack the town." I went across to Brookwood, and found Mr. Brown entertaining the worst apprehensions of the professed intentions of the natives. He had just returned from the coast, whither he had gone "on a mere parochial visit," and had collected all the information he could. He had halted at Kahihe pah, and there parted with Mr. Riemenschneider, a missionary at Warea, but rejoined him immediately afterwards, being earnestly entreated by some natives to go on as far as Warea, to verify with his own eyes the reports which he had already heard at the different pahs, to the effect that the vanguard of the taua or war-party was at Warea. Mr. Brown rode on with Mr. Riemenschneider a great part of the way to Warea; but the rain was so heavy that he feared that, if he delayed his return, he would be unable to re-cross the Hungutuhua and Oakara rivers, and therefore turned back to report the intelligence he had collected. While in company with Mr. Riemenschneider,
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he met four white men en route from Wanganui. As the road was stopped by the Maories, they had been obliged to hide themselves in the bush by day, and travel by night, subsisting upon Karaka berries and other wild fruit.
The next day was wet and foggy. Natives came to warn me, and stated that the southern Maories were on the move. About noon, two natives urged me vehemently to keep near the house; they said the armed Maories were just behind my house, going on to Ratapihipihi. Mr. Touett ran across to acquaint me with the same fact, which he had learnt from natives. I found afterwards that seventy armed natives passed within a few hundred yards of the house. These assumed a very threatening attitude towards a settler who had left the stockade to look after his cattle. The firing of guns and the yelling in their war-dances were distinctly heard at the stockade. My cart had been pressed several times for the use of the stockade; and in the morning my
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son Thomas had been sent for it, to get some timber in the bush. I refused it; and sent a message to the Captain that the natives were in the bush, and that it was not safe to be on the road. That same evening I was somewhat startled by the reports of cannon; but being repeated more than twice, which was the concerted signal of danger to the town, I concluded it was either from some vessel at sea, or some demonstration not connected with hostilities.
Imagine, reader, my situation: my family in a town that was threatened with an attack by 800 natives, and I forbidden, as it were, to go to them! Love cast out all fear; I felt impelled to write to my wife, and a few words from my letter may help the reader to conceive of my distress of mind:-- "The Maories intend to attack the town; there is no disguising that fact. Even if they make any attack, I fear there will be much bloodshed. I have had several natives to see me, and they all persuade me to remain at home. Mr.
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Brown has ascertained that the natives are gathering fast; that they intend to make an attempt to go through the town on to Waitara. I am assured they will not touch unarmed men or families; but will kill all they can of those who are prepared to fight against them. I know not what to do on your account and the dear little ones. I know you look to me for help and protection; but above me, and all that earth has of strength and protection, you will rely on an Almighty arm, and repose your confidence in that Divine Being who will doubtless do what is right. Get everything ready to be carted home again at the shortest notice. Do not be misled by any assurance of military power to prevent bloodshed: trust in our heavenly Father, and think for yourself. If anything serious should present itself, rely on my being with you, to guide and do all that human power can to protect you."
On the Saturday I went to town, and while engaged writing to my son and friend at
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Nelson, a sudden shout alarmed us all for the moment: 250 soldiers passed on their way to the barracks, to start early next morning for Ratapihipihi. This seemed at once carrying the war pretty close to my door. I left for home the next morning, but felt that the roads were unsafe -- that in the high fern natives might be in ambush. I anticipated an attack would be made, and that the natives would seek to disperse, rather than meet a military force in an unprepared state, that being rather their mode of warfare. I met the troops on their return, and nothing had been done.
When I reached the stockade, all was perfectly quiet. I saw my poor neighbour, Mr. S. Shaw, on duty as sentinel, who two days after was killed. Little did either he or I think it was the last interchange of friendly conversation we should enjoy together. I had also some discourse with another neighbour, who had been compelled to serve in the militia, but who considered the conflict, to
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use his own words, "nothing better than a civil war." He has since been killed.
It will be recollected that I remained at home with three of my sons; that at the time the bombardment of the pah at Waitara was commenced we were all at work, getting up potatoes. These potatoes were grown, not on my own farm, but on land close to the main road from the south, adjoining Maori land, and not a great distance from the spot on which the southern natives built their pah, previous to the battle of Waireka. On the Monday after my return from town, the boys and I went with our cart to take away the few potatoes we had been able to plough out of the ground. A gentleman had left his horse under our care. I was riding on this horse when we met Mr. W. Carrington, a gentleman well acquainted with Maori character, earnestly desirous to prevent a collision of the Europeans with the natives, and sensitively alive to the all but inevitable extermination of a noble race of men, if the
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unhappy quarrel became a war of races, and the British power was once fully roused to action against the aborigines.
His horse was galloping, but when Mr. Carrington saw us he halted, and told us the natives were not twelve miles down the coast; that Robert Erangi (a native chief, and brother-in-law to Mr. Carrington) had been with them, trying to urge them not to carry out their purpose of proceeding on the main road towards the town; that although they knew this chief had put a tapu on the road, they were very obstinate, and no doubt would come on that day towards evening. I rode with haste to see Robert Erangi, and found him in an excited state. He urged me to hasten back to the potato-field, and get what I wished as quickly as possible. This I did, and the boys were soon on the road home with their load. I rode across to Mr. Brown, told him what I had heard, which was soon afterwards confirmed by a native, who had ridden some distance to apprise him of the proximity of the natives,
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but not that they really intended to proceed past the Omata stockade.
The next day (Tuesday, March 27th), about seventy natives passed the very field where we had been at work, and on which we had left about ten tons of potatoes not ploughed out of the ground. I then felt for the first time convinced that the Waitara was not to be the only scene of Maori hostilities--the more so as I learnt towards evening that these natives were building a pah above the Waireka hill. Believing that they were simply preparing to bivouac for the night, and not really making a formidable pah, I did not feel so alarmed as otherwise I should have done. Previously to my learning these facts, I had allowed my son William to take horse and proceed to town. We had all often been on the road to the stockade and to town. In the morning, about ten, my son Thomas came to spend the day with us; as it was wet, he had on a soldier's great-coat. Just as we were sitting down to dinner, two Maories came
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to apprise me that they were going to spread about all over the bush near to the roads, and that we must not go beyond the fence. By this time, Thomas, feeling somewhat alarmed, had left to go to the stockade. I called to him, "Pray don't put on your coat, as you might not be known; and seeing you clothed as a soldier, serious consequences might follow." I felt that his safety was in his not being armed, and in his being well known by many of the Maories. He had left about two hours when the same two Maories who came before told me to keep close within my fences; that I and the boys should be safe. We soon heard reports of guns, repeated again and again. I listened with eagerness to catch the sounds, that I might determine whence they came. Now (as I have before described) out of the main southern road there was a crossroad, in a line from the Inn, which, avoiding the stockade, would lead near to Ratapihipihi, which, by crossing some cleared land, the natives could find. The reports seemed dis-
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tinctly to come from that cross-road. I thankfully came to the conclusion that the natives had abandoned their original intention of proceeding on the main road by the stockade to town. I may just state that a hill between my house and the stockade on this main road could be so distinctly seen that foot passengers were plainly distinguished. I set the boys to watch this hill. I regarded the reports of guns as mere salutes, which the natives are fond of giving in mere bravado. From my house the stockade could be seen very plainly, and as we watched the movements of the men in garrison, we could see that there was excitement amongst them, but seeing no indication of actual collision, I concluded the natives had passed up the road above-named. I anxiously awaited the return of my son William from town, and was getting very uneasy about him. The boys at one time thought they saw their brother riding over the hill, and said, "Here comes Willie!" I waited the space of time sufficient, as I
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thought, for William to reach home. I did not feel any serious alarm on his account, as he was well known to the natives, and not two hours before I had seen the son of the Rev. H. Brown pass by, and I knew he had come by the same road by which I expected my son. As William did not return, I felt the boys must have been mistaken, and that he had remained in town for safety. I had just made up my mind to this, when the same two Maories I have before mentioned ran up from the gate, and vehemently urged me not to leave the house, as the "fight" had begun. Mr. Brown at this moment had very kindly come across the fields to tell me that a native had been to his house to say the "fight" was commenced; that he and all his household must keep within his own fence, as the Maories were now about in the bush, and on all the crossroads. Mr. Brown, with an hospitality gratefully to be remembered, offered his house as a place of refuge for all the neighbours, if there should be any real danger. I ran across
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to Mr. Touett, fearing he might not know all this, and told him what Mr. Brown and the natives had said. He was already made acquainted with the fact; and further stated, that Manuel De Castro had seen shots fired at a white man, and had hardly escaped himself, as a bullet had whizzed past his face, and a native had beckoned to him to go. As he was on his horse at the time, he set spurs and galloped home.
I had scarcely reached my door when I saw five armed Maories in their war-dress, headed by Manuel De Castro, open the gate, and walk up to the house, a distance of four chains. I went towards them on the path, and Manuel said, "Mr. Gilbert, you must leave this house at once; these natives tell me that five Europeans lie dead at this moment on the road not far from the Inn." The natives were excited, and one had evidently been drinking. By questioning them I found that three men were killed and two boys. One was Mr. Ford, a townsman and store-keeper; but either the
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natives did not know, or were unwilling to tell me, who the others were. A cold shudder ran through my body, and my face paled, for I thought of my two boys, who had that day been on the road. I mentioned them both by name, and was assured that they were not killed.
I did not think any other than that the slain had met with their death at one and the same time, from being met with arms by the natives. I was told to be quick, as I must go across to Mr. Brown's house, whither the rest of the people were gone, and that all were to remain there until the natives had left. I asked if I could take some blankets. The natives consented, and I went into the house, followed by them, rolled up a bundle of bedding, caught up a few clothes and some clean linen, and pushing a few other things into a carpet bag, left my house, never again to lay my weary head and aching heart with quietness within its walls. Before, however, we left the premises, one of the natives looked rather
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fiercely at me, and said, "Where is the gun to shoot the pigeon? You have a gun: where is it?" I was quite sure he knew I had a gun, because he, not being a stranger to my house, had seen it. I answered, "Away." "Where?" still more fiercely, he inquired. I replied, "Buried in the ground." This was true. I valued the gun, as having once belonged to a dear friend, and presented to me by his widow in England on my coming out to New Zealand. I had for some time past kept this gun out of sight, secreting it above the ceiling of my room; but only the day before I had put it into a long narrow box, with powder and shot, which my son Edward had buried by crawling under the house, and scratching a hole in the dry earth, had covered it well and smoothly over. Happily, the native did not press the question, for at that moment Manuel said to me, "Tell him you have sent it to town." I replied, "That would not be true; and even if I could say so, it would be regarded by the natives in a far worse light than my burying
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it in the ground." The attention of the native was taken by the sight of some spades. He asked me to give him one. I said, "Too much;" by which I was understood to mean I did not want to supply the natives with anything that could be used against my fellow-settlers, well knowing the use to which it would be put. However, the Maori took the spade and said, "Thankee." Four of the natives hereupon left. The remaining one, a young man, caught up my bundle, and the lads and I accompanied him across the fields to Brookwood, where I found the neighbours around already assembled. It appeared not unlikely that we might all be exposed to great danger by going to our houses, and we therefore thankfully placed ourselves under the protection of Mr. Brown. It was now getting dusk. Mr. Brown returned from reading prayers to the natives assembled on the Waireka Hill, and who were building a pah close to the road near to Mrs. Jury's house. I believe he did not at first know that five
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persons had been killed. The natives were somewhat impatient, although joining him in the prayers, and said to him at the conclusion --"You should have been shorter, as we are thinking more about fighting and building our pah than saying our prayers."
In the course of the evening, Epiah came to Brookwood, and as it was getting dark, wished to stay all night to protect us; but thoughtfully endeavouring to make it appear that he feared the Maories might mistake him for a white man, as he was dressed like one, and that perhaps soldiers would be by that time on the road. He informed us that the bodies of Messrs. Ford, Shaw, and Passmore were then on the road. We felt shocked at the idea of the bodies being exposed, well knowing that a number of pigs were at large; and we would have at once gone with a cart to get the mortal remains of our brother-settlers, but Epiah said it was too dark and would be very dangerous to go, as Maories were thickly scattered over the line of road
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and in the bush on every side. We requested him to go to the natives at dawn of day, and negotiate with them for us to go and get the bodies, urging that every white Christian felt this to be his bounden duty in any circumstances. This he agreed to do.
After the ladies of Mr. Brown's family and the wives and children of the settlers assembled had retired for the night, having all joined (the two natives as well) in prayer to Almighty God, beseeching His care and protection-- the men all sat down round the kitchen fire, being anxious to listen to Epiah, who seemed inclined to be communicative. A curious and remarkable group was that which, with perils and dangers around, quietly assembled to hear the Maori talk! James Keeler, a God-fearing man, was our interpreter. He had lived twenty years amongst the natives, and was pretty well acquainted with their peculiar traits of character. We all listened for several hours. I cannot give here the various interesting topics which were talked
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over that night; but the main points were so fastened upon my mind that I shall never forget them, nor the deep and earnest tone of Epiah. The discourse was opened by asking the native "why the fight was begun in such a discreditable manner, as all the world would at once pronounce the killing of unarmed men and boys to be murder? Had these poor settlers been slain in fair and open fight, the perpetrators of the deed would not have appeared in such a dishonourable position. The facts would go down to posterity as a dark and foul blot on the Maori character!" To this Epiah replied, "He was sore at heart about the death of the white men and boys, as were many other natives; and the only excuse offered was, it was done to bring on the 'fight.' The natives had come up the coast with their hearts black towards the white man, and were impatient to settle a quarrel which had been brewing for many years."
It was urged "that the southern natives could have no part in W. Kingi's quarrel with
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the Governor, nor the poor murdered settlers with their grievances, which were with the Governor more than the settlers. That the southern natives, by mixing themselves up with a quarrel that did not in the least appertain to them, was rendering it both difficult and dangerous to adjust it now satisfactorily. The reply Epiah made was, "The southern natives had their own wrongs, and had been waiting only for a fitting opportunity to seek revenge." And here commenced a history, briefly but touchingly related, of all the supposed wrongs the natives have suffered at the hands of the white man, even from the first discovery of New Zealand by Tasman, in 1642, to its formation into a British colony in 1840, and from that time to the present. 2 Epiah was evidently a thoughtful and intelligent native, a man of property, and much liked by the settlers. He had studied the history of his own people, and watched the rapid decline of his nation, and the
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increasing and all but overwhelming power of the white man. He foresaw, with a kind of prophetic vision, the extinction of his race, the, absorption of the land of his forefathers by the sons of Japheth; and a kind of despairing struggle seemed to loom in the distant future. "It was," he said, "the too-frequent and all-absorbing talk of the Maories, that of the increasing number and power of the white man, and the future probability that he would not leave a home for the children of the Maori."
It seemed to be an anxious inquiry with Epiah whether England was still at war with China, and whether the Queen's subjects in India were all quiet.
It was a long way in the night ere the conversation ended, and we each retired to seek rest. I spread my blankets on the floor of Mr. Brown's drawing-room, and tried in vain to find forgetfulness in sleep. The dear, good Mr. Brown fared but little better than I; and we spent the night in anxious con-
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versation, and in prayer to our heavenly Father, earnestly beseeching Him of His infinite goodness to avert the fearful calamities which seemed to be hanging over our fellow-settlers, and still more over those who were so dear to us; if not, to give us grace to submit to His will.
At the earliest dawn I felt uneasy and anxious that Epiah should go and see the natives, and make arrangements for us to go and search, and, if need be, bury the bodies. We all partook of the kind hospitality of Mr. Brown, who at the breakfast table seemed deeply moved, and said but little, once asking us all to forgive his not conversing, as he was in a painful state of mind. The ladies seemed self-possessed, calm, and reposed the utmost confidence and faith in the solemn promise of the natives, that nothing should befal Mr. Brown, his family, or any of those under his protection. It seemed to me that they had prayerfully put their trust in God, and were willingly waiting His will concerning their safety.
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After breakfast, Epiah came to tell us that we must all go up to the pah wearing white scarfs; that it was necessary we should look every Maori full in the face, that we might be known in case of any confusion, and that our lives might be spared in any serious conflict. It was not necessary for the females or children to leave home. There was a feeling expressed by one of the servants that she did not think it quite right for all the men to go away and leave such a number of women and children exposed to the Maories. This was the only indication I saw of any mistrust in the natives.
The ladies provided us with calico scarfs, and we left them and the children to the care of God. The Rev. H. Brown rode on his horse, his son Frank driving the bullocks in the cart to get the bodies. The two Maori women I have beforenamed accompanied us. When we arrived at the pah, we found the natives all eagerly engaged at work upon their rifle-pits, &c.; some few were preparing food--
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others pulling down fences--all were full of levity and excitement. The two Maori women with us were greatly excited, and, long before we reached the pah, began a kind of lamentation, which was responded to by the assembled natives. All were anxious to shake hands with us. I was surprised to see so many mere lads, and some very old and decrepid men, whom I thought it would have been well for the natives to have left at their homes. There were but a few fine-looking young men amongst them, but they all seemed full of confidence and of success in fighting with the soldiers. We were told that we, and all belonging to us, were tapu (sacred); that it was well we had on the white scarfs, as other natives were coming up, who, perhaps, would not know or spare us, but for the scarfs; and we were urged on no account to go anywhere without having them on. We were not to wonder, however, if we should lose a sheep or pig, as when an enemy was travelling through a country, it was usual to help themselves to whatever they found.
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We replied, that we relied on their good faith towards us; that life was of more value to us than many sheep, pigs, or oxen; that our business with them, at that time, was to gain their consent to seek the dead bodies of our brethren, that we might decently save them from the ravages of pigs, &c After some pro and con, we were told that the bodies of the men had been taken, the day before, by the stockade men; that the bodies of the two lads were still in the road, but that we might go and get them, to do as we wished with them. Knowing that the road was lined on each side with natives, and fearing that we might not, after all the directions given, find the bodies, we expressed a wish for some natives to guide us. This was at length agreed to, but on condition that Mr. Brown should ride to the stockade, and wish the Captain to keep his men or sentinels within garrison; and should any natives be slain in the fight, that a flag of truce should be hoisted at the stockade, that the Maories might do
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for their dead what we were asking to do for ours.
Just as we were about to start, other natives from the south came in sight, and we were made to sit down until their arrival. We had then to pass down through their ranks, and shake hands with each native. Another consultation was held about us and our business; suddenly, up rose the whole body of natives, shouting, "that all would go as guides." I trembled lest our mission would end in a sad and melancholy manner, for I thought there was a deeper meaning behind, and that we in some way were to be made hostages while the fight with the men at the stockade took place. Through our interpreter, we made the natives understand that we wished only to be guided by one or two to the bodies, and did not fear either Maories or soldiers--as they had answered for their own men, and we could answer for the soldiers--for, all the world over, a truce was ever granted to bury the dead.
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The road between the Inn and the pah, a distance of half a mile, was in the possession of native scouts, but still they thought they saw soldiers, and feared being taken by surprise. A native messenger was sent on the road before us. Mr. Brown rode to the stockade, and on endeavouring to make arrangements in accordance with the wishes of the natives, was told by the Captain that no flag of truce could be hoisted for rebels and murderers; but that he would keep his men close until the bodies were delivered at the stockade. I may here state, that the two fathers of the lads learnt for the first time of the death of their sons. They had been missing from an early hour in the morning, when they had gone out to search after some cattle, and it was feared they had been killed.
In riding back, Mr. Brown scoured the fields, in order to satisfy the natives that no troops were about. When he arrived amongst us, happily he did not communicate the message about the flag of truce.
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At length we left the pah, headed by two chiefs--one having a small tomahawk, the other a white whalebone spear, both bearing a white emblem of a temporary truce. I wished the native with the tomahawk to put that out of sight, and he was endeavouring to do so, but our interpreter signified it was immaterial. I did not feel it so. We were on a mission of Christian duty, and the instrument was hateful to my sight at that moment. Our company then consisted of the Rev. H. Brown, on his horse, his son 3 with the cart, five Europeans, and the two native chiefs. The native women we had left with the Maories at the pah. We walked down one steep hill and up the other, with the Waireka stream flowing along in quiet in the valley, little thinking that, ere night, the very spot we were going over would be the scene of conflict, and that many of the natives we had left behind would meet with death, when they
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least expected it. With depressed spirits, and feelings of a sad and painful nature, we saw the spot where two of our brother-settlers had been shot. The ground was saturated with blood, but there was no appearance of a struggle having taken place. Opposite the Inn, a little out of the road, was a cart with a load of timber, the two bullocks dead in their yoke. A little further on the road we came to evident traces of blood, and close to the bank, a spot with a pool which had soaked into the ground (here poor Ford was shot); and a little further still, a dead horse. In deeper sorrow we journeyed on, down rather a steep hill, to a bridge across a stream; and there, as if thrown in amongst the bushes, lay the mangled bodies of the poor lads we were searching for. A ghastly spectacle! Their stiffened limbs bent, as if a severe struggle for life had been made. Their faces were much swollen, and fearfully cut; one poor boy with a deep gash in the forehead, and the fingers of one hand nearly cut off; the other lad covered with
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mud, with a frightfully lacerated opening in the throat. Oh I must God's beautiful earth be thus polluted with human blood, and His innocent creatures be thus cruelly butchered! Even the native chiefs looked awe-struck, as if conscious that it was a deed not for human eyes to look upon. They carefully kept from touching the bodies. We put the bodies in the cart and covered them with a sheet, returning to the cross-roads at the Inn. As we passed the various spots I have named, we covered the blood with two or three spadefuls of earth. At the Inn we parted from Mr. Brown and his son, who proceeded on to the stockade with the bodies. As we retraced our steps towards the pah, we observed the natives had put up a white flag. Little was said, for deep sorrow filled our hearts, and I for one mourned over the fate of my hard-working brethren, their widowed and fatherless families.
The two natives with us had none of the outward signs of a wild and savage nature. Dressed in European clothing, they walked
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with stern but graceful deportment by our side. I felt how fearful the delusion must be that could blind them to the fact, that a terrible reckoning must one day be made for the bloody work which by their presence amongst the insurgents, or their companionship with those who had actually committed the murders, they sanctioned, if they did not participate, in the guilty deed.
As we drew near to the pah, we saw several natives with back-loads of straw going up the hill to the spot which they were fortifying in their own fashion, and this gave an intimation that they purposed remaining the night. Their appearance was somewhat singular, as there were a great number loaded in this way.
By this time Mr. Brown had deposited the bodies at the stockade, and was on his return to the pah. The flag of truce was taken down, and up went the fighting flag. Other natives came from the south, guns were fired, all was bustle and excitement. By this time 400 had gathered on the ground. Hearing the guns,
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Mr. Brown had a terrible foreboding that we had all fallen a sacrifice, and that he should not see us alive when he reached the top of the hill. Still we were safe, watched over by a good Providence. Enough, enough, to know that God is good, and what He does is right.
It was a great satisfaction to learn from Mr. Brown that my two sons were safe; that William had the day before returned to town for safety, and that a message had been sent to my family respecting our preservation.
Amongst the last arrival of natives were many whom we knew, and had learnt to respect. Eagerly did some five or six seize my hand, and, as the custom of the natives is, under the influence of strong feeling towards those they salute, to put their noses together, I was moved to tears at this expressive mode of respect and assurance of safety; the more so, as my face was wetted with the tears of the natives, as they delivered themselves of a slightly audible whine of lamentation. The constant repetition, "All the same as brethren,"
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gave at once the idea of a dim perception that, but for the war, the two races might live and love as brethren. Several of these natives had been living in the neighbouring pah, had repeatedly been to my house, and assured me of their protection should any fighting take place in that locality.
I was surprised to see them. I had always considered them neutral, although expressing themselves to the effect that sufficient care had not been taken to prove the individual right of Teira to sell the disputed land; that he ought to have the full consent of Wiremu Kingi, and all the tribe to which he belonged. I am inclined to think, that when the pah at the Waitara was stormed, or, at any rate, previous to that, natives were killed, and that Wiremu Kingi had caused a report to that effect to be circulated amongst the southern natives. 4 I
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cannot account in any other way for the sudden change in the disposition of those natives who had hitherto spoken against fighting.
In proceeding down through the ranks of armed men I felt perfectly free from fear, although I knew each one had a loaded gun in his hand. I certainly felt not quite satisfied when one native refused to shake hands with me, even after I repeatedly put out my hand and wished him to do so. His companions laughed, and I was puzzled at the time to find a reason for his refusal, as he was a perfect stranger to me. Whether he refused any other of my neighbours I know not, and have had no opportunity to learn.
We were among the natives nearly three hours, as we could hardly leave without their consent. Our attention was directed to the arrival of Manahi the traitor. With him were
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five natives, who for some time sat in a group by themselves. I have often thought since, that perhaps these were the murderers of my neighbours. Manahi is now known to be one. The Ngatiruanui tribe drew off in a body towards the spot where he and his five followers were seated, and at once squatted in a circle round him. He soon rose up, and threw off his mat to make a speech; in the course of which, delivered in the native peculiar manner--sometimes running a few yards, then suddenly stopping and leaping up in the air--he seemed to work up his hearers to a pitch of excitement like that he was exhibiting himself. Our interpreter told us he was urging the Maories to "slay and spare not."
The whole 400 rose as one man, divided off into three parties, stripped naked to the waist, began the war-dance, each party in succession going through the dance three times. This, to a timid person, and a stranger to native customs, is most frightful. The horrid noises
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simultaneously made--the hissing like a multitude of serpents--with the sonorous ugh, the sound forced out with all their pent-up breath, their eyes rolling and starting as if coming out of their sockets, their tongues protruding, the demoniacal expression of face, the whole frame quivering with wrought-up excitement, and the rapid gesticulations of an unimaginable nature--all gave a hellish kind of reality to war, and all its direful calamities. Then, in one body, in this fearfully excited state, they started down the hill towards the stockade. We also all left, overwhelmed with apprehension respecting our brethren at the stockade, and an inward prayer was offered up for the safety of my poor son, and a deliverance of all from the perils that seemed shadowed over the stockade. The men were few in number, and seemed at once doomed to destruction. We knew not the object of the natives, and dared not ask. The eldest son of Mr. Brown was in the garrison at the time. Our interpreter ejaculated, "The Lord have mercy on the
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souls of those poor creatures in the stockade!" to which, a most hearty Amen was given. It was a severe trial.
When we reached the cross-roads, and turned to go towards Brookwood and Brighton-place, we saw a paper stuck on a board, with holes at the corners, which board was tied with flax to a pole against the fence, with writing in the Maori language. The following was given in the local newspaper as a free translation:--
"Listen! Listen all the tribes! The road to our Minister must not be trodden upon; also the road to his friends--James, who is from Kihi; to Emanuel, who is a Portuguese, to his children and wife; to Touett, with his wife and children, who are French; let the thought be light of these three tribes; to their farms, to their property, let it be light, because the word has gone forth from Paratene, Hoani, Kingi (Parenga), to those people that we must strictly preserve them. Let there be no mistake with us, the three tribes of
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Taranaki, Ngatiruanui and Ngaraura, let it be light. That is all.
"From Paratene, "From Kingi, "From Hoani, "From Porikapa.
"From this tribe of Ngamahanga, from us all, as far as Mokotuna.
"March 28th, 1860."
We soon learnt to our great satisfaction that the natives had only been within rifle-shot of the stockade, fired off a volley in defiance, danced the war-dance, and returned to their pah. A native named Stephen, long known to my family, and a great favourite with us all, came to the fence separating Brookwood from my farm, and called me by name "Tamiti." I observed, at the same time, three other armed natives seated on the hill-side in my land. I felt sure that Stephen called me for something particular, and that I need not fear any treachery. I had my emblem of peace across my breast and over my shoulder. I went at once to him, and
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he said, "Come with me to your house, and get what you wish to save, and I will help you."
I did so, and found a native woman at the door. Stephen said, "This woman will take care of your house; the Maories are going into every house, and will take everything they find that may he of any use to them, but nothing shall be taken from you." Stephen had often worked for me, and fifteen shillings were due to him. He wished for the money, and I told him the family was in town, and needed all I had. "Never mind, let me have a small blanket," he said, "that will do as well." Had it been at any other time, I should have been amused at a trifling circumstance which occurred. Stephen was followed into the house by a little, ugly, old Maori, who immediately seated himself at the kitchen table, on which, in the confusion of leaving, we had put a dish of potatoes and meat, a large pot of butter, some honey, and a canister filled with sugar. He began at once to help himself, cramming honey, butter,
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sugar, meat, and potatoes, into his mouth as fast as he could. Having feasted to his heart's content on this curious compound of eatables, he attempted to force the butter into the canister; but finding he could not without wasting the sugar, he got up from the table, took the butter in his fingers, and was endeavouring to roll it up in his blanket; when, seeing his back turned towards the table, I quickly put the canister on a shelf out of sight. The look of astonishment at the sudden disappearance of this prize, when the Maori turned round, was a source of quiet amusement to Stephen.
Stephen went with me across to Brookwood, and I gave him the blanket. He folded it up and fastened it across his shoulders, and without ceremony walked into the room where the family were at dinner, and so passed out into the garden--assuring each one present of their safety. After dinner, several natives came with wheat to Brookwood, which Mr. Brown had some time before bought of them. The
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weighing of this wheat and the writing of receipts occupied some little time.
I had noticed a Maori youth, well dressed in European clothes, gesticulating and talking with great vehemence to a few natives before him, and I asked our interpreter what he was saying; to which he replied, "It appears that some natives have broken open Mr. Touett's house, and taken away some of his things, and it is thought the Maori (Stephen) with your blanket had taken it from your house without your consent." The general feeling, therefore, with the natives is, that the curse of God will follow this breaking of tapu. "This young fellow is urging, as the best mode of settling the affair, to kill Touett; and then the tapu will end, and the Maories will no longer be restricted from pursuing their plunder." I assured the natives I had given Stephen the blanket, and then our interpreter said to them, "Never mind; whatever may have been taken from Mr. Touett in mistake, cannot now be helped. We value life more
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than any goods, and wish you not to get excited about the matter." For so serious a proposition, I thought the manner of the speaker not in perfect keeping, and his audience consisted of two Maori women, and three very stupid-looking natives. It is thus that, free speech being always allowed to every native, the most absurd proposals are made, but scarcely ever entertained, not even by the proposer, for more than a few moments after his excited harangue.
It was just at this moment that we saw natives running, and heard them shouting, "The soldiers! the soldiers!" All the natives at once left. We heard repeated reports of guns, and we concluded that the military were engaged in battle with the natives.
From the rising ground above the grounds surrounding Brookwood House we could see distinctly the Maori flag flying, and occasionally see natives walking about on the outskirts of the pah. Soon we saw natives running in an excited manner, and others squatted behind the
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furze hedges, as if in ambush. One of our party leaving us, and approaching towards the scene of conflict, stood up on the fence that he might witness more clearly the progress of the battle. A whizzing rifle-shot soon dislodged him, and sent him running towards us, and led us to think for the moment that the contending parties were approaching. Being at the distance of half a mile from the pah, and the hottest of the engagement being in low ground towards the sea, we were left without even a single conjecture of the success of either party. A fearful foreboding of the discomfiture of the military, and the militia also, who, we doubted not, were among the combatants, took possession of our minds; and this was not removed, even after sun-set-- watching as we did the Maori flag, and seeing it as long as we could see anything. The reports of the guns seemed more and more to retire from us, and we felt confirmed in the idea of the military retreating before the natives. Long after sunset we heard the
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report of large guns. Once we saw a rocket in the air, and, immediately after, a strong glare of light about the pah; we thought the straw was on fire, but had no idea that the pah was actually stormed and taken. We were too far off to hear any shouts or yells; we heard only the report of guns. It seemed to us that a regular movement was made by the natives, as if guided by a notion of military tactics. We retired to the house in a most wretchedly uncertain state of mind respecting the fate of our countrymen, and, it might be, our sons; but felt convinced that so much firing-off of guns must have been seriously fatal to many poor creatures, who, when they rose to the business of the day, little thought how near their end was at hand.
It was while looking at each other, and most anxiously waiting and hoping that we should soon hear something about the affair, that a native (the same who had taken my bundle across to Brookwood) came, in an excited state, seized the bucket at the well,
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and drank most heartily of the water. His tongue seemed cleaving to his mouth, and his face was covered with perspiration. From him we learned that an encounter with the troops had taken place; that many natives were killed; that Paretene, Paul, and other chiefs were dead; that a civilian officer had fallen, and several wounded amongst the soldiers; but not a word of the pah being taken. I think that as this native was not actually engaged in the fighting, but had been watching the battle on the Brookwood side of the pah, he flew with haste to us when he saw the naval brigade approaching, and never stopped to witness the taking of the flag. Thus we were still ignorant of the success of the battle. The account given by the native was anything but cheering. He described (as if by hearsay) the surrounding of Pohamera, a friendly chief, and his natives, near to a wheat-stack-- the inevitable massacre of the whole body of volunteers out in the engagement. He told us the soldiers were encamped near the
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church, and that it was the intention of the natives to surround them in the night, and kill as many as they could. This is all we could learn, for no one else came near the house until early the next morning.
At family prayers that night, a general response was given to the thanksgiving offered up to Almighty God for the present cessation of fighting, and an earnest prayer that no further shedding of blood should take place, but that at once and for ever peace might reign, and the two races might yield to the will of God, and dwell in love and unity with each other.
Before retiring for the night, I went to listen for any distant firing or shouting. Oh, what a calm and lovely night I--the stars glittering in the firmament, and a holy quiet pervading the earth around me. Nature's sweet and soothing influence seemed to fill my soul, and my enraptured vision was carried from the forbidding work of the day to the throne of the God of love. Who amidst such
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scenes could realize the fatal fact, that this fair earth had been polluted by sights and sounds, the very reverse of the peace and solemn silence now reigning; and that men, whom God had made but a little lower than the angels, should contend with each other for mastery more as devils, and glory in the slaughter of each other! Oh, gracious "Father, the world hath not known Thee!" Thou hast "no pleasure in the death of the wicked;" but war, ruthless war, slays alike the innocent and the guilty!
