CHAPTER VIII. AN ILL-ADVISED AND ILL-FATED EXPEDITION
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CHAPTER VIII
AN ILL-ADVISED AND ILL-FATED EXPEDITION
"Hast thou been on the field? Art thou come from the host?"--
"From the slaughter, Lady!--All, all is lost!"
---MRS HEMANS.
WE had heard so much about the Maoris' ferocity; of the white men that they had killed and eaten; of Hongi's blood-thirsty career; and of the diabolical cunning and cruelty with which Rauparaha had pursued his cannibalistic career through both islands, that we regarded the Natives with some suspicion when first we landed in Nelson, and were quite prepared to find them dangerous neighbours. Both the Motueka and Wakapuaka Maoris, however, had received some teaching from the missionaries, and welcomed in a very friendly spirit the white men who had come to settle so near them. They seemed much interested in all our proceedings, helping us to build some rough shelters with a very good will, and being especially useful in cutting toi-toi for thatching purposes, understanding much better than we did how to handle its sharp edges without injury to their hands. They also supplied us with some very good potatoes and nice fresh fish, which they brought into the harbour in their canoes, and then hawked about on their backs in small rough flax baskets they had made, proclaiming as they went that the price was "One a backet, one a herring."
Even our women and children soon ceased to fear the Maoris, whilst one very youthful and particularly timid member of our small community became quite an adept at understanding and responding to the very clever signs that they employed in carrying on their communications with us, so that she was often called upon by the Nelson housewives to purchase for them their supplies of fish and potatoes. This same timid maiden (who, some years afterwards, became my wife) watched with wondering delight, quite unmixed with fear, the dusky warriors who occasionally brought their elaborately carved canoes into Nelson Harbour, and I have seen her sitting on a fallen tree in a lonely part of
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the forest singing to a group of Maoris who clustered round her, listening with great attention to her melodious strains.
But all this happy confidence between the two races disappeared after the massacre at the Wairau, where so many of our friends and neighbours lost their lives in such a tragic and wholly unexpected manner. It is impossible, when writing of my first years in New Zealand, to pass over in silence an event of so much importance, and few people, I think, have had so good an opportunity as I to know the truth of all that occurred on that dreadful day.
Sylvanus Cotterell (my cabin mate on the "Fifeshire") employed, for more than a year before his death, a very bright, intelligent Maori whom he used to call "Man Friday." This man was usually with him both day and night. He accompanied Mr Cotterell on his exploring and surveying journeys, and a portion of each evening was systematically spent by them in acquiring each other's language, so that probably no other man at the tragedy understood both languages so well as did Cotterell's "Man Friday." He was honestly faithful to his master, and would have saved his life if he had had the power to do so. But the vengeful Rangihaeata hated Friday because of his association with Cotterell, who was marked out for destruction as the one who was known to have given the evidence that had brought the armed men to the Wairau. With his thorough knowledge of the country, Friday easily found his way from the scene of the massacre to the Wairau Mission Station, and gave to the Rev. Samuel Ironsides the information that enabled him to so bravely effect the burial of those slain. Friday then made his way to Nelson, coming straight to me, and staying with me for several weeks, in order to help me to collect his master's belongings. This mournful duty devolved upon me as the most intimate friend Cotterell had in the Colony. It also fell to my lot to write and tell his relatives of his tragic death. Friday greatly lamented that his master had not returned to the brig with Mr Tuckett, Mr Barnicoat, and those who left with them, and spoke of these persons as the only ones who had given no provocation to the Maori chiefs, but had acted throughout with judgment, coolness, and good sense. And, listening to Friday's cool, logical account of all that had occurred, I could not but agree with him.
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It was with a heavy heart that I heard the faithful Maori's mournful story. Perhaps it was more dreadful to me because I had been asked to join the ill-fated expedition, and had, without a moment's hesitation, absolutely refused to do so. I had two very strong reasons for this refusal. Firstly, although I knew Captain Wakefield to be a man possessed of exceptionally large physical courage, I had not entire confidence in his justice or discretion as the leader of such an expedition; and I had far less in that of the terribly excitable police magistrate who accompanied him; and, secondly, I thought it was reckless folly to imagine that exceptionally brave and intelligent men, as the Maoris were admitted to be, would be overawed by a vastly inferior force, armed with weapons that were well-known to be defective.
For weeks, and even months, after the Wairau tragedy, when we gathered round our camp fires after our day's work was done, it formed the chief subject of conversation, and many a thrilling tale of their sufferings was told by the survivors who had struggled back to us. I have no wish to dwell on those horrors, and shall make my account of what occurred as brief as possible, referring those who wish to know more about the Tua Marina Tragedy to the first volume of my "History of New Zealand."
Unwilling to admit that it was unable to consign to the settlers land that had been paid for by them before they left England, the New Zealand Company attempted to take up land at the Wairau to which its claim had not been definitely proved, and which Rauparaha still regarded as his own property. Three surveyors, with forty assistants, were sent to the spot, and, after building some whares for shelter, proceeded with their surveys as if quite assured of their title. But trouble was at hand. Rauparaha and Rangihaeata appeared on the scene with a fleet of canoes and a large body of armed followers, and calmly forbade the surveyors to continue their work. The Maori chiefs told the surveyors to remove everything that belonged to them to their boats on the river. They then burned down the whares that the surveyors had built, Rauparaha saying, as they did so:
"Do not be angry. This toi-toi belongs to me--it grew on my land. You might be angry if your houses-- which I shall burn--were built of boards brought from
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England; but this toi-toi is mine. I have a right to burn it."
As this interruption made it impossible to go on surveying the land, Mr Tuckett sent Cotterell, who, like himself, was a Quaker, to Nelson, with a note to Captain Wakefield describing what had happened. Cotterell, who was accompanied by Friday, delivered the note to Captain Wakefield on Sunday, June 11th, 1843, and gave him all the information he could. He was instructed to appear at the Magistrate's Court the next morning, and, after his evidence and that of one of his boatmen, John Burton, had been taken, the Magistrate issued a summons for Rauparaha and Rangihaeata on a charge of arson. The following day, Captain Wakefield, the Police Magistrate--Mr Thompson--and sixteen constables and special constables, boldly started off in the Government brig "Victoria" to arrest the two dauntless, triumphant conquerors of New Zealand. Nearly all the Englishmen carried defective muskets and rusty cutlasses, which had been purchased from a Nelson merchant for a mere song, the sight of which was supposed to be quite enough to intimidate the Maoris. Captain Wakefield's party had not gone far when they met Mr Tuckett coming from the Wairau with Mr Patchett and Mr Bellairs, their boat and boat's crew. It was known that Mr Tuckett would not carry arms, and it was not expected that he would accompany an armed party; but he said to Captain Wakefield and Mr Thompson:
"I will go with you if you will do what ought to be done. Go unarmed, and get a quiet talk with Rauparaha and Rangihaeata alone."
This they promised to do, and so the brave Quaker was betrayed into the greatest mistake of his life. The party was soon afterwards joined by Mr Barnicoat and by several of the surveyors' men. Early next morning, the whole company arrived on the bank of a narrow, deep stream called the Tua Marina. On the opposite bank of this stream, the Maoris were camped in a position well sheltered by bush. The Natives were armed and numbered about a hundred. I will let the chief Rauparaha recount what then occurred, as his story is brief and to the point, and generally agrees with that told to me by Friday. It was translated by Mr Clarke, Protector of Aborigines, and officially published. Rauparaha says:
"Early in the morning, we were on the look-out,
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and one of our scouts, who caught sight of them coming round a point, called out, 'Here they come.' Our women had kindled a fire and cooked a few potatoes, and we were hastily eating them when they came in sight. They called out, 'Where is a canoe for us to cross?' Thompson, Wakefield, and some others, crossed over with a constable to take me, but the greater number stopped on the other side of the creek. Thompson said: 'Where is Rauparaha?' I answered, 'Here.' He said: 'Come, you must come with me.' I replied: 'What for?' He answered: 'To talk about the houses you have burned down.' I said: 'It was nothing but a hut of rushes, the materials were cut from my own ground, I will not go on board, neither will I be bound. If you are angry about the land, let us talk it quietly over.' Mr Thompson said: 'Will you not go?' I said: 'No,' and Rangihaeata, who had been called for, and who had been speaking, said so too. Mr Thompson then called for the handcuffs and held up the warrant, saying: 'See, this is the Queen's book, this is the Queen to make a tie, Rauparaha.' I said: 'I will not listen either to you or to your book. I had rather be killed than submit to be bound.'
"He then called for a constable, who began opening the handcuffs and to advance towards me. Mr Thompson laid hold of my hand. I pushed him away, saying: 'What are you doing that for?' Mr Thompson then called out: 'Fire!' He called out once and then Thompson and Wakefield called together: 'Fire!' The Europeans began to cross over the creek, and, as they were crossing, they fired one gun. After this they fired a volley, and one of us was killed, then another, and three were wounded. I cried out: 'Friends, stand up, and shoot some of them in payment.' We then fired; three of the Europeans fell. They fired again, and killed Rongo, the wife of Rangihaeata.
"We then bent all our energies to the fight. Captain Wakefield and Mr Thompson were brought to me by the slaves who caught them. Mr Thompson said to me: 'Rauparaha, spare my life.' I answered, 'A little while ago, I wished to talk with you in a friendly manner, and you would not; now you say save me, I will not save you.'
"It is not our custom in war to save the chiefs of our enemies. We do not consider our victory complete unless we kill the chiefs of our opponents. Our passions were much excited, and we could not help killing the chiefs."
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Thus ended Rauparaha's account of the Tua Marina tragedy, an account which I should have found it difficult to credit if it had not been for the fact that the grief-stricken Friday had already given me a similar history of this foolhardy attempt to arrest New Zealand's two most powerful chieftains whilst surrounded by their devoted followers and entrenched in their carefully selected, well-sheltered encampment. Friday's affection for his master, and his sympathy with the Europeans generally, had caused him to be regarded with great suspicion by his own people, yet he none the less told me that the Maoris had received the greatest provocation at the Wairau, and had conducted themselves throughout with dignity and self-restraint until they were fired upon, and Rongo, the wife of Rangihaeata and daughter of Rauparaha, was killed. This devoted woman is said to have thrown herself in front of her husband, and thus given her life to save his. What wonder that the infuriated savage sought to be avenged upon those who had slain her?
Even after this, if the settlers had retained their guns and retreated, they might have saved their lives. They would, at least, have had a chance of selling them dearly, as, in order to pursue them, the Maoris must have abandoned their well-sheltered position. This would not, of course, have been an heroic course to pursue, but it would have been a more sensible and less humiliating one than surrendering to the Natives after having provoked them to madness. Thompson, however, thought otherwise, and shouted to his followers to throw clown their arms and lie down defenceless in the fern, whilst Brooks, the interpreter, waved a white handkerchief, and shouted: "Kati" (peace). One old soldier, however, named Richard Painter, whose fierce, bold bearing caused him to be generally known as Dick the Panther, swore freely at the command to lay down his own good, much-valued fowling piece, and shouted to his comrades not to keep in a heap for the Maoris to shoot at, but to climb the hill, shoot every Maori that came near them, and die a thousand deaths before surrendering to a pack of hot-blooded savages. This advice was certainly not sentimental, nor was it the best that might have been given; but it was practical, and it soon divided the leaderless men into surrendering Royalists and retreating, protesting Independents--every man of the
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former to die without resistance, the latter to make a desperate, but generally successful struggle for life, and, after much suffering, to reach Nelson in safety.
Meanwhile, the cool-headed Quaker, Tuckett, seeing that all hope of a peaceful settlement of affairs was at an end, called Mr Barnicoat and two wounded men (Samuel Gapper and John Bamforth), and with five others, walked off in the direction of the brig which they all reached in safety. Friday told me that his Quaker master was preparing to join this party, but was stopped by Captain Wakefield who said:
"For God's sake, Cotterell, don't run away."
So Cotterell remained, and was the first man killed, the Maoris saying, as they tomahawked him:
"Ha, you don't fight yourself; but you go and get other men to fight for you."
Though the Wairau was only seventy miles distant from Nelson, it was nine days before the news of the tragedy reached us there.
So all the leaders of that ill-advised expedition perished, and, of the forty-six men who were led like sheep to the slaughter, nineteen were killed, five were wounded, and twenty-two escaped. Many of those who escaped found their way back to Nelson with the greatest difficulty, struggling over the mountains through boisterously cold, wet weather for nearly a fortnight, without blankets and almost without food. All suffered greatly, one poor fellow perished on the way, another became a mental wreck, and several reached Nelson with frost-bitten toes and fingers.
One of the many sad results of this unfortunate expedition was that the happy relations that had previously existed between Maoris and Europeans were destroyed for many, many years.
