Notices of the death of three apparently-unconverted New Zealand men.
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NOTICES OF THE DEATH OF THREE APPARENTLY-UNCONVERTED NEW-ZEALAND MEN.
WE rarely put on record the circumstances which attend the decease of Heathens to whom the Means of Grace seem to have been offered in vain: on the present occasion, however, we shall extract from Mr. Yate's Volume, some details, which are placed by him in painful contrast with those relative to Ann Waiapu, Aoheke, and Wakaihi; and which may well serve to quicken us in our prayers, for the more abundant influences of the Holy Spirit.
Paru, a chief of much influence and authority among the tribe Ngaitewaki, was a man of a bold and daring spirit-- savage in his disposition--and reckless of the consequences of any of his actions, either to himself or others. He always had the appearance of a man verging on consumption; and his tendency to this disorder was much increased by his having been exposed to severe cold and wet, in a predatory excursion to the southward. The excursion, in which Paru formed one of the party, was undertaken in the winter: some of those engaged in it were drowned: others were starved to death by cold and hunger; and the greater portion, who lived to return home, had laid the foundation of diseases which rendered their future days miserable, or brought them to an untimely grave. The Young Man of whom I am now speaking began visibly to decline in the spring of the year 1829; and a very short time proved that his disease was too deeply fixed ever to be eradicated: he could scarcely ever be prevailed upon to take medicines; never, indeed, except at the earnest persuasion of one of the Missionaries: he placed his whole confidence for his recovery in the superstitious rites of the priests; whose tapues, and other observances and requirements, in the end, greatly hastened his death. He had heard, many times, the truths of our Holy Religion; and had been entreated again and again, while in comparative health, to lay hold of the hope of everlasting life set before him in the Gospel: but he rejected every overture of mercy. I visited him several times during his illness; and took with me many little comforts, which he had no opportunity of procuring. I always found him stretched on a bed of fern, under a miserable shed which could not screen him from the scorching rays of the mid-day sun; nor from the cold, raw air of midnight; nor yet from wind and rain: here he lay-- the picture of despair; an old tapued woman at his side, wiping, with a roll of flax, the sweat that streamed down his fleshless, tattooed face; and a whole host of friends, at a little distance, talking loudly, and with seeming gladness, at the prospect of the removal of him who lay before them. Their conversation was of
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the most unfeeling character; such as, where he should be buried--how many muskets or blankets should be buried with him--how they would act at the final removal of his bones--and the probable size of the coffins which he would require, at his first burial and after his exhumation. On my visit to him, the day of his death, I found the usual noisy company; and the above were the common topics of conversation in which these miserable comforters engaged: I spoke to them of the cruelty of such conduct; but they laughed at the idea. I then turned to the forlorn patient; and found him struggling hard for breath, while the sweat of death was upon him. He retained the full use of his senses to the last; but this was to him, emphatically, the valley of the shadow of death. I spoke to him of a Saviour, able and willing to save him even then, if he would only call upon Him for salvation; but he grew angry: the expression of his countenance was changed; and he told me, that from his birth he had lived a native man, and a native man he would die. He became more calm when I asked him where he expected his spirit would go, after death; and whether he thought he should be happy or miserable, in the world which is to come. The doctrine of a future existence is one in which all the New Zealanders most firmly believe, but their ideas respecting it are most absurd. The answer, which I received from Paru to this important question, was rather a lengthy one: they were the last words which he ever spoke --the last earthly sounds which he ever uttered, except the long, deep, hollow groan of death--"I shall go to hell," said he, with terrible emphasis-- "I shall go to hell. Wiro 1 is there, and I shall be his companion for ever. I have not killed men enough to have my eyes made stars, as Hongi's are: I am not an old man, but a youth --I shall go to hell: where else -- where else -- where else should I go?" He sank down exhausted; and seemed to slumber for a short time. I left him; and, before I had ridden half-a-mile from the place where he was lying, a long fire of musketry announced his departure. Thus died Paru, a chief of great name.
Naonao, was one of the unhappy victims of war--dragged, in his early days, from the home of his fathers, to take up his abode, as a slave, among a strange people: he was one of those permitted by his master to reside in one of our Mission Stations, on condition of giving up the greater portion of the wages which he might earn: it was on these conditions alone that any slaves were allowed to reside with us, before we had redeemed them. Naonao was a youth, weak in body, but strong in spirit. He was never afraid of undertaking any thing that appeared practicable; and when his health would permit him, he was always first at his work. He could read and write well, and was correctly acquainted with the four rules of arithmetic. In his conduct, he was as steady as the generality of the Natives living in the Stations could be expected to be: but when I have said thus much in his favour, I have said all. Alas! to the day of his death, we never saw any thing in him, but hardness of heart, unbelief, and contempt of God's Word and Commandments. The Truth, which makes man free, never appeared to make the least impression on him. His last illness, occasioned by the bursting of a blood-vessel, was one of great wretchedness. Many a time have I stood by his side, and endeavoured to lead his mind lo the contemplation of his state as a sinner before God, and of the willingness of God to forgive him his sins. All I could ever obtain from him was, that he had never done any harm--that he would not believe--or, that he did not want a Saviour. His mind was exceedingly gloomy; and, for days together, he would preserve an obstinate silence to any questions; whether those questions regarded his bodily wants, or the wants of the soul. At such times, the lineaments of despair were strongly pictured on his countenance: his lustreless eye would roll unmeaningly about, and his emaciated frame would writhe in agony. My heart has bled over his sufferings, and gladly would I have poured balm into his wounds; but he refused to be healed--he refused to be comforted. No efforts were of any avail; and, with his burdened and troubled spirit continually pressing upon him, the maladies of his body were increased, and his sufferings rendered yet more severe. He died as he had lived--apparently without God, and without hope.
Rapu, the brother of Titore, was a man of great consequence in his tribe: he
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was of a disposition rather peaceable and mild, compared with many other of the Natives; but he was sly and designing; and would not stick at any actions, however mean, by which he could promote his own views, or aggrandize himself or his party. He was a bitter adversary to the Truth, always ridiculing the Gospel when an opportunity presented itself. He had a lame hand, which prevented him from using the musket with any effect; and he was thus kept out of many broils, in which doubtless he would otherwise have been engaged. He was another of those persons who laid the foundation of fatal disease, during a war-expedition to the southward: he was ever, after his return, subject to repeated and frequent attacks of cough; and his last illness was one in which he suffered the most excruciating agonies. I first became aware of the serious nature of his disorder, on my return to the Kerikeri, from an excursion among the Natives in the interior. I met him, carried on the shoulders of four men; and I turned back with them to their resting-place, and endeavoured to enter into conversation with the sick man: he listened, but it was evidently with the expectation, that, if he did not listen, I should not go to his residence on the morrow, to administer medicine, or to give him tea and other things which would promote his comfort. I said but little, thinking that I might find a more suitable opportunity than the present, as night was coming on, and the person to whom I was addressing myself had a long way to be carried on an open couch. I visited him several times before his death: he was living nearly ten miles from the Kerikeri, and my visits could not therefore be so frequent as I wished. He did not, however, die till after the establishment of the Settlement at the Waimate; where, in his last days, I had opportunities of paying him more frequent visits, and of giving him line upon line, and precept upon precept. I never observed that he paid the least attention: even to the last, his heart seemed as hard as the nether millstone; and he was much encouraged, in his opposition, by the jeers of those by whom he was surrounded. "If God can cure my body, why does he not do so? and then I would believe what you tell me about my soul" -- was an expression which he made use of, the last day I saw him. "Let your God take away the pain out of my hand, and head, and side: let him make me well; and that will be a sign, that every body will then believe. What you say is too good for us, and we native men had better live as we are: your prayers require too much--more than we can do, if we tried." -- "Yes, yes, yes!" was the universal cry of his companions: "the truth is with Rapu: we cannot do it: we can talk about God, but we have no heart to try to do what is written. We will sit as we are. Rapu! do not listen: turn away: cover your ears: do not listen!" And the poor man obeyed the voice of the scorners, and turned away from the grace offered to him! A week after this he was a corpse; and the sound of the "Pihi," or Funeral Ode, with which his remains were accompanied to the tomb, ringing in my ears, told me, that, whatever was become of the dead, the living were still devoted to their vain and superstitious customs.
