1830 - Craik, George L. The New Zealanders - Chapter XVI

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CHAPTER XVI.

It was, no long time ago, a favourite controversy among philosophic inquirers, (to which we have slightly alluded in the Introduction to this volume,) whether man enjoyed the greater happiness in the civilized or in the savage state. At the period when this question was most keenly agitated, the real circumstances of savage life were very imperfectly known; and such information as did exist upon the subject was not always most familiar to those who shewed the greatest zeal in the discussion. The sources from which their notions were principally taken were rather the dreams of poetry than the accounts of actual observers; and the evidence of facts, indeed, was in general so sparingly appealed to, that the debate was upon the whole much more a contest of eloquence than of argument. In such disputations a mere name or phrase is sometimes a powerful auxiliary to one of the parties; and there can be no doubt that in this case the patrons of savage life were a good deal assisted in imposing both upon others and themselves by the softening expression, 'a state of nature,' or 'the natural state,' by which they generally used to designate their favourite form of society. If this was to be considered as the natural condition of man, it required no great management to represent any deviation from it as unnatural; and this charge,

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accordingly, we find to be the burthen of much of the declamation in which it has been attempted to expose the evils of an advanced state of social refinement. Perhaps all that was really meant by those who first applied the epithet natural to savage life, was that such was the primitive condition of the species--and even that much was an assumption. But it soon came to be taken as signifying a great deal more; and was at length rarely used, perhaps, except to convey, and with the effect of conveying, an impression that only in barbarism was man placed so as to enjoy the power of acting in conformity to the demands of his nature, or of growing up either to the highest happiness or the highest perfection of which it had made him capable.

When we come to examine savage life, however, in any of the forms which it has been found actually to assume, we discover it to be something very different from the popular pictures of it. In the first place, almost all savages exist in the social state--that state in which one man is to a certain extent dependent upon another. They do not roam the woods or mountains, as has been often taken for granted, as free as the wild beasts or the winds. The few individuals of our race who have been found in this condition of lawless and solitary liberty, so far from having exhibited human nature in its noblest or happiest form, have uniformly turned out to be samples of its lowest wretchedness--worse than brutified, not in mind merely, but even in outward shape. The fact is, that, whatever the poets may say, men are not at all formed to exist like the brute in the lair. The social state is natural to the human being, both because he has one of his chief enjoyments in intercourse with his fellows--in the sympathies which this excites in him, and in those of which it makes him the object; and because he is so constituted that he really needs the

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assistance of others to enable him easily to supply many of the most pressing even of his physical wants. Alone, he is no match for many of the lower animals; in society, be it even of the very rudest form, he can cope successfully with all of them, as well as with the fury of the elements, the obduracy of the earth, and the hostility of his own species. Thus placed, he is the lord of creation; but, a naked rover of the forest, he would, instead of carrying any shew of nobility or sovereignty about with him, be only a miserable fugitive before its other savage tenants, and the most helpless of all living things.

Another vision of the savage state, common in sentimental works, represents it as a scene of universal peacefulness and ease, where life is all innocence and sunshine. Here alone, it is said, is society found to exist in a form deserving of the name. The union which binds man to man is here, according to these writers, a spirit of spontaneous love, which leads each to delight in the brotherhood of his kind, and thus gathers together all the members of the tribe into one affectionate and harmonious family. Where the heart is thus left to its free play, the restraints of government and law are needless and unknown. Here, they say, every man acts as his own feelings dictate, and yet injures no one else; for why should he? The gracious earth supplies abundantly his few and simple wants. All day long he spends his time in happy communion with nature, now bathing in the neighbouring lake, or skimming over the sea in his light canoe, or wandering in sultry noon among shady groves, or at even-tide joining his fellow-villagers in dance and song. The savage, whose enjoyments are thus described, is held to be wiser than the proud and pampered inhabitant of the land where civilization has established her crowded cities, her lordly institutions, her innume-

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rable sciences and arts, because he indulges no desires the gratification of which demands either thought, skill, or labour, or which excite him to trespass upon the enjoyments of others in order that he may augment his own.

But this conception of savage life is as much a dream as the former. Many of the evils which it attributes to civilization exist of necessity in every form of society, for their sources lie among the principles of human nature; and civilization, in truth, instead of either creating or augmenting them, operates with incalculable effect in their control and diminution. The notion of property is found, under certain forms, to be as lively and active in savage as in civilized life; but it is only in civilized life that the feeling of the right is combined with anything like a sense of security in its enjoyment. In the savage state the notion of property is, generally speaking, merely a comfortless and uneasy appetite after something of doubtful or impracticable attainment, or an equally restless apprehension of losing what has been actually attained. The absence of law and government, in so far as these restraints are really wanting in the savage state, instead of being the source of many blessings, is more than anything else the curse of that condition of society. For the truth is, that it is only the protectionof these sanctions of which the people are deprived; of their controlling and oppressive power they generally feel enough. Whatever of independence exists, belongs, in most cases, only to the chiefs; and even they, although the superiors of the great body of the people, and equal among themselves, are often subject to a common head, on whose caprice their property and their lives hang in the same manner in which those of their immediate vassals do on their own.

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The bright colours, in truth, in which savage life sometimes presents itself to the imagination, will be found to be chiefly borrowed from the mere physical circumstances of situation and climate. But these would not be destroyed by civilization. The sunny and fertile isle, sequestered in the bosom of the Pacific, would be no less lovely than it is, if it were the abode of literature and the arts. At present, even the bounty of nature, instead of conferring upon its inhabitants a dower of perfect innocence and blessedness, has in some cases only reduced them to a race of nerveless and grovelling voluptuaries.

But it is seldom that a state of barbarism does not exhibit much harsher, if not more revolting features, than those that have just been alluded to. Instead of being a state of universal love and harmony, it is most commonly one of perpetual discord and violence. Whenever savages are possessed of much vigour or activity of spirit, it displays itself in this manner. War becomes the passion and occupation of every man's life; and the land has no rest from confusion and bloodshed. Such a condition of society is evidently as much opposed to the growth or indulgence of a taste for any species of tranquil or reflective enjoyment, as it is to the cultivation of either the elegant or the useful arts.

We shall not weaken the general course of the argument if we acknowledge that savage life has some enjoyments peculiar to itself. It is, often at least, a life of much less toil and anxiety than that of the great body of the inhabitants of civilized countries. And whether this comparative freedom from care which the savage enjoys be the consequence of the really easier circumstances in which he is placed, or only a relief which he owes to his habitual thoughtlessness and improvidence, it is equally, while it lasts, an element of happiness--of such

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happiness, at least, as the lower animals may be said to possess in a greater degree than man himself, who is apt to be disturbed by many apprehensions by which they are never alarmed. Another of the charms of savage life, and one which may be more correctly described as a source of positive enjoyment, is its adventurous character, so unlike the usually quiet and unvaried tenor of the labours of the mass of the population in a settled and civilized community. The aversion and scorn with which all savages regard regular industry may serve to shew us how strong a hold this sort of excitement takes of the imagination, and how small a price the greatest toils, privations, and dangers are felt to be for the pleasures of such a life. The hunting natives on the confines of Siberia had a proverbial imprecation, that their enemy might be obliged to live like a Tartar, and have the folly of troubling himself with the charge of cattle. Yet it is obvious that even the more stirring scenes of savage life must be wholly unsatisfying to a mind animated with anything like a steady and healthy love of exertion and enterprise. Such a life calls none of the higher intellectual powers into action; and even the most brilliant displays of energy and activity, to which it gives occasion, are made for no object at all, or for one that is altogether paltry and inadequate.

We shall perhaps, indeed, arrive at the truest and most comprehensive estimate of the condition and character of the savage by considering him as a child in intellect, and, at the same time, in physical powers and passions a man. A being so constituted is obviously in both an unnatural and an unfortunate state. The two parts of which he is made up--his spiritual and his sensual organization--are not suited to work harmoniously together. The one cannot

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act as a governing power over the other. On the one hand, we have the whole host of the passions in the maturity of their strength, and wielding their most formidable weapons; on the other, where there should be authority to command this turbulent array, there are only the ignorance, the improvidence, the frivolity, the fickleness, the irresolution, and all that constitutes the weakness and inefficiency of childhood. There may be no want of capacity; but, remaining as it does untaught, it grows up to nothing beyond a habit of narrow and insidious cunning, which, if it must be accounted in its degree an intellectual accomplishment, indicates at least the very reverse of anything like a moral advancement. Some tribes of savages, of course, answer more, and others less exactly, to this description. In some the boyhood of the intellect is less, in others more advanced. But its immaturity, as contrasted with that of the natives of a civilized country, is sufficiently remarkable in all. Take an individual, belonging even to any one of those races which have generally displayed both the greatest virtues and the highest intellectual powers. Of all savage nations, perhaps those found in North America are best entitled to this distinction. Many of these barbarians are brave, enterprising, despisers of fatigue and torture, capable upon occasion of extraordinary efforts of self-control, ingenious and skilful in the few arts which they practise, eloquent after the fashion of savage oratory, sagacious in their political contrivances and arrangements, courteous and hospitable to strangers, just in their dealings with each other. All this they are made by the necessity of the circumstances in which they are placed; by their military habits, by their fixed social institutions and customs, and by those few simple rules and maxims of traditionary wisdom or prejudice, which they learn to ac-

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quiesce in and to act upon as instincts. But the mind of even the ablest warrior or gravest sage among them is still, in many respects, merely that of a child. All his notions are simply articles of faith, which he has taken upon trust. None of them, accordingly, have the comprehensiveness of principles. His very virtues serve him only for the particular time and place in which he has been specially taught and accustomed to exhibit them. He does not even make the attempt to practise them on other occasions. Thus, for example, the same individual who, in the ambush, or the stealthy invasion of an unsuspecting enemy, shews a management, circumspection, coolness, and patience, that cannot be surpassed,--or who, if he were brought out to die at the stake, would endure the most agonizing tortures with a stern and unshrinking stoicism that might be esteemed almost superhuman,--is in ordinary circumstances all inconsiderateness, precipitation, and mutability. This latter is his natural character; the other is an artificial display to which he is only rarely wrought by circumstances of peculiar excitement. The grave, steady, and calculating warrior is now a reed to be shaken by every wind--one moment inflamed into passion by the slightest and most unintentional affront or neglect, the next restored as suddenly to smiles and good humour by as trivial a peace-offering. The eloquent old man who was yesterday the sage of the deliberating council, to-day, carried away by an admiration altogether infantine, is ready to exchange the most valuable of his possessions for a string of glass beads. The independence of the tribe, the maintenance of their old customs, revenge on their enemies,--these are the three or four boundary marks of every man's political and moral faith; and no one even thinks of looking beyond them. Hence their unchanging

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institutions, and the unprogressive character of their knowledge and their arts. Society is with them merely a game, which, like other games, must be played according to certain conventional rules; and of course it is no business of theirs either to alter these rules, or to trouble themselves by inquiring into the reasons of their original enactment.

All that we know of the condition of the New Zealanders, is calculated to illustrate and confirm these general views of savage life. The character of this people, both moral and intellectual, exhibits, however, a much richer and more interesting variety of peculiarities than that of most other savages. Its very anomalies constitute much of its attraction. They belong, as the reader has by this time had abundant proof, to the class of the energetic, bold, and haughty nations; and both their virtues and their vices wear the same general air and complexion of independence, decision, and fearlessness. It will be useful to recapitulate here the broader features of their character; first, as such a summary will allow us to introduce many points of illustration which have been omitted in the preceding narrative,--and, secondly, as we may, through these general views, arrive at a clearer perception of the probabilities of their ultimate advancement in real knowledge an4 civilization.

The first and most conspicuous quality in the character of the New Zealanders, is their inordinate passion for war. Of the degree in which they are given over to this unhappy frenzy, no additional illustration can be necessary. Yet many of them are far from being insensible to the miserable effects of their dissentions. Many of the New Zealand wars originate doubtless in the mere ambition and avarice of individuals. The history of Shungie may serve to shew us to what an extent, in such a state

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of society, the restlessness and rapacity of a single chief may operate in disturbing the tranquillity of all around him. But Mr. Marsden in his different journeys met with many chiefs who professed to be themselves tired of war, and well disposed to live in peace if their neighbours would allow them. Their fathers and forefathers, however, some of them said on one occasion, had been always fighting men 1 -- and this they seemed to think a sufficient reason why it should never be otherwise with themselves or their descendants. Another time some of the inferior chiefs applied to Mr. Marsden to take Shungie with him to "New South Wales, as the most effectual expedient that could be adopted for restoring and preserving the tranquillity of the country. 2 One of the most zealous advocates for peace was the chief Themorangha, who has been mentioned more than once in the course of our narrative. He lost no opportunity of inculcating his sentiments among his less enlightened countrymen; but he used to say, that nothing but the appointment of a king over the whole country would restrain the everlasting animosities by which it was distracted--adding, that if he himself were invested with that dignity, he would not hesitate a moment in taking any man's head off who presumed to disturb the general quiet. 3

The wars of these savages are maintained and perpetuated both by their love of contention and bloodshed, and by that spirit of revenge which seems to be more implacable in them than in almost any other people on earth. The law of retaliation in its most rigorous literality is their only rule for reconcilement of differences; and so long as the demands of this inexorable principle remain unsatisfied, the two par-

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ties can only know each other as enemies. "When we ask the chiefs," writes one of the missionaries in 1827, "when their wars with each other will terminate, they reply, 'never; because it is the custom of every tribe which loses a man, not to be content without satisfaction; and nothing less than the death of one individual can atone for the death of another." 4 Many other barbarous nations continue in a state of war, for no weightier reason. Kolben, in his account of the Cape, tells us that the "Hottentot natives trespass on each other by thefts of cattle and of women; but such injuries are seldom committed, except with a view to exasperate their neighbours, and bring them to a war." The North American Indians, who have neither herds nor settled possessions, are always at war for the point of honour, and with a desire to continue the struggle which their fathers maintained. And in truth many of the wars among civilized nations have originated in no more rational object; and whether the pretext has been to maintain a tottering dynasty, or to keep possession of a useless territory, the real object has been the indulgence of national animosity. The English and French were so long accustomed to consider themselves as natural enemies, that a state of peace even now appears to many a singular and perhaps evil exception to the ordinary rule.

Where injuries of long standing do not exist to give a pretext for their insane and destroying contentions, the pride, sensitiveness, and sudden inflammability of the New Zealanders are extremely apt to create causes of offence in a moment, which may prove the sources of hatred and bloodshed for a century. The most trivial slight, or anything which they imagine to be an insult or failure of respect, fires them to instant indignation. Mr. Nicholas witnessed several amusing

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exhibitions of this warm and hasty temperament, on his voyage back to New South Wales. The sons and other young relatives of the chiefs who accompanied them were employed during the voyage in attendance upon the gentlemen in the cabin, scrubbing the floors, washing the plates, and other menial offices. But, although the juvenile patricians really liked these occupations, the least hint to any of them that he was employed in a manner unbecoming his station would make him abandon his degrading task in disdain; nor could he be induced to return to it till assured that it was not unsuitable to a gentleman. Even the chief Tupee, on one occasion, although a member of the priesthood, having been refused some sugar which he had asked for, poured out a torrent of maledictions on the person to whom he had addressed his request, and immediately retired to his bed, where he remained growling till Mr. Marsden himself was obliged to go to him with the sugar; this immediately restored him to good humour. The younger Forster, in his account of Cook's second voyage, relates an anecdote strikingly illustrative both of the New Zealander's quickness in taking offence, and of his equally instantaneous forgetfulness of what he had felt, whenever he discovers that no insult was really intended. On putting off one day from a port on the north coast of Cook's Strait, where they had gone on shore only for a few minutes, one of the sailors informed Captain Cook that he had purchased some fish from a native for which he had not had time to pay him. On this Cook took the last nail they had left and threw it to the New Zealander who was standing on the beach. Probably conceiving that there had been an intention of hitting him, the infuriated savage instantly took up a stone, and hurled it at the boat. It struck nobody; and Cook, with very commendable forbearance, merely pointed out to

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their assailant the nail which lay at his feet; and as soon as he saw the valuable article that had been given to him, he was the first to laugh at his own petulance. 5 This little incident, as the narrator remarks, might have led to serious consequences if Cook had not shewn the prudence he did. If the conduct of the New Zealander had been met by a precipitation equal to his own, a general quarrel might have ensued between the boat's crew and the natives, in the growing violence and confusion of which the mistake in which it originated would very soon have been obscured beyond all chance of explanation. But how often, among these impatient and irascible savages themselves, must it happen that a case no weighter than this shall give rise to mutual exasperation, which many bloody conflicts may not heal! How often, indeed, to our disgrace, do such things happen among the members of civilized communities. The passionate revenge of the poor barbarian has an excuse, in his ignorance of a higher rule of conduct, which the Christian cannot plead.

We have already remarked how lax their notions are upon the subject of thieving, if not from their friends, at least from all who happen to have no particular claim upon their hospitality or forbearance. The natural love of property appears to be by no means extinguished or weakened among them by the extreme insecurity of the right; and many of them manifest a covetousness and passion for accumulation as intense as anything known in the most artificial condition of society. We have already given some account of Pomaree, whose ruling appetite seems to have been the desire of gain. Old Bennee, Korro-korro's uncle, shewed the same disposition quite as strongly, if not exactly the same talent. Mr. Nicholas relates, that he never approached Mr. Marsden or himself without instantly raising the cry

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of "give it the wow," (nail); "give it the matow," (fish-hook); "give it the tokee," (piece of iron); and so much had it become his habit to vociferate this sort of address, that, even after his importunity had obtained for him what he wanted, he would continue calling out the words the same as before. The wealth of their white visitors is a temptation, indeed, which seldom fails to excite all the cupidity of these barbarians. But the discernment which they exhibit in this particular is very remarkable, as contrasted with the simplicity of many other savage tribes, who in general, like mere children, look only to the shew and glitter of what is offered them, and will often prefer the most worthless bauble to an article of real utility. From the earliest period of their intercourse with Europeans, the New Zealanders have shewn that they perfectly understood the difference in value between a tool and a trinket. Even when Cook's vessel first appeared on their coasts, we read of no bargains that he made with them by means of painted beads. Cloth seems to have been at first the only article which they would traffic for. The first time a spike nail was given to one of them, he seemed, we are told, to set no value upon it. This happened on the east coast, a little to the south of Poverty Bay. But by the time the English vessel had circumnavigated the two islands, the natives had begun to understand something of the use of iron; and in Queen Charlotte's Sound fish were readily sold for nails. On his subsequent visits Cook found iron almost the only article in request; and of late years, as has been already stated, agricultural and other tools of that metal, muskets, and ammunition, will alone purchase provisions for the ships that put in at the country.

Yet, although thus fully aware of what it is they have the greatest need of, it is not to be supposed that they are altogether indifferent to ornament and finery, for which indeed no people are without

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some taste that are not in the very lowest state of wretchedness and degradation. The New Zealand chieftain decorates his head with plumes; and is doubtless proud of the graceful distinction, both as a token of his rank and as adding elegance and majesty to his figure. His dress mantle is also elaborately embroidered; and both sexes often wear curiously carved combs in their hair, and clusters of ornaments suspended from their ears and round their necks. The men indeed, as well as the women, are

fond of dress; and shew all the vanity of children when they are more gaily arrayed than usual. To a chief, Mr. Nicholas relates, who came on board the Active while she was passing the North Cape on her way to the Bay of Islands, Mr. Marsden presented a piece of India print, which quite transported him with delight he gazed on the figures with the most vivid amazement, and throwing it over his shoulders, strutted

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about the deck with his whole soul absorbed in his splendid bedizenment. On a subsequent occasion, Mr. Nicholas being; on shore, and engaged in making some purchases from the natives, was assailed by an old man, who offered him a large mat for his coat. The proposed exchange having been agreed to, was immediately made; and our author, having wrapped himself up in the New Zealand garment, the other put on the coat. No sooner had he got it adjusted on his person than the whole being of the savage seemed to have undergone a change; instead of a figure bent with age, and a grave and circumspect demeanour, he now exhibited the erect port of a man in the spring of life, and at the same time a sprightliness and affected ease and frivolity of manner which were meant to be quite captivating, and were certainly indescribably ludicrous. His countrymen were at first so much amazed at his sudden metamorphosis that they seemed to doubt his identity; but they soon felt the full absurdity of the spectacle he exhibited, and greeted him with peals of laughter. Mr. Marsden, too, in the journal of his second visit, mentions that he was much importuned by his friend Moodeewhy, one of the Shukehanga chiefs, for a red flannel shirt, a night-cap, and a pair of spectacles. He observed, that if he could only get these articles he should be a great man. Even the ferocious Shungie was not altogether above this sort of taste. One of the Missionaries mentions that, on his return from England, he stated it as one of his grievances that he had not a piece of scarlet cloth, such as other chiefs were possessed of. "I gave him a piece to-day," adds the writer; "which seemed for the time to set his mind at rest; he put it over his shoulders, and strutted about with the consequence of a Roman Emperor." Even amongst themselves the chiefs have badges of honour and personal decoration.

The courage of the New Zealanders, though, in

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a fair field, of the most fearless description, and implying extraordinary indifference to danger and death, is nevertheless mixed up with a spirit of bravado, which may seem to our notions nearly as inconsistent an accompaniment of that quality, as the ferocity and cruelty by which, among this people, its lustre is also so considerably impaired. But we must not expect from savages the refinement, either in this or any other feeling, which can only be taught by a long habit of subduing natural emotions and of withholding their expression, by reflection, and out of deference to the customs and sentiments of a polished state of society. In the New Zealand warrior the hatred or contempt for his enemy, of which his heart is full, speaks out in every word, tone, and gesture. He defies him to the combat with every contortion of limb and countenance that he can think of most significant of mockery and insult; and after he has vanquished and slain him he vents the residue of his rage and scorn in a profusion of indignities on his dead body. His notion of strength and courage expresses itself with the same coarse frankness on every occasion. If he deems himself to be more powerful or more valorous than another man, he is very likely to insult him for the mere sake of displaying his superiority. Even Duaterra, after he returned from his travels to New South Wales and England, enriched with the presents he had received from his friends, and with no contemptible acquaintance with the manners, and some of the most important arts, of civilization, would insist, during his navigation along the East coast of the island with Mr. Nicholas and Mr. Marsden, upon alarming every canoe that came up to the ship with the most terrific shew of hostility. He concealed himself and his people by lying down on the deck till the unsuspecting visitors were alongside, when on a signal they would suddenly jump up, brandish their

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arms, and uttering the most horrid yells rush forward as if with an intention of indiscriminate massacre. On one occasion an old chief who was coming on board was so struck with this unexpected demonstration, that, letting go his hold of the ship's side, he fell into his canoe, and nearly upset it. 6 Mr. Ellis, who spent some days at the Bay of Islands in the end of the year 1816, notices in his Polynesian Researches, among other traits of native character which he remarked, this disposition to terrify by way of joke. "The warriors of New Zealand," says he, "delight in swaggering and bravado; and while my companion was talking with some of Korro-korro's party, one of them came up to me, and several times brandished his patoo-patoo over my head, as if intending to strike, accompanying the action with the fiercest expressions of countenance, and the utterance of words exceedingly harsh, though to me unintelligible. After a few minutes, he desisted, but when we walked away, he ran after us, and assuming the same attitude and gestures, accompanied us till we reached another circle, where he continued for a short time these exhibitions of his skill in terrifying. When he ceased, he inquired rather significantly, if I was not afraid. I told him I was unconscious of having offended him, and that, notwithstanding his actions, I did not think he intended to injure me. The New Zealanders are fond of endeavouring to alarm strangers, and appear to derive much satisfaction in witnessing the indications of fear they are able to excite."

In the very clever drawings which illustrate a copy of Cook's Voyages, now in the British Museum, and which belonged to Sir Joseph Banks, is a forcible representation of the people of a canoe all engaged in these extravagances of contemptuous defiance.

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Nothing indeed can be more natural and appropriate than this braggart spirit, among a people with whom fighting is so universal an occupation; and as they have a keen sense of the ludicrous, they are enabled to mingle the bitterness of contempt with the fierceness of defiance. They possess a remarkable talent for mimicry. When Mr. Savage brought Moyhanger to St. Helena, he could scarcely be restrained from ridiculing the person or attire of any individual he met who struck him as at all odd, the dress of the soldiers especially tempting him to the exercise of this propensity; and after he came to reside in London one of his chief amusements was to sit at the window and laugh at the faces and gait of the people passing. The chiefs and their relations, too, who returned home with Captain Cruise in the Dromedary, used to consider it the best sport imaginable to walk about on the deck, imitating and turning into ridicule the manners and attitudes of their different English acquaintances. This is no doubt a low description of wit, and exceedingly suitable, it may be said, for savages; but it indicates at least a sensibility to the grotesque, and, by consequence, certain established and universally understood notions of propriety and fitness.