1935 - Stack, J. W. Early Maoriland Adventures of J. W. Stack - CHAPTER V. POVERTY BAY, p 141-149

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CHAPTER V

POVERTY BAY

OUR voyage down the coast was uneventful, and I have only a vague recollection of our landing on the dangerous beach at Poverty Bay where the great navigator and explorer, Captain Cook, first landed on the shores of New Zealand in 1769. But I have a very distinct recollection of the mission station at Whakato, and the various events which occurred while we were there.

The large church erected by the Maoris was the most striking object about the place. It was the loftiest building I had yet met with. It had a strange appearance, for though the thatched roof and boarded floor were completed, the sides were left uncovered and the totara slabs supporting the roof afforded the only protection from the weather for the congregation.

The orchard and vegetable garden were the largest and best kept that I had ever seen. I was particularly interested in the vines and the clusters of grapes, the appearance of which, until then, I only knew from picture books. There was a good sized bee-house in one part of the garden, covered with climbing roses, which filled the air around it with their fragrance, and caused me afterwards to associate the perfume of roses with bees and honey, I took great interest in watching the movements of

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the industrious little insects which, long before I had seen them at work, had been held up to me by Dr. Watts's hymn as models for imitation.

There was a large native pa on the bank of the river, at a short distance from the mission station, and a messenger came one day from the chief Raharuhi to say that he had met with a severe accident while preparing a block of timber for house building, his adze having slipped and cut his foot. My father hurried off at once and took me with him; he was much alarmed on seeing the wound, for the great toe was nearly severed from the foot, and if the chief died of lockjaw, as he feared he might, the Maoris would attribute his death, not to the nature of the wound, but to its unskilful treatment. He bathed it carefully before plastering it up and securing it with bandages and splints. Many subsequent visits were paid to the patient, and many anxious days passed before all danger was at an end. During one of the visits, when I accompanied my father, we were taken into Raharuhi's carved house. 1 It was his masterpiece,

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and it is, I believe, the building known as the "Maori house" in the Colonial Museum at Wellington, but whether or not, it was just such another building as that. 2 The chief's wife was sitting on the floor, not far from the doorway, making a Maori mat 3 for herself. I watched her as she deftly knotted with a clicking noise the

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cross threads. The corners of the mat she was making were fastened to pegs driven into the clay floor. The down threads were separated with a curved instrument of whalebone ivory, like a huia's beak in size and shape. The lady was dressed in a new parawai 4 mat, fastened at the neck. In one ear she wore a bunch of white heron 5 feathers, and in the other a greenstone pendant, both of which ornaments were highly prized by the Maoris. Two young maidens waited upon her, and got whatever she wanted, for the evil days had not yet fallen upon the Maori gentry when their servants, realizing their possession of freedom under the new conditions of life which the adoption of Christianity had introduced, forsook their masters and left them to do the best they could for themselves.

On warm days the Maoris of all ages and sexes used to congregate on the banks of the river, and amuse themselves either by bathing or watching the bathers. Two or three long poles, freshly cut from the forest, were erected close to the margin of the river. The bathers would seize the end of the rope depending from the top of each pole and, bending the pole as far back as they could, would let it rebound and fling them far out into the stream, when they would swim back and repeat the process.

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After we had been a few months at Poverty Bay, Mr. Williams and his family returned, and with them another clergyman and his wife. 6 The two newcomers were late arrivals from England. On their way they touched at Sydney, where they procured some oranges, a few of which they brought with them to Poverty Bay. I shall never forget the agreeable sensations caused by my first experience of the delicious smell of the orange peel, and taste of the orange juice. I tried all I could to prolong the delightful sensations by just touching as gently as I could with lips and tongue, the precious quarter of an orange which was given to me, but do what I would it melted away, and only left a pleasant memory, and a longing, which was not fully satisfied till 1846, when I stood in the middle of the Sydney fruit market, surrounded by piles of oranges fresh from the trees, and breathing an atmosphere laden with the fragrance of my favourite fruit.

One afternoon all the ladies and children went for a stroll on the plain behind Whakato to see a clump of yellow kowhai trees, then in full bloom. My father was the only man of the party. On our way back, when still some distance from the shelter of the fences, the quick eyes of some Maori girls who were with us spied a bullock tearing towards us. As the animal drew near, it was

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evident that he was suffering from tutu 7 poisoning, and that he was quite mad. My father told us all to stand still, and to keep close together, while he, hoping to divert the attention of the bullock, went towards it with nothing more formidable in his hand than a korari 8 stick, which he happened to pick up at the moment. Seeing a tutu bush in the direct line between himself and the approaching beast, he got behind it and awaited its coming. The animal, with his head high in the air, and trotting at full speed, soon got within a few feet of the bush which concealed my father, who rushed suddenly from behind it, and ran forward flourishing the stick. The bullock was so startled by his unexpected appearance that he turned tail and bolted. The moment he did so, we all made, helter skelter, for the nearest fence; and well we did, for we were hardly behind it before the bullock again charged down upon us. Some Maori men, who saw what was happening, came to our help, and drove the animal into the stockyard, where it soon afterwards fell down in a fit, and though it was bled and physicked, it died in a short time and was added to the long list of "tutued" beasts.

Poverty Bay was a dangerous place for all kinds of vessels. The river could only be entered

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by small craft, and they had to run the risk of crossing a dangerous bar, which often proved their destruction. The roadstead was exposed to all the prevailing winds, and the deep curve in the coast, which formed the Bay, made it difficult for a vessel caught in it by a gale, to escape being driven ashore. Two or three wrecks occurred during our short stay at Whakato and several white men were drowned.

Our vessel, a schooner of twenty or thirty tons, was fortunately refloated. It came ashore when empty of cargo, and when the tide was exceptionally high, and was refloated at the next spring tide by the aid of the Maoris, who were induced by my father to give the crew the help they needed. I was present when the final efforts to get it back into the water were made, and remember the shouting and excitement amongst the great crowd of Maoris assembled on the beach, when they succeeded.

The return of Archdeacon Williams to Poverty Bay was the signal for my father to proceed to his own station at the East Cape. Our heavy baggage and livestock had already been taken there by sea, in the vessel which conveyed us from Tauranga to Turanga, 9 and the only way we could get there ourselves was either to go along the coast in a Maori canoe, or to travel on foot overland. Coasting was thought to be too risky at that season of the year, so it was decided that we should go by land. This necessitated the employment of a number of native carriers, for besides tents and

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bedding, food and clothing, my dear mother and the four youngest children had to be carried in amos. Three of these were provided for our use, and when we began our march we formed quite a long procession, for the Maoris always walked in single file, 10 and did not always keep close together. Sometimes the leader would be half a mile ahead of the rear man of the party. The only time when the motion of the amo was pleasant was when the bearers got upon a sandy beach where the road was level, but inland the path generally was steep and rough, and those who were being carried were slipped either too far backwards or too far forwards to be comfortable.

Sunday overtook us on the road, and as the weather changed, and rain fell, a sheltered nook at the corner of a pretty bay was chosen for our camping place. The forest trees covered the hillside, and came down nearly to the beach. Our tents were pitched, and the floors covered with a quantity of the common brown fern, which formed a nice springy bed to sit or rest upon. The Maoris made a long shed for themselves by covering a framework of light sticks with toetoe, the root ends of the leaves being fastened on to the ridge pole, and the other ends allowed to cover the roof and form a thick fringe round the eaves, which effectually protected from the weather all who were under the shelter. Several fires were lighted at intervals on the floor of the long shed, which looked very cheerful at night, and round these our bearers sat and talked and laughed till they were too sleepy

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to sit up any longer, when they stretched themselves on the ground round the fires and went to sleep. The showery weather lasted over the Sunday, and we were afraid that our food supply would not hold out. One of the "stand-bys" was a plain kind of plum pudding, which was very satisfying, and nourishing, too, on account of the quantity of raisins it contained. The tent did not afford much room for exercise; we were all very tired of the enforced confinement to its shelter necessitated by the rain, and it was with a joyful sense of relief that we heard the order given to strike the tent and pack up. The sun shone out brightly, and our bearers bent to their work with a will, and filled the air with their merry laughter and boisterous songs.

It was at this camp that I recollect noticing for the first time the sweet smell which the leaves of so many of the native shrubs give out, spreading around them a fragrant atmosphere which forms one of the peculiar attractions of the New Zealand bush, and is always associated with it in the memories of those who, like myself, have had the good fortune to pass much of their time in it.