1884 - Lady Martin. Our Maoris - CHAPTER VIII: WAIKATO. 1852.

       
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  1884 - Lady Martin. Our Maoris - CHAPTER VIII: WAIKATO. 1852.
 
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CHAPTER VIII: WAIKATO. 1852.

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CHAPTER VIII.

WAIKATO.
1852.

IN 1852 the Judge was asked to go as one of the Government Inspectors of native schools, and I gladly accompanied him. A cart was engaged to take me and our belongings for the first fourteen miles, as far as any road went. It had become very bad, and our driver, a cautious Scotchman, at every deep rut or boggy bit, would turn to me and say, "I doubt if Jimmy will do it"; and when he bravely floundered through, he would mutter, "I doubt if Jimmy'll do it going back." It was pleasant to change to the light litter; the men trotted along across the plain with me in a far easier way. When we got to a wide, well-known creek, called the Slippery Creek, from the uncertain footing, they were full of jokes, and called out to those who had already crossed to stand at ease and see our downfall into the water. The next day was very rainy, and the road was up and down steep wooded hills. The droppings from the branches came like a shower-bath on us as we pushed our way through the trees. We stopped to dine in the mid-day, and the

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men lit a roaring fire in an open space, and we warmed ourselves and dried our clothes. Our way led afterwards along a narrow muddy pig track. The poor fellows slipped and stumbled with me, and I felt like a daughter of the Pharaohs to oppress them so heavily. But they were good-tempered, and never grumbled, except at the cook, whose mess of flour had been made too thin, and they chaffed him unmercifully as the cause of every slip. We halted just before sunset in a dismal valley beside a stream. A great tree lay across the path, and our men soon detected a smouldering fire within the hollow trunk, and blew it up to a ruddy glow. We walked up and down, enjoying the luxury of a foot-warmer. The rain was over by the next morning, and we ascended up a steep bank into the forest again. For about a mile we travelled under an avenue of tree-ferns. The morning sun lit up the warm stems, and delicate drooping frondes; and the gossamer webs on the branches of the trees, still wet with rain-drops, glittered like diamonds. One man had to go in front of us, and with an axe chop a way through masses of supple jack and brushwood, so rich was the vegetation. At last we emerged from the forest, and far below us lay the broad Waikato river. We had sent on a trusty native man ten days before to engage a canoe, and there he was quietly awaiting our arrival. We slept beside an old dry swamp, and had rushes

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for our bed instead of fern. The place was populous with large black birds, called by the Maoris pu-ke-ko. They have a harsh cry like a corn-crake. By early dawn we were afloat, and our men paddled steadily against the rapid current till evening. We passed many villages, and the people came to the bank to hear news, and to invite us all to stay and eat. But there was no time for that, and not till after dark did we arrive at the first Mission station. Native teachers and their wives, and the whole school, boys and girls, came running to the bank to greet us, and to escort us up to the Rev. B. Y. Ashwells'. The other Government Inspectors arrived an hour or two later, and the next day the examinations began in geography, arithmetic, English and Scripture history. The girls sang part-songs in the evening with great spirit. We staid over Sunday, and attended native service in the large reeded church built by the Maoris. The church was full of well-dressed, plump-looking boys and girls, with a good sprinkling of older people from the villages around. We heard of elementary schools being kept in all of these, and of monthly gatherings of the teachers to this central station for instruction. We lingered on the verandah in the evening to admire the quiet beauty of the scene. It was spring-time, and between us and the brimming river lay a paddock full of peach-trees in blossom, with a hedge of flowering

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white acacias, and on the opposite bank rose the wooded peak of Tau-piri.

We had to start again up the river in pouring rain, which lasted all day. We went on shore for dinner, and scrambled up a bank to a very miserable village. We sheltered under a ti-manga, i. e., a large square potato store set up on the top of high poles to prevent the rats attacking the food; the villagers gave us fire-wood, and we enjoyed our meal alfresco. It was hard work to get me up the slippery cliff at night, but the men were most patient and friendly. The ground was soaking and the ferns wet, but the good lads dashed the rain-drops off and lit a roaring fire. "Noah," our cook, acted as lady's maid, and dried all my wraps, and brought them back warmed, and with a strong smell of smoke (both of wood and tobacco). The total-abstainers in this country would rejoice to know that none of our party suffered from colds, though we had been sitting in the wet for twelve hours, with the exception of one, who took some brandy and water to keep off a chill; all the rest drank tea, and got up the next morning warm and unharmed. The weather had become lovely and intensely hot. Our men pulled lazily along up the Waipa river, a tributary of the Waikato, running between high wooded banks. It was a luxury to live on such a day, and to glide along past one bend after another, and watch the wild ducks rise.

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While at Otawhao, the Mission station, we rode across to look at a mill which had been put up by the aid of the Government. The day was very hot, but a keen wind from the snow mountains cooled the air. Our path lay across a wide plain, and our eyes were gladdened on all sides by sights of peaceful industry. For miles we saw one great wheat field. The blade was just showing, of a vivid green, and all along the way, on either side, were wild peach-trees in full blossom. Carts were driven to and from the mill by their native owners; the women sat under the trees sewing flour bags; fat, healthy children and babies swarmed around, presenting a floury appearance. In the two villages we passed, there were wooden churches, built by the people themselves. We little dreamed that in ten years the peaceful industry of the whole district would cease and the land become a desert through our unhappy war. We went down the river to the mouth of the Waikato, where Archdeacon Maunsell's Mission schools were to be inspected. It was easy work to go down the stream. We slept one night on a little island in the loveliest part of the Waikato. There was a wood on one side. As we came back from exploring its deep shade the scene was most picturesque--our white tent by the river's brink, the canoe made fast beside it, a large fire burning brightly, round which our men were busy cooking their evening meal. It was a moonlight night, and we stood looking at the wooded

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mainland, and the many islands, and the rushing river, rejoicing in the beauty all around. We heard the bittern sound his drum, booming in "the sedgy shallow" in the early dawn. The men were up betimes, and made themselves very smart, as we expected to arrive early at Kohanga. They washed their hair and stuck bunches of wild scarlet geranium in it. We found hearty work going on at Kohanga. A wooden church with aspire had just been built, and beside it were the school buildings, filled with boys from eight to eighteen, who passed a good examination. We heard Archdeacon Maunsell preach on Sunday to a large native congregation. He spoke Maori with great fluency and precision. We could not help thinking of St. Augustine's mode of teaching his Africans as we listened to the good man's illustrations and saw him pause and look keenly at one and another as he walked up and down, to elicit an answer or to keep up attention.

We passed a volcanic hill on our way back, and I told the men how the scoria which lay scattered in masses about the terraced slopes had once been liquid fire. Our head bearer listened, and then said gravely, "Mother, that's a fib of yours." He was too gentlemanly to use the stronger word, falsehood, so he took the reduplicated form of the noun, which softens the force of it. Thus was a scientific discourse quenched on the spot.

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The Waikatos are a fine set of people, tall and well-made. They are remarkable, too, for the delicacy of their pronunciation. One thought of the Italian saying, Lingua Toscana in bocca Romana, when listening to their talk. Many of the men and women have hair dark brown rather than black, with a tinge of red at the tip; and some of the young people have fair skins, with colour in their cheeks. In old days these fair children were supposed to be changelings. There was a strong popular belief in fairies. They were tall and pale and sometimes a Maori fell in love with one, and wooed and won her. A man told me once that his grandmother was a fairy. Sometimes Maori children were carried off to fairyland and a changeling left in their place. There are some fanciful legends about the good people. A Waikato man told us one, and assured us it was true, and that his friend, to whom the fairies appeared, had only died a few years before we came into the country: Te Ka-na-wa had gone out one night to snare kiwis, wingless birds, that sleep by day and come out by night into the swamps in search of worms. After a while, he grew tired and crept into a hollow tree and lay down to sleep. He lit a fire outside. He was awakened by the voices of men, women, and children, as of a great host. He was very frightened, for he knew they must be fairies. They came very near, and some got on the roots of the tree to peep at him.

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When the fire flashed brightly they moved away. When it smouldered they ventured near again and sang a song. After a time Te Ka-na-wa took off his neck ornament and his ear ring (made of the green stone) and spread them out at the foot of the tree. He thought to himself "the fairies are afraid of me, therefore they do not spring upon me. They only come to look at me, and I will give them these ornaments to examine." As soon as their song was ended, the fairies drew near again, and they handed them about from one to another, and when all had handled them the whole party disappeared, for the day was dawning. He found his ornaments all safe. They had only taken the shadow or spirit of them back to fairyland. Their hearts were quite satisfied with this, and they had seen the kindness of his thoughts towards them. So he went home, and told his story; he only remembered one verse of the fairy song, and it is sung in Waikato to this day!

The man who told us this story added: "Fairies are like to grasshoppers for multitude. Their appearance is like that of the English; for they are fair of skin, they have reddish brown hair, and their skin is freckled. They are not in any way like to Maoris."

Our old friend, the great chief of Waikato, Te Wherowhero, said once to a friend of ours that the

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fairies wore beautiful dresses, the texture of which was quite unknown to the Maoris, and that they delighted in music. At the East Cape the natives show a hill which they love to haunt. If the wood which covers it is set on fire the fairies rush out to save their favourite trees and flowers, and with songs put the fire out. No one has seen them, but many have heard them sing!

Another story is that long ago there lived a man named Red Cloak (Kahakura) in the north of the island, and he had a great desire to go to a place named Ra-ngi Ao-whi-a. So he went and came to the sea-beach, and there he saw on the sand the remains of some fish, and he thought to himself that Maoris must have been cleaning fish there. But when he had carefully examined the footsteps on the sand, and knew by the time of tide that whoever had been there must have been there in the night, he said to himself, "This is not man's work." And he knew within himself that the fairies must have been there. Kahakura went back home, but he could not forget what he had seen, and he pondered it in his heart, and at night time he went to the same place, and, lo! there were the fairies casting their net into the sea, and they were shouting and singing, "Let the net down here; draw it up there." They were singing for joy at the draught of fishes they had taken, and were dragging the net to shore. Then Red

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Cloak went and joined them. The reason the fairies did not find out that he was a mortal was that he was fair of skin like to their race. And when the dawn was at hand the fairies took the fish out of the net, and had begun to thread them on a string; and they worked very rapidly making a firm knot at one end. Kaha-ku-ra worked too, but he made a slipknot instead, and whenever his string was complete he lifted it up, and down came the fish to the ground. When the fairies saw this, one of them came to help him and made a fast knot to the string, and went back to his own work. But he untied the knots, and so it went on again and again. The day dawned, and they saw that he was a mortal, and they fled away in great terror, leaving their fish and their net and canoe behind them, and departed to their own place. Now, the canoe was made of flax, and the net was made of rushes. And Red Cloak took the net home with him for a pattern, learned how to make one, and he taught his children. And so the ancestors of the Maori people learned how to make nets.

The people still use nets woven of flax, though some of the wealthier buy from the English. I have often, with great pleasure, watched a party of native fishermen on our beach hauling in their nets. It was generally in the early morning. The red-painted canoe anchored a little way from the shore, and the stalwart figures of the men as they

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paddled about and drew the net to shore full of delicate, silvery guard-fish, or red gurnets, reminded one involuntarily of Raphael's cartoon. It would have needed his gifts to paint aright the blue, transparent water and the white shelly beach, and the warm brown skins of the fishermen.

There are many grotesque and some graceful legends of the New Zealanders. A favourite one which we used to hear an old chief tell with great glee is the story of an ancient magician named Kae. When a great chief's son was born, he was sent for to perform all the proper incantations 1 to make him a brave and successful warrior. When the ceremonies were all concluded the boy's father sent for a pet whale. It came out of the water at his master's call, and he cut a slice out of its body and cooked it for the old magician. Then they offered to get Kae's canoe ready, but he would not go back, and he staid on till he had persuaded his host to lend him the whale to go home upon. The reason of this request was that he longed to eat up the whale, he had found the flesh so savoury.

Then Tinirau agreed, but he told him to be sure to jump off the whale's back on the right side as soon as they got into shallow water. When they got so

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near the shore as almost to touch the bottom the whale tried to shake the magician off, but he stuck firmly on, and at last, in the struggle, the poor fish got his blow-holes choked up with sand, and he died. Then Kae and his people cooked and ate the whale and made a great feast.

Tinirau waited and waited for his whale to come back, but it never came; and at last over the sea came the savoury smell of the cooked fish, and his wrath was great because it was a pet, tamed to be his baby's plaything. So a large party of his people went across to see if Kae was the culprit. None but women went; there were forty in the canoe. Just as they were starting the baby's aunt asked "How shall we know Kae?" and her brother answered "By his over-lapping and uneven teeth." When they got to the village, Kae and all the men of the place were sitting together, and they could not tell which was he, and it is contrary to all good breeding in New Zealand society to ask any chief what his name is. They determined, therefore, to try all sorts of tricks to make the men laugh and open their mouths. The women sang and played on the native flutes; they beat time with castanets; they played on an instrument like a Jew's harp; they sang a comic song, and made the oddest faces, and shook their hands and arms about, but still Kae did not laugh. At last they got a fire stick and tied it to a piece of flax

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and spun it round and round like a whirligig, and then the old man burst out laughing, and they saw his over-lapping, uneven teeth, with bits of the whale sticking in them. When night came, they set to work to weave spells; they threw Kae and his people into an enchanted sleep and carried him off to Tinirau's village and killed him there. I used to hear this story from a grave, rather solemn old man generally; but when he took a fire stick and, tying it, whirled it round and round, he got as merry as a boy.

Another favourite story was Maui's fishing the island of New Zealand out of the sea. 2 Our friend Jowett and his wife used to play a game about it. He professing to fish up something would ask, What is this? and then his wife went through the names of all the fish of the sea.

Another very popular legend is of a hero named Hatu Patu. He outwits his big brothers who tyrannise over him and wins to himself a great name. One charming part of the story is when he is caught and kept in captivity in a cave by a woman who had wings like a bird's wings, and a mouth so pointed that she could spear birds with it. He could not escape; her cave was full of tame lizards

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and tamed birds, and she had a red dogskin fur cloak, and beautiful cloaks of red feathers from the native parrot, and a two-handed wooden sword, and other curiosities. Hatu Patu coveted these greatly, and one day when she had gone off on a long journey he killed all the birds save one little one, which escaped and flew off to his mistress and sang to her, "Riro-riro," 3 i. e., "gone away, gone away." So she pursued after her captive, and being a giantess with very long legs, she nearly caught him, but he knew of a charm, and he called to the rock "Open to me," and the rock opened, and he hid himself till she was past. After a prolonged chase Hatu Patu jumped over some sulphur springs, and the woman rushed in in full pursuit, not knowing the water was boiling, and was killed.

The Maoris used to tell us marvellous stories about a great sea monster called a Taniwha. It has been suggested that they brought probably to New Zealand some tradition of alligators which are still to be found in the rivers in some of the North Pacific Islands.

There was a favourite hero of theirs who jumped from a rock on the West Coast to do battle with a Taniwha. He was well armed; long and dreadful

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was the combat, and he was badly wounded. But he killed the monster and dragged him to shore. When cut open, twelve bodies of men, and many women and children, were found whole inside, besides mats, hatchets, ear ornaments, and such like.

1   There were old forms of prayer both for male and female infants, a kind of Litany; for the boy, that he might be strong to fight, strong to climb mountains, strong to fell trees, &c.; and for the girls that they might be skilful to weave mats, &c.
2   This legend in one form or another is common to all Polynesia.
3   There is a little bird called Riro-riro in New Zealand from its note.

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