1936 - Stack, J. W. More Maoriland Adventures of J. W. Stack - PART IV. WITH THE CANTERBURY MAORIS 1859, p 221-247

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  1936 - Stack, J. W. More Maoriland Adventures of J. W. Stack - PART IV. WITH THE CANTERBURY MAORIS 1859, p 221-247
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ON reaching Auckland I at once made enquiries about getting to Canterbury, and was surprised to find that no vessels from Auckland went there. The nearest port to Canterbury was Wellington, which I could reach by steamer, and from Wellington I should have to go by a sailing vessel. While I was waiting for the steamer I was told that a brig from Sydney had come in on her way to Timaru, and as that place was in the south of Canterbury, I might get a passage in her. I went to the wharf and saw the captain, a nice old man named Scott, who dissuaded me from taking a passage with him, because Timaru was a hundred miles south of Christchurch, and there were no roads between the two places. I should have to go by sea with my luggage, and might have to wait months for an opportunity of doing so. I have always felt grateful to Captain Scott for giving me good advice. It was against his own interest to do so,

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for my passage money would have been his perquisite, and he would have had a companion to talk to, as he told me.

I took passage in the Lord Ashley, a miserable auxiliary screw steamer of 750 tons, which sailed from Manukau Harbour for Wellington via Taranaki and Nelson. Amongst the passengers was a German scientist named Julius von Haast, 1 whom I had met several times at the Kisslings. He had come to Auckland in the Austrian man-of-war Novara, in company with Dr. von Hochstetter, the leader of a scientific expedition despatched by the Emperor of Austria to the southern hemisphere.

On arriving at New Plymouth we landed a quantity of military stores, in surf boats, which were great clumsy looking craft, pulled by a strong crew, and steered, like a whaleboat, with a long oar projecting from the stern. The steersman stood on a raised platform, and the wonder was how he escaped being knocked into the sea by the great waves which struck the steer-oar.

The open roadstead at New Plymouth was a very unpleasant place to be anchored in, as the vessel was rolled incessantly from side to side by the great ocean waves rushing towards the beach, upon which they struck in a succession of curling breakers, through which it was often very difficult to navigate the surf boat.

Fighting was going on at the time between the Europeans and Maoris, and a good many of the Taranaki settlers, and their families, came on board

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with the intention of taking refuge in Nelson while the war lasted. 2

An incident occurred on our way down the coast which made an indelible impression upon me. Amongst those who came on board at New Plymouth was a Mr. A----- who seemed to be a very talkative person, and very bitter against the Maoris, a fact which rather prejudiced me against him. The day was very fine, and the sea quite smooth, so the captain sailed close in shore, to let the passengers see as much as possible of the forest-clad slopes of Mount Egmont.

While we were passing a large Maori settlement we saw a numerous crowd of natives, who were being addressed by some speaker, who walked backwards and forwards, and gesticulated in the way Maori orators always do. I was standing with a group of our passengers, watching the doings on shore, when the irrepressible Mr. A------ said:

"I should like to bring that fellow down," and rushed to his cabin for his rifle. Many of the passengers said, " No, no," but he paid no heed to them. When he returned to the deck he levelled his rifle and was about to fire, but fortunately the motion of the vessel made it difficult for him to adjust the range, and so he followed the advice of those standing beside him, and did not fire. It was well he did not, for only a short time afterwards the sister steamer to the one we were in went ashore close to that very place and the lives of the passengers and crew were spared by the

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Maoris on the ground that they were non-combatants, and they were allowed to go away safely. 3 If Mr. A----- had fired his rifle, whether he hit anyone or not, it would have deprived the stranded passengers and crew of the plea to which they owed the preservation of their lives; and saved the Maoris from being branded as bloodthirsty savages, for doing to the English what the English had first done to them.

I was very pleased to find amongst the passengers a clergyman of the name of Brown 4 who, although he had just lost a beloved son in a fight with the Maoris, and had suffered the loss of his house and farm at their hands, displayed no bitterness of feeling towards them, and openly disapproved of Mr. A-----'s desire to fire on an unsuspecting crowd of people.

On reaching Nelson our English mails were transferred to the Australian steamer, which was awaiting their delivery, with her steam up. It took two days to land the Taranaki refugees and their baggage, and the cargo consigned to the port. We then crossed the straits to Wellington, where I disembarked, with my luggage, to await an opportunity of getting to Lyttelton.

There was a topsail schooner in the harbour,

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"Big William," cousin of "Little William," would have been about forty years of age when Stuck first met him. His father was the leading chief at Akaroa and "Big William" had himself been present at the grim conflict at Onawe Peninsula when Te Rauparaha all but annihilated his tribe. Wi Harehono was led captive to Kapiti, but was later released by Te Rauparaha and permitted to return to the remnant of the tribe. The portrait was lent by the good offices of Mr. Louis J. Vangioni.

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This fine twentieth century representative of the old-time Maori is the matriarch of the little Onuku pa near Akaroa. About eighty-eight years of age when this photograph was taken (January, 1936). it might have been said of her as it was written of one of old, that her eye was not dim nor her natural force abated. Mrs. Peni, a daughter of "Big William." well remembered Stack, and held him in affection and reverence. The sturdy, shy youngster is a great-grandson

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Photo by Miss S. Lawrence.

Though the name is now forgotten, there can be no doubt as to the identity of place so designated by Stack on page 232. The photograph was taken from the entrance to the paddock adjoining the house. Mr. Gardiner (the present owner) says that in Stack's day the track led straight up between the almost perpendicular masses of rock at the summit. "Rhodes's Chimney" is not to be confused with the hill-top known as Rhodes's Monument, or the Sugarloaf, some miles distant.

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Photo by A. H. Reed.

Time seems to have made little impression upon the house so hospitably opened to Stack in 1859. Perhaps it may have mellowed the walls of solid stone of a warm brownish colour quarried out of the adjacent hills. The present occupant, Mr. F. R. H. Gardiner, has lived here many years, and his father before him. "Rhodes's Chimney" can be seen above the extreme left of the roof. (See page 231.)

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which was advertised to sail in about a fortnight, but the accommodation was very poor, and the time occupied in reaching Lyttelton very uncertain. The shipping agents advised me to await the arrival of an English ship hourly expected, by which I could proceed in comfort and safety to my destination. I took their advice, and in time found myself on board a full-rigged ship, 5 crowded with emigrants bound for Canterbury.

We had a pleasant passage down the coast, and arrived off the town of Lyttelton early one morning. 6 The prospect did not appear to me very inviting after seeing the harbours of Auckland, Wellington and Port Chalmers. The hills looked so rocky and bare, and the shores of the harbour so devoid of natural beauty. The town disappointed the emigrants as much as the scenery around it did me. "What!" said a man in my hearing, "do you call that a town? It looks more like a cartload of boxes chucked out on a hillside."

I landed as soon as I could, intending to get to Christchurch and report myself to the Bishop. I learned that Christchurch was situated on the plains, several miles away from the port hills, and that the shortest road was one that began close to the wharf and went straight up the steep hillside for a thousand feet, and down the other side to the Heathcote Ferry, from which a straight road, seven miles long, took one into the town.

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I STARTED to walk up the hill in company with one of the passengers, a young man named Treadwell, 7 who had attached himself to me from the moment we met on board ship at Wellington. He was a person of most enthusiastic temperament, and held the most fantastic religious opinions. He belonged to the Wesleyan connexion, and was a most ardent propagandist of their system of teaching. His fearless and persistent efforts to make everyone on board the ship he came out in declare himself to be on God's side, made him very much respected. Though he met with a great deal of opposition from some of the young men passengers, he had the satisfaction, before the voyage ended, of winning several of them over to his way of thinking, and got them to avow publicly that they were changed men, and were on God's side.

We walked together up the hill, and were much better pleased with the view which we got of the harbour at the hill-top, than the one we had first from the bottom. But the grandest view presented to us from where we stood was that of the Canterbury Plains, bounded on the west by high ranges

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of snow-clad mountains, and to the north-east by the surf-beaten forty mile beach. The plain below us looked like a great flax swamp, and stretched away south as far as the eye could reach. The road, from the foot of the pass to the Ferry, was bordered on either side by quickset hedges, and the settlers' houses looked comfortable, as if owned by prosperous people. After crossing the Heathcote, we began a dusty and unpleasant walk along a straight and most uninteresting road, bordered on either side by deep ditches cut through a flax swamp. The middle of the road was covered with large round pebbles which, being quite loose, slipped about under our feet, and recalled my early walking experiences on the shingly beach at the East Cape when I was a child. Between the shingly centre of the road and the ditches, carts had cut deep ruts, which were full of mud, and wherever it was not muddy it was dusty. We passed very few dwellings, and these only small wooden huts.

Hot, dusty and tired, we reached Christchurch without knowing it. The houses were so far apart that it was hard to realise that they were standing in streets. We found a shop kept by a Mr. Gee, where we got a cup of tea. After a short rest I went off to interview the Bishop, and Treadwell to interview the Wesleyan minister, and we agreed to meet and compare notes later on.

I was very favourably impressed by the Bishop's appearance. He was a kindly-looking old gentleman, and I felt I should get on with him. He called his son Leonard, who kindly offered to go with me to the only rooms they could think of, which were kept by a Mrs. Harrington, where Mr.

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Charles Bowen 8 lodged. But, on getting there the old body said she had no room to spare. My companion could only suggest trying the White Hart Hotel, which I did, and there I got a room for the night. On meeting with Treadwell, and comparing notes, he had been more fortunate in his search for lodgings. Mr. Aldred 9 had suggested his going to Stansells, a small house in Madras Street, where he had got a bed in a room occupied by four others.

My experience at the White Hart was very unpleasant. My room was very small, and very stuffy, and very hot. The inmates of the place were noisy and bibulous, and there was no way of avoiding them, as the house was so small, and the passages so narrow. The dining-room, which was the only sitting room, was common to all comers, many of whom were rough fellows more or less under the influence of liquor, whose conversation was anything but pleasant to listen to, and from whom I could see no way of escape. I was a stranger in a strange land, and amongst strange people, and I felt it very keenly.

My sense of loneliness was increased by the depressing appearance of everything I saw around me. If the inside of the hotel was so repellent,

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there was nothing to be seen outside it to compensate for its defects. On stepping into the street one saw wide, straight roads, running at right angles for a mile in all directions along a dead level country. Instead of a smooth pavement, small pebbles, most tiring to walk upon, covered the side paths, and larger pebbles covered the length and breadth of the so-called streets, which resembled in appearance the natural riverbeds of the country.

A mean-looking building, called a "lean-to," very like a large hen coop, stood here and there along the desolate street side. Tussock grass still grew in all the streets, and covered the whole area of Cathedral Square. Here and there slim blue-gums were growing up alongside the dwellings, and overtopping them, the rapid growth being due to the fact that water was flowing through the gravel everywhere at a depth of two feet, and as blue-gums could take up an extraordinary amount of water in one day, they grew with astonishing rapidity.

The banks of the Avon which, under ordinary circumstances, would have afforded an attractive place for a stroll, were robbed of the charm possessed by a flowing stream of clear water, by the growth of watercress which completely covered the surface of the river, and hid any drop of water from view. From the centre of Cathedral Square to the foot of the Southern Alps, nothing could be seen but straw-coloured tussock grass. A small wood at Riccarton, and another at Papanui, were the only two objects that differed in colour from the rest of the monotonous plain which stretched to the south as far as the eye could see.

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I soon discovered that, being a stranger, I was an object of curiosity to the residents in the lifeless "city," where so few persons passed to and fro along its thoroughfares during the day. The thought of being watched from doors and windows became intolerable to me. To escape inquisitive eyes I walked out towards Riccarton Bush through the tussocks, but when I was a mile from any house I was still such a prominent object in the landscape that I sat down, to try and conceal my movements; but even then my head and shoulders appeared above the tufts of grass that surrounded me. 10




THE Bishop had told me to consult my own convenience as to the best time to visit the Maori villages on Banks Peninsula, where the bulk of the Maori population resided. Growing more and more depressed every hour I spent in Christchurch, I resolved to go at once. After paying my hotel

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account, which I thought exorbitant for the poor accommodation afforded to me, I walked to Lyttelton, where I called upon Mr. Latter, the agent to whom my luggage was consigned. The old gentleman was most cordial in his greeting, and invited me to lunch with him. He urged me to stay the night, and cross over to Purau by boat in the morning, when he promised to give me a letter of introduction to his son-in-law, Mr. Robert Rhodes, who lived at Purau. Mrs. Latter and her daughter, both of whom remembered meeting me at their house in Fenchurch Street (London) in 1852, added their persuasions to those of the head of the house, and their warm-hearted friendliness prevailed over my scruples about putting them to inconvenience, and I stayed, and spent the happiest time I had enjoyed since my arrival in Canterbury.

The following morning I met Mr. Rhodes at Mr. Latter's office, and he very kindly invited me to his house, when he promised I should always have a warm welcome, a promise which he and Mrs. Rhodes fully redeemed. During all the years they lived at Purau their house was always open to me, and I invariably enjoyed from them both the greatest kindness and hospitality. 11 They always made me feel, when with them, that I was a welcome guest.

I crossed the harbour in company with Mr. Rhodes, and met with a kind reception from his wife. After lunch I expressed a wish to go on to the Maori settlement at Port Levy, and having

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been put on the shortest track, I climbed the steep hill at the back of the homestead, which the shepherds called Rhodes's Chimney. The last hundred feet was nearly precipitous, and getting up it was just like stepping up a steep ladder. The afternoon sun shone hotly on by back, and I felt the weight of my knapsack and waterproof very inconvenient. As the path was nothing more than a sheep track, I should have had some difficulty in choosing between the many divergent tracks I met with at the top of the hill, but from the fact that the view from the top was quite clear, and Mr. Rhodes had given me such plain directions that there was no mistaking the course I had to take, which was to make for the beach below me as quickly as I could, through the short fern and grass which covered the hillside. I saw the Maori village, and the adjoining native cultivations, on the opposite side of Port Lew harbour, and to reach it I had only to keep on walking for an hour or two.

When nearing the beach I saw to my right a nice-looking house sheltered by the hill, and by some fine native forest trees. The Rhodes had told me that the place belonged to a Mr. Charles Cholmondeley 12 who, with his mother and sisters, lived there, and worked a large dairy farm. I was advised to call upon them when I went by, as they were certain to treat me kindly. I preferred going on to the Maori pa without doing so, however, for I wished the Maoris to realise from the first that

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they were the people I had come from the north to see and get on friendly terms with, rather than my own countrymen, however desirable their acquaintance might be.

I got past the first outlying houses without difficulty, as the natives took me for someone from the neighbouring settlers' houses, and allowed me to pass without challenge. On nearing the larger settlement I accosted the first man I met, in his own language, and asked him to take me to the house of the chief layreader in the place. Long before I got there, word was passed along that the newly appointed missionary had arrived, and on reaching the teacher's house I was surrounded by a large crowd of people, eager to shake hands. A new mat was spread on the ground for me to recline on, and several women, under the superintendence of Annie Manahi, swept the house I was to occupy, and spread new flax mats over the floor. When ready for me I was taken into a comfortable wattle and dab building, about thirty feet long and sixteen feet wide, with two large chimneys on either side. There were no partitions of any sort dividing the building, which formed one large room. When I had taken my seat the leading men of the place, including Wiremu Te Uki, Hukopa Te Atu o Tu, Arapata Koti, Ihaia Taihewa, and others, made speeches of welcome, to which I replied, telling them I had come to be their minister and friend and helper, and live and work amongst them.

I suggested that we should begin our intercourse by reviving the practice of public morning and evening prayer, at sunrise and sunset, and as the sun was just setting I begged them to ring the

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church bell. "Alas!" they said, "the church is in the occupation of our pigs, and we hold our services, when we do have them, in our dwelling-houses, and we hope you will not object to having prayers here where you are now." I agreed, and so began my ministry amongst the Canterbury Maoris at Port Levy in 1859, and continued it without intermission until 1887, when I resigned, and became Vicar of Fendalton.

I stayed about three weeks with the Maoris at Port Levy, trying to learn all I could about them, in order to decide where to fix my permanent residence. There were about 130 natives living at Port Levy, which was then the most populous village in the diocese. The chiefs there pressed me to select a site for my house and school on their land in the Bay, but I declined to make any choice until I had visited all the other Maori settlements, and knew more about the different localities.

Mr. Charles Cholmondeley called upon me one day, and kindly invited me to stay at his house. I returned his call one morning, and met with a very friendly reception. His mother and sister could not understand how I put up with the discomforts of a Maori household when their house was open to me, until I explained that by doing so I was gaining the Maori confidence, and making them feel sure they were my special care. Hitherto they had only associated with the lowest class of white men. The better class of English settlers treated them as inferiors, and not entitled to be regarded as civilised people. By living with them I hoped to revive a spirit of self-respect amongst the Maoris, and to help them to convince their

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English neighbours that they were a truly civilised people whose code of honourable conduct was just as high as their own.

It was a great joy to me to discover in after years that my efforts to make the English residents better acquainted with the true character of the Maori race had not been in vain, and to find mutual respect prevailing between English and Maori, where contempt on the one hand, and resentment on the other, had been the feeling they cherished one towards another. It was a matter of astonishment to an English gentleman, to discover in the course of some business transaction with an old Maori in rags, whom he had despised, that the man possessed as keen a sense of honour as his own, and was really more to be trusted to act honestly than the majority of his own countrymen.

Though I did not stay at the Cholmondeley house during my first visit to Port Levy, I promised to do so the next time I visited the place, and always after that continued to enjoy their hospitality whenever I had the opportunity. I found them all kind and sympathetic friends, and the better I knew them the better I esteemed and loved them, and their home was a life-long haven of rest to me.

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UNDER the guidance of a man named "Little William" 13 I started one Saturday morning for the native settlement of Wainui, in Akaroa Harbour, where I intended spending Sunday. The climb up the steep, rocky hillside, from the beach to the summit of the ridge, proved very hot work, and I was glad when we began to descend through the woods into Pigeon Bay. My companion had talked incessantly all the way up the hill about a widow who was always kind to the Maoris, and lived with her family down near the beach. Her name, he said, was Tikara. I could not think of any name that might be its English equivalent, but whatever her name might be I refused to go near her house, and told William not to take me there. We were walking for some time under tall forest

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trees through which our path led when, without any warning I stepped through a natural arbour and found myself within a yard or two of a large house, and standing on the verandah, looking at me, were two young English ladies. I felt very angry with William for tricking me, but as there was no retreating I slipped off my knapsack and put on my coat, but, not having shaved before starting in the morning, I felt very dirty and travel-stained. On turning the corner of the house I came face to face with the quaintest little lady I had ever seen. She was dressed in pale blue, with a little shawl over her shoulders, and a white starched sun bonnet on her head, beneath which her kindly grey eyes shone out a warm welcome. She seized my hand with both hers, and turned a deaf ear to my apologies for being in such an unfit state to meet ladies. "We are just going to dinner," she said, "and you must join us." After I had washed my hands the little lady escorted me into the dining-room where, at a long table, I saw a number of people seated. "Now I must introduce you to my family." And she took me up to each one, with whom I shook hands. "This is my daughter, Mrs. Robinson; 14 and this is Captain Gay, my son-in-law; and this is Mrs. Gay; and this is Miss Aylmer, the daughter of the clergyman at Akaroa; and this is my daughter Annie; and this is Jimmy Gay, and Hamish you have seen." Upset as I was by the unexpected encounter with all these strangers their real cordiality put me quite at my ease.

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Master William had got such a good dinner that he was loth to move when the time came for us to continue our journey. His reason for disobeying my orders, and bringing me to Mrs. Sinclair's 15 hospitable house was very evident. This visit, paid against my will, was the first of many. Later on I was to have the pleasure of spending some days with them in company with my bride.

The walk up the Pigeon Bay valley, and along the hill-top to Akaroa, though a long one, was very enjoyable. Passing through the forests we were, near French farm, overtaken by darkness, and several times lost our way, so we sat down beside a cattle track, lit a fire, and waited there for daylight. As soon as the path was discernible we pushed on, and reached the pa just as the people were getting up.

"Little William" was just as abrupt and unceremonious in the way he introduced me to the people of Wainui, as he had been when introducing me to the Sinclairs. He stalked up to the door of the chief's house and threw it open, exclaiming, "Here is our white man!" The sight which

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greeted my eyes on looking in, was one I had never seen before, and it gave me quite a thrill of pleasure, for there was a man, kneeling on the floor in an attitude of prayer, before putting on his day clothes. I at once fell back, and waited outside until he came out to greet me, when I learned that he was Tamati Tikao, the principal chief of the district, and a layreader of the English Church. He was delighted to see me, and he and his good wife Rakera became my faithful friends and helpers during all the years that followed our first acquaintance.

Strange to say, Tamati had accompanied the Rev. Charles Reay from Nelson to the East Cape when Mr. Reay was sent to succeed my father after his removal from that district. When Mr. Reay died, 16 Tamati returned to his own people in the South Island, where I met him in 1859.

Tamati took me across the harbour of Akaroa, with the beauty of which I was charmed, to the native village of Onuku, 17 where "Little William" came from, and where his cousin "Big William" 18 was the chief.

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Tamati did all he could to convince me of the suitability of Wairewa (Little River) as a site for my headquarters, and promised to give a good-sized piece of ground on which to erect the necessary buildings, and enough forest trees to supply the necessary timber for their construction, if I would consent to live there. I found him a very intelligent and well-intentioned Christian man, anxious to do all he could to benefit his people. After a few days spent with him at Wainui he accompanied me to Little River, where I found a fairly populous village, 19 and spent some time discussing plans for providing day schools, and regular services, on week days and Sundays.

I thoroughly enjoyed my stay at Wairewa. The Maori settlement was beautifully situated on rising ground overlooking Lake Forsyth, and from it could be seen a number of valleys running up into the hills, which rose to a height of 3,000 feet and more. Dense forests clothed the hillsides, and the woods were vocal with the songs of the makomako 20

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Photo by H. Chapman.

Stack named this church after St. Stephen's, Parnell, Auckland, where he had been married in January, 1861. In 1935 Mr. Te Aritaua Pitama told me that when removing some panelling in the vestry, a pencilled note by Stack was found on the wall, recording the date and text of his last sermon in the church, more than thirty years previously. Within a stone's throw of the church, amongst some large trees near the roadside is the site of the house and school destroyed by fire in 1870.

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Photo by H. Chapman.

In the 'sixties this would have been a very imposing residence. It seems probable that this was the building in which Stack conducted services while the church was being erected. (See pages 245-6.) Peter Te Hori was a much-respected chief. Stack, in "South Island Maoris," states that he was the last learned chief of Ngai Tahu, and that it was from him he obtained most of his knowledge of South Island tribal lore.

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This photograph was taken a good many years ago. while the higher levels were still thickly clothed with the native bush which, in the early days, covered almost the whole of the Peninsula. It was into this Bay that Stack was conducted by his guide, "Little William" (see page 236). The photograph was kindly lent by Mr. Ebenezer Hay. whose forbears settled at Pigeon Bay in the early 'forties, long before the arrival of "The Canterbury Pilgrims."

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and tui and other birds. Wild pigeons and parrots abounded. These the natives snared in great numbers, and used for food. The lake swarmed with every sort of water fowl, and eels of a large size were very plentiful. I never was in a place where the Maoris possessed such a varied bill of fare. The big dogs about the village were kept for wild pig hunting, and pork was never wanting in the place.

The special charm of Wairewa as a Maori settlement, to my way of thinking, was its inaccessibility. It was completely isolated from all the English settlements, and when there I could feel as I did when a child at the East Cape--as if there were no white people in the country, no one to stare at you and wonder why you could speak Maori, and share their way of life.

If I could only have been sure that Wairewa would always be what it was when I first saw it, I could have closed with Tamati Tikao's offer, and made it the centre for working the Maori Mission. But I knew that the English occupation of the

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district was only a question of time, and that the rising flood of English immigration would reach it before many years elapsed, and then all its charms and advantages would vanish.

To get to Rapaki, the native settlement in Lyttelton Harbour, Tamati lent me a horse, and sent a guide with me. It was a long and tedious journey, owing to the track winding in and out of all the valleys, and being often so wet and muddy that it was impossible to get out of a walk, so that it was well on into the night before I reached my destination. The situation of Rapaki was very pleasing, but the native inhabitants were not so. Their close proximity to Lyttelton brought them into daily contact with the rough characters hanging about the wharves and public-house doors, and from this they had contracted a coarseness of manner.

However, during my tour round Banks Peninsula I had met with so much kindness and hospitality from both Europeans and Maoris that I felt quite cheered and encouraged by it; while the beauty of the coastal and inland scenery left a very pleasing impression upon my memory.

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ARRIVED back in Christchurch I found there was a difficulty in getting lodgings of any sort. Towards evening, as a great favour, I was taken into a small boarding-house where half a dozen young men, office clerks, stayed. The occupant of one of the rooms had gone away for a week, and the landlord said I might have it until he returned. I had not been long in the house before I was made to feel that the other lodgers did not want me there. They stared at me, and would not speak, and joked about me to one another in whispers. To escape them I went up to the bedroom, but owing to the noise and rowdiness of some of the men in the house, I not only locked my door, but put the chest of drawers and table between it and the opposite wall, so that it could not be forced open without smashing the door. It was well I took this precaution, for about midnight there was a tremendous uproar in the passage, loud and angry voices, and tumbling about against the walls. Then my door was thumped and shaken, and I was told to open it or get my head broken. I kept perfectly quiet, chuckling over the secure way I had fastened myself in. I overheard the landlord and landlady begging the man to be quiet. "But you have put someone into my room. It's my room, and I will

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have it." Then a volley of oaths, and a renewed attack on the door. Finding at last that he could not get in, the owner of the room, who was evidently very drunk, went away with the landlord, who promised him a "shake down" in some other part of the house.

I got up very early in the morning, and had breakfast before any of the lodgers were down. After paying my bill I cleared out of the place, and went wandering about the stone-strewn streets, wondering what I should do next, when I stumbled against Treadwell. He advised me to try Stansell's, in Madras Street, where he was staying, and the result was I became an inmate of the house. It was a small building, consisting of two front rooms and two back ones, with a lean-to kitchen, and an attic over the two front rooms. There were five others besides myself, and we all slept in beds placed in the attic. We had our meals, and sat, in a room about ten feet square.

Whenever Treadwell was present, he at once engaged in a religious controversy with one or other of us. He attended the Wesleyan services, and denounced good old Mr. Aldred, the minister, as a latitudinarian. He met Mr. Alabaster, the incumbent of St. Michael's, Christchurch, and told him what he thought of the Church of England and her ministers. Mr. Alabaster was a very saintly high churchman, and a clever man, and Treadwell always after their interview spoke of him with respect. He visited Riccarton, and held services there every Sunday in some cottage, because "it was such a benighted place, where they never heard

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the Gospel." Mr. Bowen, the young vicar there, was "a blind leader of the blind."

I was rejoiced to hear one day from the Bishop that he was about to make a visitation of the southern portion of his diocese, and that he intended to take me with him. Before starting, he desired me to arrange for a meeting with the Maoris at Kaiapoi, when he explained to them his object in appointing me to work amongst them. 21

The Maoris were pleased to hear that he had fixed on Kaiapoi as the place best suited for my residence, and promised to give twenty acres of land for the use of the Mission. This I was requested to select as near the centre of the Reserve as possible, which I did on the day after the meeting took place.

I was pleased to find a native chapel at Kaiapoi, capable of holding 150 people. It was originally erected as a dwelling-house by the chief Pita Te

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Hori, 22 but, just as it was ready for occupation, the native church was accidentally burnt down, and Pita generously gave up his new house as a place of worship, till a new one could be built. On going to look at the building I was warned not to enter it, as it was so infested with fleas that no congregation could be induced to go there. To convince me of the fact my companion, who was wearing white moleskin trousers, tying the bottom of his trousers with flax, went in. In a moment, from the knees downwards he was covered with hundreds of fleas, which he proceeded to brush off after hastily making an exit.

I found a willing helper for cleaning the floor of the church in a very civilised man named Solomon. Dressed in old clothes, he began by lighting a fire just outside the church, and dragging out all the old floor mats, which he burned. Then he lit small fires all over the floor, into which the fleas jumped. Then he swept the whole surface of the clay floor with a stiff birch broom, and burned the sweepings. Then, on Saturday morning, before laying the new mats, he burned dry grass, which he first sprinkled on the floor. In this way he successfully cleared the place of all fleas, and when Sunday morning came, none of the large congregation of men and women who filled the building had any complaints to make. I was staying at the time with Ihaia and Sarah Taihewa, who were very hospitable people, and I had enlisted the

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help of Sarah in getting some young Maori women to make a number of green flax mats, with which the floor of the church had been covered.

At the Bishop's request Solomon agreed to accompany us on our journey to South Canterbury. The account of our travels is recorded in the pamphlet published by The Akaroa Mail, entitled Through Canterbury and Otago with Bishop Harper in 1859-60.

There is still much material in the Stack MSS., of great interest and importance, awaiting later publication. The Editor would, therefore, be glad to hear from those having letters or other material or information relating to Canon Stack.

1   For a biographical note on Sir Julius von Haast see Appendix to the preceding volume, Early Maoriland Adventures of J. IV. Stack.
2   Women, children and aged people, were ordered to go to Nelson; many of the women bravely refused to leave their husbands, and, revolver in hand, dared the law officers to compel them. --Forty Years in New Zealand; Buller.
3   The s. s. Lord Worsley was totally wrecked in Te Namu Bay, Opunake, at 1.30 a. m., 1st September, 1862, when voyaging from Nelson northwards. There was no loss of life, nor were lives threatened >by the Maori. (H. F.)

See also Recollections and Reflections of an Old New Zealander; Maxwell; 1935, pp. 147-150.
4   The Rev. H. H. Brown, of St. Mary's, New Plymouth. Died 1903. His son Frank, aged sixteen, was a volunteer with the 65th Regiment at the attack on Mahoetahi Pa, 6th November, 1860, and was killed. (H. F.)
5   The barque Minerva, 874 tons.
6   16th August, 1859.
7   Treadwell was a local preacher on trial in Christchurch in 1859; proprietor of a boys' school; aspired unsuccessfully to parliamentary honours; married a Miss Dickey of Christchurch; and is said to have emigrated to America in the late 'seventies. (M. A. R. P.)
8   Later the Hon. C. C. Bowen, Speaker of the N. Z. Legislative Council. For some years he represented Kaiapoi in Parliament. Born at Milford, County Mayo, Ireland, and died at the age of 87 at Christchurch on 12th December, 1917. (J. T. P.)
9   Rev. John Aldred was born on 12th February, 1818, entered the Wesleyan ministry in 1839, arrived in New Zealand in 1840. Missionary to Maoris and minister to Europeans. The first Wesleyan minister to reside at Port Nicholson (1840), Chatham Islands (1842), Nelson (1843), Lyttelton and Christchurch (1854) He died on 12th January, 1894. (M. A. R. P.)
10   It was not at all an uncommon thing for persons going across the plains to find, after walking or riding all day long, that they were back at night to the very spot from which they set out in the morning. Having nothing to guide them they had described a circle. Several lives had been lost in this way. After days of aimless wandering, the unfortunate and bewildered travellers, overcome by thirst and fatigue, had sunk down in the grass and died."--Through Canterbury and Otago with Bishop Harper in 1859-60; Rev. J. W. Stack; Akaroa Mail Office.
11   Their open-handed liberality is mentioned in the Lyttelton Times of 23rd January, 1864, wherein it is stated that Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes entertained 360 children at a picnic, and contributed £50 towards the expenses. This appears to have been an annual event.
12   Charles Cholmondeley came to Canterbury in 1850, and was joined by his brother George James in 1853. (H. F.) The preceding volume, Early Maoriland Adventures, contains letters from Stack to a younger brother, Hugh Heber Cholmondeley, who died on 13th July, 1935.
13   "Little William" (Ngaere Wiremu te Hau) was so called to distinguish him from his big cousin. He suffered from rheumatism and walked with a stoop. He was for some time the Maori preacher at Onuku, and could speak English only imperfectly. At the time of Te Rauparaha's raid and the Onawe massacre in 1830 "Little William" was a boy and was fortunate to escape both death and captivity. As implied by Stack, he was a comical character. Visiting the clergyman (Mr. Davidson) at Akaroa one day he exhibited his old hat with the remark, "ou know Mr. Anderson (Mr. Davidson's predecessor) a werry good man. When I show him my old hat, he say: 'Little William,' you want new hat,' and he gave me his hat." He was chairman of the Onuku Native School Committee, and conducted the services at the native church at Onuku, where he died. (L. J. V.)
14   Mrs. Sinclair's daughter Helen had married C. B. Robinson, the first magistrate in the South Island. Appointed by Governor Hobson he had arrived at Akaroa in the Britomart in 1840. (L. J. V.)
15   Mrs. Sinclair was the widow of Captain Francis Sinclair, who came to Akaroa in 1841, and was lost at sea in 1846. Mrs. Sinclair died in 1892. (H. F.)

Mr. Sinclair on his first arrival built a vessel, and went on a voyage with his eldest son. They were never heard of again. Mrs. Sinclair was an exceedingly hospitable, kind old lady, and gave many a night's lodging to a traveller who would otherwise have had to spend the night amongst the bush.... After a certain time had elapsed, the family sold out to Mr. George Holmes, and started a regular family ship, and went to British Columbia. Not liking that place when they arrived there, they went to Honolulu, where they bought an island for themselves. They prospered there exceedingly. --Stories of Banks Peninsula; edited by H. C. Jacobson, 1884.
16   Rev. C. L. Reay died at Waiapu on 30th March, 1848. (H. F.)
17   A mile or two from the town of Akaroa, in the direction of the harbour entrance, and still the location of a small Maori kaik.
18   Wi Harihono Puhirere ("Big William") was also known as "King William." As a boy of twelve he took an active part in the big fight at Onawe on Akaroa Harbour, when most of the Peninsula Maoris were slain by the raiding party under Te Rauparaha. The boy was taken captive to Kapiti, but some years later was permitted to return to Akaroa. The story is told by Stack in Jacobson's Tales of Banks Peninsula. (L. J. V.)
19   A Maori census of the Canterbury Province, published by the Lyttelton Times on 20th October, 1858, gives the population of Wairewa as 36.
20   The makomako (bellbird) is known as the korimako in the North Island. When Captain Cook's vessel was in Queen Charlotte Sound, Sir Joseph Banks was charmed by these songsters. The ship was anchored about a quarter of a mile from the shore. "In the morning," he wrote, "we were awakened by the singing of the birds. The number was incredible, and they seemed to strain their throats in emulation of each other. This wild melody was infinitely superior to any that we have ever heard, of the same kind; it seemed to me like small bells, most exquisitely tuned." (J. T. P.) "Suddenly I stopped, I listened... What had I just heard at the edge of the forest? A small bell, no doubt--a goat's bell, at first slow, then quicker, then everywhere at once. No, it was not a goat's bell, it was the bell of a bird. The first to come and interrupt the silvery ringing of this little bell was the tui. It flung into the night and into the midst of the silence a fusillade of rapid and continuous notes, like a display of fireworks... Soon came the rosary, told bead by bead, of the kokako, followed by the tieke. Next, a solo, as though from a crystal flute, came from the piopio, singing its nocturnal hymn. The other birds paused for an instant as though to listen. Then all together once more resumed, like an immense choir, each sustaining its part... I listened thus for two hours, then, little by little, the concert ceased, and the tui alone continued to sing. The sun had risen."--(An early description of bird songs on Banks Peninsula; from The Whalers, F. W. Reed's unpublished translation of Dumas' Les Baleiniers.) See also note, p. 123, Early Maoriland Adventures of J. W Stack.
21   The Lyttelton Times of 21st September, 1859, gave a lengthy report of this meeting, held on 10th September, 1859. Pita te Hori, chief and native assessor, was one of the principal speakers, and part of his speech of welcome may be worth quoting as an example of Maori oratory and apt symbolism. "How do you do, the Bishop, the ministers (Revs. H. Jacobs and G. Cotterill), and my friend Mr. Hall, and the missionary.... There are two laws that I think a great deal of--the law of God and the law of the Queen. First we had a teacher, Mr. Fletcher. It was not our fault that he went away. We got the feathers of the bird in our hands, but the bird flew away. We were very dark in our hearts at the loss of our teacher. Now we are full of joy because the Bishop has given us another teacher. We have got the body of the bird this time. We will not let it go. This bird is for Kaiapoi. Its nest shall be there. It may fly away to other places, but it must come back to its nest again.... I wish you to understand that this time the bird shall not be plucked and sent away when he has spent all that he has."
22   Canon Stack, in the Preface to his book, South Island Maoris (Whitcombe & Tombs, 1898), refers to Pita Te Hori as "the last Tohunga, or learned chief, of Ngai Tahu," and states "it was from him that I obtained most of my knowledge of South Island tribal lore."

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