sixties. He was far too important and of too high lineage to do any manual work. He might steer a canoe, but not carry a swag, and he always had two or three young men in attendance on him. He had a great reputation as an athlete and warrior, was over six feet in height, and a very well made muscular man of handsome countenance. I had no means of judging what his age was, but I should think that in 1864 he was probably about 70 years old, though very active and strong. His old wife, Mame, was always about with him, filling his pipe and brushing off the sandflies and mosquitoes, and always by his side in the whare. He died at Greymouth in April, 1864, while I was in Christchurch. He left Mame several important messages, which she was to give to me as soon as I returned. I found her in great grief at the loss of her husband. She said life was not worth living without Tarapuhi—he was the finest man in the world, and that she was only waiting for my return to give me his dying instructions. Then she would depart also. She then retired to the little whare which had been built for her to die in, refused all food, rolled herself up in her mats and blankets, and in a few days passed on.”
W. H. S. Hindmarsh, “Waratah,” who reached Old Westland in 1866, in “Tales of the Golden West,” devotes a chapter to Werita Tainui, brother of Tarapuhi, which contains much of great interest, and Tainui’s own story
