Reminiscences of Earliest Canterbury/Chapter 1
CHAPTER I.
The Maoris.
In April, 1843, when the author’s father landed in Pigeon Bay, there were between fifty and sixty Maoris permanently settled there on the eastern side. For some reason they do not appear to have ever been a prolific race, for although those Pigeon Bay Natives were, for the most part, married, there were not more than some three or four families in the Native settlement who had any children, and, of those who had, four was the largest number.
Those Pigeon Bay Maoris were, in the main, peaceful and honest, and gave very little trouble. They were good workers, and did all the bushfalling, subsequently planting potatoes and sowing wheat or oats.
Sir George Grey set aside 125 acres as a reserve for them, and although this constituted the best section in the Bay, they would not take it, alleging as a reason that part of the Bay was “tapu” owing to Te Rauparaha having, during the thirties, slain some forty of them on the west side, now known as Holmes’s Bay.[1]
They commenced to leave the Bay shortly after the arrival of the first four ships, and by 1860 they had all gone to other settlements, chiefly Kaiapoi.
In 1843 Port Levy was the largest Maori settlement in Canterbury. The author has heard his father say that when he landed in Pigeon Bay there were 400 Maoris in Port Levy. At that time, besides Pigeon Bay and Port Levy, there were Maori settlements in McIntosh Bay (now known as Menzies’ Bay), O’Kain’s Bay, Long Look Out, Laverick’s Bay, and a fairly large one at Gough’s Bay. Including the Natives at Kaiapoi and Taumutu, these various settlements must have totalled over 2,000 Natives. I believe this number to be under the mark.
All went well with the Maoris until 1848-9, when they were invaded by an epidemic of measles. This being an entirely new toxin against which they (unlike the whites) had acquired no immunity, its effects were very severe; but the ravages of the disease were enhanced by their ignorance, for, the epidemic having occurred in warm spring weather, they rushed into the creeks and into the sea to cool their fever-heated bodies, and died in large numbers, faster than their friends could bury them.
One incident in connection with this epidemic is worth recording. One fine old Maori who had been working for my father, having been attacked by measles, immediately applied for the wages due him. Having secured his earnings, amounting to two sovereigns, he laid up. However, having recovered, he came out to resume work, but, the day being hot, he went into a cold creek, went home with a relapse, and lingered for a fortnight, getting gradually weaker. My father visited him every day, supplying him with such food and delicacies as he desired. Having been separated from the other Maoris, as was the custom during illness, he had an old woman attendant on him as nurse and cook. It appears that he had made up his mind to die, for my father, calling one day, was accosted by the nurse as follows:—“Mr. Hay, do you know what he has done this morning?” On my father replying in the negative, she said, “Well, he has swallowed two sovereigns.” My father, turning to the invalid, said, “What did you do that for?” His response was:—“Well, Mr. Hay, I would have liked to have given them to my nurse, for she has been good to me, but if I had done that the other Maoris would have quarrelled and taken them from her. Now no one can touch them, and there will be no trouble after I die.” He passed away that night, and was buried on the beach about a mile from the West Head of the Bay.
Many of the natives who died during this epidemic were buried on the beach just above high water mark.
Looking back at this period it appears to me that, between children and adults, almost half of the Pigeon Bay Maoris were carried away. From this time onwards the survivors were quiet and peacefully disposed, a marked change in their demeanour, which, previous to the epidemic, was often boastful and threatening.
This aggressive attitude was more manifest in 1843-4, at which time they gave my father a good deal of trouble by their claims, and by the truculence of their general behaviour.
They were most insistent in demanding rent from him. This he never yielded to, knowing well that had he done so he would have subjected himself to numerous other extortions. Fortunately for himself, my father was very firm, and soon acquired a knowledge of the Native character. Having once passed his word he adhered to it, whether the dictum happened to be in his own interest, or in theirs, and it was not long before they recognised that whilst he was not to be moved, he was to be trusted. This acquired for him, in course of time, a great reputation as a judge or arbitrator, and he was frequently occupied in settling disputes among themselves. My father was scrupulously careful in money matters with the Maoris, paying them what was their due directly it became due, and by this means got them in the main to respond by working faithfully for him. He paid them in gold and silver coin, and unless payment were made by this medium they would not recognise it, hence when a little afterwards the Union Bank was established the greatest difficulty was experienced in getting the Maoris to accept bank notes. Eventually they became reconciled to them when they found that by presenting them at the Bank they got gold in exchange. The next difficulty was with reference to cheques. The only cheques they would recognise were those written by my father, and subsequently by members of his family, a circumstance which gave rise to complications, as they brought whatever cheques were tendered them to us, asking our cheques in exchange. When the cheques they brought were from unknown or doubtful drawers, it seemed impossible to explain to them that we could not take them. This difficulty continued until toward the end of the “sixties.”
When I was a small boy I was much interested in the customs of the Maoris. I remember, for example, their method of killing a pig. Having caught him, they tied his feet and his mouth, and left him secured by a rope on the beach until the advancing tide covered and drowned him. The object of this was to save the blood which they, especially the women, regarded as a delicacy. When the tide receded the pig was first allowed to dry, and then the hair was singed off, and he was ready for the “Koppah.” Having seen my father “bleed” a pig, they gave up the drowning business, and imitated him in so far as the killing went, but always adhered to the singeing in preference to the plotting and scraping. Some other customs in reference to cooking, and food generally, I also recollect. Maize and karaka berries they steeped in semi-stagnant water (by damming up a slowly-running stream) for three weeks. It was then withdrawn, black-looking, and emitting a vile stench, and, when dry, ground into a kind of flour between stones. Rotten potatoes, which they collected when digging, were treated in the same fashion. They used to declare that the smell disappeared in the cooking. I remember one spring a cow of my father’s died of milk fever, and was promptly buried. The Maoris discovered this three days after, and asked my father if they could disinter her. He assented, but told them she was buried three days ago. They assured him that was no detriment, and they dug up the cow and devoured her, and pronounced her “kapai.” There were no bad results; neither were there, when, subsequently, they devoured the best portions of four working bullocks that had been poisoned by “tu-tu” forty-eight hours before.
The Maoris of old would never show anyone, out of their own tribe, the paths leading to their food supplies. They observed the same secrecy with reference to their tracks. There must have been Maoris on the Peninsula for hundreds of years, and yet they had no tracks as we understand them. No one, save themselves or a most experienced bushman, could follow them, as they were only indicated here and there by a broken twig or slight mark on a tree. One such track was a short cut from Temuka to Mackenzie Country, which they never divulged even after Mackenzie Country was settled. Mr. John Hay, of Lake Tekapo, was the first to discover it.
One year my father grew a crop of wheat, which he stacked in the usual way. When shifting the stack into the barn for flail threshing the Maoris came over in a body, young and old, to assist in killing the rats. From fifty to seventy were collected and put into a heap, and conveyed to the pa. When one was wanted for cooking he was covered with soft clay and put into the fire. When cooked he was raked out of the fire, and when cool enough to handle was knocked on a stone or hit with a stick to crack the baked cake encasing him. When opened out the hair and scarf skin adhered to the inner surface of the clay, and the flesh looked white like chicken. A dexterous twist with the thumb nail scooped out the entrails in a round ball. All was eaten save a few of the large bones and the tail. At this time the older natives were very fond of rats. The younger ones were not keen on them. To-day a Maori would scorn the idea of eating them. Thus rapidly does civilisation stamp out barbarous customs.
In the “forties” the Maoris had a method of extracting sugar from young cabbage trees, which, I fear, is now lost. They began operations by digging a hole 8ft. long, 4ft. wide, and from 5ft. to 6ft. deep. A layer of stones was placed in the bottom, and on them an enormous fire was built. When this had burned down the young cabbage tree was stripped and laid on the stones. Water was then poured over them, and all was quickly covered over with earth and left for many days. Beyond this I do not know what other process was adopted, but it seemed to me that the pith of the tree had the sugar encrusted in it. The Maoris carried it with them in this fibrous form. They chewed it when on a journey, spitting out the fibre when they had exhausted the sugar from it. As boys we were very fond of this. It had an excellent flavour, and we collected it, soft and brown in colour, by knocking the fibre on a piece of wood. It was very good for sweetening tea. This native-made sugar was troublesome to produce, and when ordinary sugar could be procured they gave up preparing it, and I believe the art is now lost.
Potatoes were, of course, cultivated by the Maoris. In clearing a patch in the bush they cut down the small trees. They lopped the branches off the larger ones, and laid the timber thus collected on the ground. The grass and fern were then cut level with the ground. In this way they generally got a capital burn, and got splendid crops of potatoes from the soil. If they wanted a second crop they left a few small ones in the ground when digging out the first.
Their method of sowing grain (wheat or oats) was peculiar. When digging potatoes they sowed grain as they dug, and in turning over the soil covered the grain. In this way they would sow as much grain as was covered by the day’s digging. The crop, of course, did not ripen evenly, but as they cut it with the hook this did not matter. They cut it as it ripened. The Maori always had an eye to saving labour.
One great source of food supply to the Maoris was the “mutton bird.” This is a sea bird of nocturnal habits frequenting the coasts of New Zealand, especially in the south—Stewart Island and the Bluff. The female lays a single egg, nesting on the headlands by the sea. When the young is fledged both parents feed it until it gets so fat that it cannot fly. The parents then cease their attentions, and the young bird subsists on its own condition for two or three weeks, at the end of which period it has the ability as well as the incentive to look after itself. It is at this helpless period of repletion that the Maoris collect the young mutton birds. They are first plucked, and then, preserved in their own fat, are packed in bags made from the broad-leaved kelp, which forms an impervious casing round each bird. Finally those kelp bags are covered by totara or manuka bark, and the bundles shipped all over New Zealand and even to Australia. By some whites as well as by the Maoris the mutton bird is regarded as a great delicacy.
Sea-fishing was, of course, a principal source of food supply to the coastal Natives. At Pigeon Bay they used to catch large numbers of fish which they suspended in the sun to dry. Shark was one of their favourites. It was customary in the “forties” for the Pigeon Bay and Port Levy Maoris to carry tons of these dried fish inland, meeting halfway the Natives from Little River laden with eels. On the summit both parties held a korero, and, after exchanging their burdens, returned respectively to their homes.
However, when in funds the Maori declined to exert himself, and after the arrival of the first four ships at Lyttelton he had a rosy time, getting plenty of money for land, firewood, wild pigeons, etc., from the Canterbury Pilgrims. After this period many of their early industries fell into desuetude, and they gradually became more and more dependent on the whites.
For a time they interested themselves in cattle rearing, and advanced to a limited extent in dairy work, making very good butter. The irksomeness, however, of milking morning and evening soon wearied them, and they abandoned it, allowing the cattle to suckle and grow up; until in the “sixties” they sold off all their cattle.
The Maoris made a kind of wine from the fruit of the tu-tu. The juice was strained from the berries, the seeds carefully rejected, and the liquor fermented and bottled in the shell of the kuma-kuma. This was a gourd resembling a vegetable marrow, which they first boiled and then through a small aperture scooped out the pulp, thus converting the gourd into a rude kind of bottle, which they rendered capable of suspension by plaiting flax round it. With the advent of “waipiro” it no longer became necessary to make tu-tu wine.[2]
The modem Maori, physically and intellectually, is not comparable to his ancestor of seventy or eighty years ago, who was a good whaler both at sea and on land, a good shearer, a capital hand in the bush with an axe, and industrious as a cultivator, especially when working under contract. The lower class Maori would steal whenever a chance offered, but that is only saying that there were degenerates among the Natives, as there are among ourselves. The better-class Maoris were keen in driving a bargain, but when made they were scrupulous in carrying out their part of the contract. They were honest in recognising their responsibilities, as the following incident will show:—A Maori who worked for my father, and who was known as “Tommy,” came forward one day and said, “Mr. Hay, I am going to Invercargill to see my friends. I owe you £10. I pay you when I come back.” Two years passed, and Tommy had not returned. One day my father met his brother, and enquired as to when he was expected. The brother responded:—“You not know Tommy dead? I know he owe you £10. You give me work, and I will pay for him.” He was as good as his word. There was another incident within my memory of the same kind where a Maori held himself responsible for the debt of his dead brother. Surely this is an example Europeans might emulate!
While on the subject of debts, the Maori as a rule was scrupulous to repay, however long it may have taken him, but he never recognised his liability for more than the principal. Interest he never could or would understand.
They were very loyal to one another. For example, when they took a contract, the total proceeds were equally divided amongst the gang, whether or not from sickness or incapacity some one or more of them had only worked a portion of the time. I can never remember their falling out over the division of their money.
The Maoris worked for us as late as the end of the “seventies,” so that they were under my observation, and in my employment (or my father’s) for over thirty years, so I have had ample opportunity to form an estimate of their character and ability. They were very fond of their children, to whom they were rather too indulgent. They liked flattery, and were always keen to be held in esteem by the white man. They had a strong sense of justice, as the following incident will demonstrate:—When my father arrived in New Zealand, he was for a time at the Hutt, near Wellington.
One day, having occasion to visit the latter town, he found a river so swollen that he couldn’t ford it. He agreed with a Maori to give him a cast over in a canoe, and paid him on landing. Returning with a small bottle of medicine for a neighbour, he got the same Maori to take him back, and paid him the same fare. On reaching the other side the Maori demanded more, but was refused. Watching his opportunity, he snatched the “trongo” (medicine) and made off with it. My father did not see him again until the following Sunday, when he met him on his way to church with a book in his hand. My father took the book from him and said, “Now you give me my ‘trongo,’ and I will give you your book.” There was a row, and the chief came on the scene, and inquired as to the dispute. The Maori told his version, and the chief, turning to my father, said:—“Now, Mr. Hay, let me hear what you have to say.” My father then described the entire incident. Turning to his tribesman, the chief said: “Is this true?” The answer was an assent. The chief ordered him at once to go for the “trongo.” He replied that it was locked in his box, and his wife, who was from two to three miles away, had the key. The chief then asked my father it he could await his return, which he agreed to do. In a short time the Maori returned with the “trongo,” and received his book in exchange, after which he was severely reprimanded by the chief, who asked my father to appeal to him if he had any further trouble with his people. Subsequently to this incident, when my father had occasion to cross that stream, the same Maori was on the look-out for him, and ferried him over, but would never accept payment, being better pleased to regain my father’s esteem.
In July, 1843, the Wairau tragedy occurred, and the news of it reached the Peninsula early in the spring of the same year. The Maoris there, as well as at Kaiapoi, were much excited when they heard of it, and two minor chiefs named “Bigfellow” and “Bukanui” persuaded them to massacre all the pioneers and whalers at one sweep. The plot was well conceived, and every detail arranged, but it leaked out prematurely through the Maori women who were married to whalers. Seeing that the settlers were aware of the design, and were preparing to protect themselves, there was a delay to further mature their plans. This delay proved providential, for it enabled the famous chief Tuhawaiki, better known as “Bloody Jack,” to get news of the plot at Dunedin Heads. He at once sent off a special messenger to stop the project, and there can be no doubt that we owe our lives to his timely intervention. The following details of the plan were subsequently ascertained:—
The Kaiapoi Natives were to account for the Deans, Gebbie, Manson, and Greenwood families. The Port Levy Natives, assisted by the Pigeon Bay Natives, were to account for the Sinclairs and the Hays. Those contingents were then to unite at one of the whaling stations and kill all the whalers. Finally, all the tribes were to rush upon Akaroa and destroy the inhabitants.
The whites would undoubtedly have been overwhelmed had the plot matured, for at that time the Maoris could have easily put 1,000 fighting men into the field. However, the lives would have been dearly sold, for every preparation was made, and every precaution taken against surprise. Had the Sinclairs and our people not sold their schooner (which had sailed for Wellington) we could have escaped in her and gone north. Had the French man-of-war been at Akaroa that place would not have been molested, as the Maoris were much afraid of her. She was in some other port.
My father’s armament was as follows:—Two rifles, two double-barrelled guns, and three pistols, with plenty of ammunition to last for a fortnight. He loaded all the weapons himself. He gave directions for a sharp look-out to be kept for smoke (the signal agreed on), and issued orders that no one should stray from the house.
Curiously enough those three pistols which my father loaded in 1843 were not discharged until after my father’s death, in 1864, when my mother requested us to do something with them. We adopted the plan of screwing them in the vyce in the smithy, leading a string attached to the trigger through a hole which we bored in the slabs. Everyone of them, even the flint-lock pistol, went off with the first pull.
Subsequent to the failure of the plot, the Maoris were morose and dissatisfied for several months. They demanded rent from my father for the land he occupied. He refused, whereupon Bukanui threatened to burn down the house. For answer my father took a burning stick from the fire, and handing it to the chief, said: “Go on and burn my house, and then I will see the magistrate.” Bukanui wisely declined, and so the matter ended. Bigfellow, the other chief who was associated with Bukanui in the plot, died very soon afterwards, but the latter continued to flourish for many years, owned a large portion of Port Levy, and ultimately became very friendly with the whites, so far flattering them by imitation as to don a top hat at all times when out of doors. He often expressed his regret for his murderous intentions in 1843.
Besides the intervention of Tuhawaiki already mentioned, and the knowledge that their women had divulged their scheme, there can be no doubt that the dread of reprisal by the French man-of-war had a salutary effect on the Maoris. What the early settlers owe to the French who kept a man-of-war on the coast for years has never been sufficiently acknowledged. The British pioneers of the “forties” owed far more to this country than to their own for protection in those troublous times.
The Maoris had a keen sense of humour, and always enjoyed a harmless joke. I remember a schoolmaster in the bay who possessed a small magnetic battery. On one occasion he induced some Maoris to join hands and complete a circle whereby all received the shock. They were much excited, and shouted “Taipo!” but lost no time in collecting all the others from the Pah (who were ignorant of what had transpired), and putting them through the same ordeal for their amusement.
The Pigeon Bay Natives had numerous dogs, which they used for pig-hunting. Those dogs were a great nuisance. For example, my father killed a bullock once, and hung it on a gallows, and the Maori dogs devoured almost an entire fore-quarter. My father was so annoyed that the following night he laid poison, the result of which was that he had 24 dogs to bury next morning before breakfast. The Maoris were much mystified over the disappearance of so many of their canine pets in one night, and scoured the district calling on them, and searching for them, needless to say, without success.
Genuine hospitality was characteristic of the early Maoris. Travellers had food prepared for them, and were received with kindness and attention. At the same time they were inquisitive, always wanting to know their guest’s name, whence he came, and whither he was going, etc. As an evidence of their loyalty to anyone under their protection, the following incident may be recorded:—In the “forties” a runaway sailor shot the mate of a French whaling ship, killing him on the spot. Fleeing to Pigeon Bay he sought shelter amongst the Maoris to whom he gave his gun as a kind of solatium. The Maoris agreed to keep him in hiding and feed him until a whaling vessel called, by which he purposed to escape. It was this man’s custom, for greater security, to hide himself in the bush during the day. We, as children, used to see him go there occasionally at daylight.
The Magistrate at Akaroa (Mr. J. Watson) getting some evidence of his whereabouts, came over to Pigeon Bay after dark, accompanied by a constable to effect his arrest. They put up at my father’s house, and before daylight the following morning Mr. Watson swore in my father, his nephew, Mr. John Hay, and one Toby Green as special constables. Taking a boat they slipped over to the Maori Pah before daylight, and proceeded to search every wharé for the criminal, but without success. No information could be gleaned from the Maoris, and there was every indication of the ends of justice being defeated. My father, however, was convinced that the man was cleverly concealed somewhere, and taking Mr. Watson aside, suggested that he should pick out one or two of the married natives and handcuff them, and then announce that he was going to put them in gaol for harbouring a murderer. One Maori was handcuffed, but while the gyves were being fastened on the second one, his wife touched my father on the shoulder and pointed to an empty wharé. Entering this nothing was to be seen but an old sail stretched over the ground as a kind of carpet. The woman pointed again to the sail, and on raising it the delinquent was found in a trench scooped out of the ground where he lay completely hidden with the level sail stretched over him. But for the ruse whereby the anxiety of the women was roused he would never have been discovered. The prisoner was taken to Akaroa, but the case being beyond the jurisdiction of the Magistrate’s Court, he was committed to Sydney for trial, where, through some flaw in the indictment connected with his name or identity, he escaped punishment. To conclude this incident, whilst citing it as evidence of the loyalty of the Maoris, it may be mentioned that the man Toby Green, when the party were returning by boat, carelessly drew a loaded gun from the bow. It exploded, and the charge entered his knee. For ten months he was under my father’s care. The bullet eventually suppurated out of his thigh, but the wound never healed, and the continued suppuration so drained his strength and affected his health that he died.
The Maoris in those early days had many faculties which have disappeared from the race under the influence of civilisation. They were, for example, astonishingly weather-wise, being able, by methods of their own, to forecast wind or rain. Unless they were confident of a good forecast they did not undertake long journeys by sea or land, and to see them on such journeys was to establish amongst the early settlers a fair inference that the weather would be fine. In such a journey of fifteen to twenty miles (say from Pigeon Bay to Akaroa) the party would start about 3 p.m., and entering the bush by tracks of their own (which they were scrupulously careful to conceal from strangers) they would camp at sundown, and resume their journey the following morning in time to enable them to end their journey about the same time they had begun it on the previous day.
When a boy I can well remember two double war canoes and a large sealing boat coming into Pigeon Bay from the North Island. There were over twenty Maoris in the party, and they remained in the Bay for about a week, when they put to sea again to go to Dunedin. After a while they returned to the Bay, and this time they stayed longer than they had intended, owing to an accident to one of their number, who got a severe wound in his heel whilst in the bush. Fortunately for him he was only about a quarter of a mile from my father’s back door, but by the time he crawled thither he was almost done for from loss of blood. My father stopped the bleeding and dressed the wound, and then had the Maori carried to his friends’ camp on a ladder. Every day afterwards, for some three weeks, my father visited the camp and dressed the foot, and when, at the end of this time it was healed, the man came to my father, and with the most touching gratitude thanked him for his attention, concluding by assuring him that should he ever come to the North Island he was to visit him, when he would be only too glad to do all in his power for one who had shown him so much kindness. This was the biggest and most powerfully-built native I have ever seen. He was almost 7ft. in height, with a muscular development proportioned to his stature. We were not sorry to see those fellows take their departure, for we were in dread that they would quarrel with the local natives, who were much inferior to them in physique. Had they done so there is no saying how serious the issue of the quarrel might have been for us.
Cooking: the “Koppah.”
The following is the method the Maoris adopted in cooking on a large scale. After a pig had been killed and dressed, he was split open and lashed on to a stick, the two ends of which were then brought together and attached, forming a circle. He was then placed in the koppah, which was made as follows:—A hole was firstly dug in the ground, and then partially filled with stones. On the top of these stones a fire was built, and was kept alive until the stones became red hot (or the heat equivalent to red heat). The fire was then removed, and the surface stones allowed to cool sufficiently not to burn up the grass or fern laid on their surface. The pig was then laid on this grass and covered over with a further layer. Water was then poured into the hole, and, reaching the hot stones underneath, evolved steam. Loose soft earth was then quickly thrown over until the hole was completely covered. By this means the steam was confined, and when the pig was taken out it was beautifully tender and well cooked. By the same way potatoes and native vegetables were prepared for their large feasts. The cooking of large game, and especially the cooking of human beings, took many hours by this method.
The Maoris grew large quantities of pumpkins, water melons, and a kind of gourd they called “Cooma-Cooma.” The latter were of a yellow colour, and had very tough skins, which, after the pulp had been scooped out, were used for vessels of various kinds, and especially as bottles for storing their tu-tu wine.
Indian corn was extensively grown by them. When ripe, the leaves were stripped from the cobs, which were collected and dried. A dam was then made in a running stream, and the cobs left soaking in the water for three weeks. They were then taken out blackened and emitting a stench so vile and powerful that it could be detected a mile away. The cobs were again dried, and ultimately pounded into a kind of flour between stones or pieces of hard wood. This constituted a staple diet for the Maoris, and they were very fond of it, as they were also of wheat and sugar boiled together, to which they gave the name of “Lilipu.”
Eels either sun-dried or boiled were much in request, and putrid flesh had no horrors for them, as evidenced in the incident previously mentioned of the buried cow.
The small native birds in the bush were much relished by the old-time Maoris, and they killed them very ingeniously. Having made a screen with ferns and leaves they placed a stick horizontally on a perch, and then with a light switch in their hand they imitated the calls of different birds, especially the tui, and brought them up to the perch; then with a quick movement of the wrist they knocked the birds over with their switch. The calls were imitated generally with the aid of a leaf placed between the lips. Sometimes by this method a skilful Maori would get fifty to sixty birds in an hour, and on a still day would call a tui from a distance of at least a quarter of a mile. Being, of course, close observers of the habits of birds and animals the Maoris made those habits the base of the snares they devised for catching them. The pigeons, for example, drank very frequently at the streams in the hot weather, so the Maoris would cover all the water holes in a stream save one or two of the most attractive. Around these they would place sticks with flax snares attached, and often secure dozens of pigeons in a day. In going over their snares if a white man had taken a pigeon or two out they knew it at once, and searching about for his footprints, soon discovered who the thief had been. It was very simple. When a pigeon gets snared he struggles to get free, and in doing so sheds some feathers. This escaped the attention of the white man, who thought that by setting the snares again he would deceive the Maoris, who, however, seeing the feathers, knew beyond doubt that a bird had been taken. My brother and I often hoodwinked them for mischief. This we did when during pigeon shooting we came on their snares. Approaching them very carefully we removed a pigeon or two, and picking up every feather carefully set the snares again. On passing the pa we gave them an equivalent number or more from our bag, but were always most careful to give them birds we had shot. Had we given them one of their own, bearing no shot wounds, they would have found out what we had done. As it was they never knew, and it was a delight to us as boys to know that we could successfully pit our wits against those of the Maori.
The Maoris were not fleet-footed, at least those I came in contact with on the Peninsula were not. I never came across one, man or boy, whom I could not overtake in a race. In a long walk I would outstrip them by miles. Time being no object, they travelled very slowly.
Eventually, when they came to possess horses, they altered their customs, and travelled greater distances, and for much longer periods than formerly. Instead of setting out at about three in the afternoon, as was their method on foot, and spending a night in the bush, so that they might complete their journey by the afternoon of the following day, they would start on horseback as early in the morning as they had light to see by.
After the Maoris got horses they had little interest in dogs. Before the advent of horses every man had a dog. If they wanted to kill one they treated him as they did a pig, viz., tied up his mouth and his legs and threw him into a water-hole to drown.
The old Maori was very reticent about the sources of his food supply. He would never give anyone outside of his own tribe any information either on this subject or concerning the tracks he used. They had a secret track to Mackenzie Country long before that plain was discovered. They went up behind Temuka, and struck the opening of Burke’s Pass.
They visited Mackenzie Country for eels and wekas. The latter, in that locality, fed on a berry about the size of a pea, which grew plentifully on a shrub. They got very fat in February and March, when this berry was ripe, and it was then the Maoris took them, curing them, like mutton birds, in their own fat. During those months (February and March) the Maoris asserted that the eels went to sleep, so they confined their attention then to the taking of wekas. They caught eels from October to January. These they dried. On a certain date the entire tribe, with their preserved wekas and eels, would make for the Mackenzie Lakes. In a successful season each man would have a load of well over a hundredweight. They travelled only some ten or twelve miles a day, sleeping wherever they happened to be at dusk. I saw two of their huts at Lake Tekapo in 1858, though, at that time, they had been blown down.
Somewhere in the beginning of the ’fifties the Maoris stopped going to Mackenzie Country.
I have elsewhere referred to the skill of the old-time Maori in shearing. I can remember a half-caste who worked in our shed for thirty-five years. He was a very powerful man, and an excellent shearer. On one occasion he shore 140 big three-quarterbred sheep in one shearing day. This stood as a record with us in shearing with hand shears.
During the ’forties the Maori method of selling potatoes was to place them in flax baskets, each containing from sixty to eighty pounds. The baskets were arranged in a row close together, and the price demanded was a piece of bright-coloured print that would stretch the entire length of the row. It can readily be estimated how cheap the potatoes were.
The modem Maori has sadly deteriorated from his ancestors of sixty to seventy years ago, and, to my mind, the reasons are that he has got too much money for his land, and hence become too lazy to grow his own foodstuffs. He has had enough education to teach him lazy habits, and those habits have engendered dishonesty. They are now a degraded race with little sense of honour, and practically no energy or enterprise, because they have been pampered and spoilt by the white settlers.
In the old days the Maoris were active; they were disciplined; they were always respectful, and showed deference to their chiefs, and they were capable of great endurance. They also showed a degree of independence and self-respect that was highly creditable to them.
Nowadays all those fine characteristics have disappeared. The modem Maori is slothful, insolent, and dishonest, and incapable of any sustained exertion. I am sorry to see so fine a race deteriorate so rapidly.
I regret to say that I see, with reference to our own race, the same causes at work that are responsible for the deterioration of the Maori. Our young people are far too much pampered to give us any hope that they will grow up vigorous, brave, and self-reliant. Their wants are being anticipated and provided for by unwise legislation, whereas they should be taught to overcome their own difficulties and cut out their own paths. Such institutions as the Y.M.C.A. may be excellent in theory for the moral standard they set up, but in practice they engender discontent and grumbling, simply because they do too much, and deprive youth of its own initiative. I know of several instances of young men leaving because the cooking does not satisfy their fastidious tastes. This kind of training will produce the youth who is only fit to saunter down the street on a warm day with a great coat on, and a cigarette wobbling between his lips. It has already produced in alarming numbers the invertebrate creature who dreads service for the defence of his own country, and seeks shelter behind religious scruples that have never previously embarrassed him. They cannot, or rather, do not wish, to emulate the healthy Christianity of a Havelock or a Gordon. Oh that there were some means of putting these degenerates under German rule for a couple of years! Could we only catch them in time, and deport them to some primitive spot, where they would require to fall back on their own resources, or could we only place them under a severe and even cruel discipline for a limited time, it would surprise us almost as much as it would themselves to see the different beings who would emerge from the ordeal.
Pandering to the young to the extent of luxury is, to my mind, a criminal policy. Such attentions should be reserved for the old and infirm. To anticipate wants in youth is to create an appetite for grievances, and to create an appetite for grievances is to paralyse everything that is noble and self-reliant, whilst, on the other hand, it stimulates the growth of meanness and cowardice. This process is going on all over the Empire in the present day under the damnable activity of labour agitators, and as surely as it progresses so surely is the calcareous matter dissolving away from the back bones of the British subjects, and the race deteriorating towards the type that must be submerged.
Some of the Maoris displayed peculiar intelligence and refinement. I can well remember Tikau, uncle, by the way, of Charlie Tikau, the present chief of Rapaki, near Lyttelton. Tikau was chief of a pah near Wainui at the head of a pretty little bay, which is still known by his name. He was frequently over in Pigeon Bay, and whilst there surprised my father considerably by his knowledge of mensuration. Where and when he had acquired it no one knew, but he could accurately measure a piece of land no matter what its shape. He chained it, mapped it out on paper, and calculated the acreage, and I don’t think he was ever known to be in error. My father’s confidence in him was so complete that he always employed him to measure all contracts (bush falling, planting, etc.), entered into with the Maoris. Besides this extraordinary accomplishment, Tikau was naturally intellectual and refined, always conducting himself with dignity and propriety. Sir George Grey held him in high estimation.
Another local chief worthy of mention is Isaiah. He was living in Pigeon Bay when we arrived there. Although he was not a chief of high caste, he was mutually respected by Whites and Maoris. He was reserved, but conscientious and straightforward in his dealings, and did a good deal of contract work for my father, always fulfilling his obligations and giving satisfaction. Isaiah left the Bay and settled at Kaiapoi, where he died some time after the arrival of the first four ships.
Bukanui has already been referred to. He was cruel and inclined to be treacherous. In his later years his character improved, and he always regretted his connection with the threatened massacre of the white settlers.
Taiaroa was the principal chief in the southern part of the island in the early days, and Te-mai-hara-o-nui held supreme power on the Peninsula.
Of all the Maoris who came into touch with the whalers and early settlers there is one who towers above his fellows in rectitude, intelligence, and physique. It is hardly too much to say that the pioneers of Canterbury owed their lives to him, for, had it not been for his timely interference, and the firm attitude he took (backed up by a French man-of-war in these waters) there is little doubt that the plot hatched by Bukanui and his rapscallions would soon have been fully fledged, and every white settler in Canterbury massacred. This man was Tuhawaiki, more widely known amongst Europeans as “Bloody Jack.” I can well remember him, for he was frequently a guest in my father’s house. He was tall and powerfully built, with handsome features and a stately carriage. He spoke English exceptionally well, and conducted himself at table like one who had the advantages of civilisation. He was brave and resourceful, and, alike for tactics and personal prowess, was easily the finest warrior in the South Island. Tuhawaiki’s great rival was Te Rauparaha, the cunning and relentless chief from the North Island, whose raids along these coasts are historical. On the last of these occasions Te Rauparaha, having evaded Tuhawaiki, returned northwards with his warriors. Tuhawaiki pursued him hotly and overtook him on this side of Cook’s Straits. I distinctly recollect Tuhawaiki describing to my father the details of this pursuit. He said that by scouting he satisfied himself that Te Rauparaha and his men were camped round their fires at night. He then made his dispositions carefully, and, drawing up his canoes, crept cautiously through the bush, and with his men surprised Te Rauparaha at daylight. Well knowing the latter, Tuhawaiki singled him out and chased him towards the beach. Perceiving that he was gaining he threw down his musket and caught hold of the mat Te Rauparaha was wearing. Te Rauparaha (whose body was well oiled) slipped the mat over his head, and, eluding Tuhawaiki’s grip plunged into the sea, and, coming up carefully among a thick layer of kelp, kept his mouth and nostrils just clear for breathing, and was effectually concealed. Tuhawaiki failed to find him, and he escaped, his own men eventually picking him up. I can remember my father saying, “But, Jack, why did you not shoot him? You could easily have done so.” He replied:—“Mr. Hay, I wanted to take him alive to punish him for the tortures my peoples suffered at his hands.” Te Rauparaha was so scared by this event that he never ventured south again. The pursuit was not a failure except for the escape of Te Rauparaha, for Tuhawaiki recovered his own people, who were in the hands of the former, and, in addition carried back with him several of Te Rauparaha’s men as prisoners.
I was quite young at this time, but the incident of Tuhawaiki’s conversation with my father is indelibly fixed in my memory, as is also the appearance of the man. So clearly are his features, and figure, and deportment generally, defined in my brain that were it possible for him to pass me in the street to-day I should instantly recognise him.
The influence this chief exerted on behalf of the white settlers at the time of Bukanui’s conspiracy has already been referred to. One of his sons was taken to London, and on his return told his father it would be useless to attack the Whites, for they were more numerous in London than the shells on the beach, and could easily exterminate the Maoris. Probably this may have influenced Tuhawaiki. In any case, he was always friendly with the early settlers, and was most thorough in stamping out any embers of a rebellious spirit amongst his own people. For, some months after having frustrated the plot to destroy the Whites, he visited every native settlement of note, and propounded the folly of making any attack on the settlers.
Tuhawaiki’s principal sphere of influence was in the vicinity of Dunedin Heads, but, as a fighting chief, he exercised sway over all the South Island. When in Canterbury he stayed a good deal at Pigeon Bay, and on the occasion of Sir George Grey’s first visit to Akaroa an interview was arranged. Tuhawaiki came to my father before starting, and said, “Mr. Hay, I am going to ask you to do me a favour. I have left my watch in Dunedin, and I do not want to appear before Sir George Grey without one. Will you lend me yours? I promise you to take great care of it, and if I damage it, I will pay you.” My father readily granted the request, and the watch was duly returned with protestations of thanks.
This truly great chief was accidentally drowned when landing near Timaru (at a spot since known as “Bloody Jack’s Head”) from what was in those days known as a sealing boat. There was a heavy sea running at the time, and it was generally surmised that he was stunned by striking his head on the steer-oar, for he was a powerful swimmer. Anyhow, when his men got him out of the water, he was dead. His tangi was the largest and longest in the memory of the oldest settlers, but it was not by natives alone that his loss was deplored, for he enjoyed the respect and affection of the Whites as well. The boat from which he was drowned was brought from Timaru to Pigeon Bay. It was a fairly large boat, capable of carrying about five tons. It remained for years carefully covered up and “tapu.” When the Maoris left Pigeon Bay they towed it round to Port Levy, where it remained strictly “tapu” until it rotted away.
Let me conclude this reference to Tuhawaiki with the statement that I have read as well as heard different versions of the pursuit of Te Rauparaha. I can vouch for the above being correct, as my recollection of the details furnished my father during the interview referred to is perfectly clear. I cannot fix the date, but I know from my age at the time that it must have been, approximately, in 1845. At this date, 1912, there can hardly be many, either Maoris or white men, who have any personal recollections of Tuhawaiki.
From the preceding pages, the reader will have been able, in some measure, to form a conception of the character and behaviour of the Maoris before they came under the influence of the Whites. Such a conception, I venture to say, will be a favourable one; and, if a comparison is drawn with the Maoris of to-day, it will be more favourable still. How much the natives have deteriorated under civilisation can only be estimated by those who have seen them and known them in their primitive state, and have watched them during a period of over sixty years slipping gradually backward in all that makes for virile independence and strength, and skill in woodcraft. In 1843 there were more Maoris on Banks Peninsula than there are at present in the entire South Island.
After the death of Tuhawaiki my father, in common with the other early settlers, had much apprehension concerning the behaviour of the Maoris. Had they cherished any further designs on the lives of the Whites there would have been little to restrain them. However, Providence allayed all doubt in this connection by an epidemic of measles which so ravaged the various kaingas that their ranks were left thin, and the survivors cowed and only too willing to become law-abiding subjects.
- ↑ The Maoris having declined this section, Mr. John Godley subsequently reserved it for a township, but there being no demand for any of the lots, it was sold in one block to Mr. C. B. Robinson. In 1861 Mr. Robinson sold it to Mr. E. Hay for £800 cash, at that time the highest price paid in Canterbury for a block of land of the same size.
- ↑ Although the seeds and young shoots of the tu-tu are poisonous to human beings and cattle which have not gradually acquired immunity, the native pigeon and many other birds fed on it with impunity.