FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[51]Captain Cook's ship was thus characterised by the Maori who first caught sight of it.[52]Window.[53]This, at least, is the writer's view.[54]Now Massacre Bay.

[51]Captain Cook's ship was thus characterised by the Maori who first caught sight of it.

[52]Window.

[53]This, at least, is the writer's view.

[54]Now Massacre Bay.

CHAPTER VIII

THE BRITON'S GAIN

In the year 1741 a lad was apprenticed to a haberdasher in a small town near Whitby in Yorkshire. His name was James Cook, and he was from the first an example of the square peg in the round hole. So loose was the fit that the peg presently fell out and rolled away. In other words, young Cook, not being cut out for a haberdasher, got himself apprenticed aboard a collier. His ability to hand, reef and steer was so much greater than his aptitude for wielding a yardstick that, as soon as his time was out, he was raised to the position of mate.

In 1755, before he was twenty-seven, this remarkable youth joined the King's navy as an ordinary seaman. Observe what he accomplished before ten years were out by his own industry.

Strictly attentive to duty, he rose rapidly, and thrice in succession was master on a sloop of war, the last occasion being when Quebec was wrested from the French. That done, he surveyed and charted the St. Lawrence from Quebec to the sea, although "up to that time" he had "scarcely ever used a pencil, and had no knowledge of drawing."But he had "read Euclid" ever since he joined the navy, and for recreation enjoyed "the study of astronomy and kindred sciences." Think of it—the haberdasher's boy, the collier's mate!

The ten years are not yet past. Our hero helped in 1762 to recapture Newfoundland from the French, and before 1763 was out he was back in those cold seas, surveying the coasts. Another twelvemonth saw him appointed Marine Surveyor of Newfoundland and Labrador, under the orders of his old captain, Sir Hugh Palliser.

Mr. Cook's astronomical studies now began to bear fruit, and he received in 1768 his commission as lieutenant and the command of an expedition to the South Seas to observe the transit of Venus. With this and other ends in view, Cook, now forty-one, left England in theEndeavour, accompanied by the great botanist, Joseph Banks, and other men of science.

The narrative of the voyages of this famous circumnavigator is so easily accessible to all who care to follow "our rough island story," that there is no need to epitomise it here. It is sufficient to say that Cook disproved all which had been previously held proved with regard to the "polar continent," and in so doing came into direct and notable relation with the country whose history we are tracing.

It was the 6th of October, 1769, when the lookout on theEndeavoursighted the bluff of Kuri—North Island—now known as "Young Nick's Head." Supposing the land to be part of that "Terra Australis Incognita" which he had come to investigate, Cook cast anchor two days later in the Bay of Turanga, or, as he saw fit to designate it owing to the inhospitality of the natives, "Poverty Bay."

At Otaheite, where he had observed the transit of Venus, Cook had shipped a chief named Tupia, who on many occasions proved of the greatest use. He had already voyaged hundreds of miles in the great canoes of the Tahitians, and his father had been an even more intrepid sailor. It was Tupia who pointed the way to this island and that, and who, owing to the limitations of his own knowledge, related his father's experiences to Cook, assuring him that land lay still farther to the south.

It was Tupia, too, who landed with his leader on the shore at Turanga, and addressed the natives in Tahitian, a language which proved sufficiently like their own to enable them to understand most of what was said.

But though Cook offered presents, and though Tupia charmed never so wisely with his Tahitian tongue, the Maori would have none of the Pakeha. They no doubt feared these white visitors. Te Tanewha, a chief who was a boy when Cook paid his first visit, described many years later the astonishment of the Maori at the approach of what they took to be "a whale with wings." Then, as theEndeavour'sboats were pulled ashore, the bewilderment of the natives deepened; for it appeared to them that the Pakeha had eyes in the back of their heads. This, of course, was due to the position of the rowers, which was exactly the reverse of that assumed by the Maori in propelling their canoes.

The appearance of the natives became threatening, and some of them tried to make off with one of the calves of the "whale with wings," that is, with the ship's pinnace. Tupia warned them that they ran the risk of being severely dealt with, but the words of a man of their own colour moved them not at all. Their hostile demonstrations continued, and Cook—who was determined to pursue his researches—very reluctantly drove them back with violence.

Cook was so kindly, so humane, so unused to oppress another merely because his skin was coloured, that his action caused comment even in his own day. That the great navigator himself regretted the impulse which had led him to depart from his usual magnanimous methods, is evident from the excuses he afterwards put forward in explanation of his conduct.

During the next six months Cook circumnavigated the islands, discovering the strait which bears his name between the North and the Middle Island. Stewart Island he presumed to be the southern extremity of the Middle Island and, as regards the country, this was one of the very few errors he made.

Fully alive to the warlike disposition of the Maori, Captain Cook yet recognised their generosity, their agreeable behaviour to strangers who did not presume too far, and the unusual gentleness of their attitude towards their women. "The Englishman who marries a Maori," he tells us, "must first obtain the consent of her parents and, this done, ... is obliged to treat her with at least as much delicacyas in England." In many passages Cook shows how clearly he perceived the superiority of these "Indians" over ordinary savages. Moreover, despite certain pronounced faults, and the prevalence of one odious custom, he readily admits their chivalrous nature.

Yet he occasionally fell into the common error of crediting the race with the disposition of the individual, so that, if one lied or thieved, the natives in that particular part are set down as "lying and thievish." But, though they opposed his efforts to explore the interior of the country, and so disappointed him, Captain Cook's experience among the Maori left him little to complain of; while the failings they displayed might well have been recognised as, first, the faults of their age and race, and second, the faults common to all men, white, brown, yellow, or black.

Still, for all his criticisms, Captain Cook was never personally harsh in his dealings with the Maori, and it would have been well had his subordinates imitated more exactly his fine magnanimity. The following account of an Englishman's hasty temper, and the cool judgment, not to say generosity, of the Maori chiefs, is very instructive.

On one occasion, when a party of Maori visitors were leaving the ship, Lieutenant Gore missed a piece of calico, which he was possibly endeavouring to exchange for native articles. Confident that a certain Maori had stolen the stuff, Gore deliberately fired at the man as he sat in the canoe, and killed him. The lieutenant was right in his belief, for, when the canoe reached the shore, the blood-stainedcalico was found beneath the dead man; but his action was that of a savage—worse, since he, no doubt, claimed a higher order of mind. The only excuse that can be offered for Gore is that he lived at a time when even children were hanged for stealing trifles, and he may have believed himself entitled to mete out this rough-and-ready justice.

What followed? The Maori—admittedly savages—did not at once return and clamour for revenge; though an eye for an eye and blood for blood was one of the strongest articles in their creed. No; the chiefs took the matter in hand, calmly and dispassionately judged the dead man and found him guilty of theft. Therefore, they determined thatutushould not be exacted on account of the killing of their tribesman. That they were perfectly sincere, and did not seek to disguise sentiments of hatred and desire for revenge under a mask of forgiveness, is entirely proved by the fact that Captain Cook landed after this unhappy occurrence and went about among them just as if nothing had happened.

It is right to say that Captain Cook was no party to his subordinate's impetuous action, for violence was foreign to his methods. Says one of his biographers—"It was impossible for any one to excel Captain Cook in kindness of disposition, as is evident from the whole tenor of his behaviour, both to his own men and to the many savage tribes with whom he had occasion to interfere."

So convinced was Captain Cook of the advantage this beautiful country must some day prove to Britain,that he took nominal possession of the islands in the name of King George the Third. Yet it was not until 1787, eight years after the death of Cook, that New Zealand was included by royal commission within the British dominions, while another quarter of a century elapsed before Europe, at the Peace of 1814, recognised Great Britain's claim.

How good a use Captain Cook made of the six months he spent in New Zealand before he sailed to gather fresh laurels in Australia, any one may read for himself in the story of his voyages. On each occasion he introduced useful plants and animals into the islands, and it was due to him that the animal food which the Maori had always lacked, became so readily procurable in the shape of pigs, which soon after their introduction ran wild and multiplied. The sweet potato was there already; but it is to Cook that New Zealand owes the ordinary potato, the turnip, cabbage, and other vegetables and fruit.

Te Tanewha described Captain Cook as a reserved man who "constantly walked apart, swinging his right arm from side to side." This has been held to mean that, whenever Captain Cook landed, he scattered the seeds of useful plants, in the hope that they would grow and fructify.

There were further misunderstandings when Cook revisited the Islands in 1779, the worst of them being wholly due to the wicked action of an English sailor who first robbed and then shot a Maori. With the slaughter of the natives which followed Cook had nothing to do; more, the great navigator, who was as true and generous a gentleman as ever stepped, completely absolved the Maori from blame.

This was happily the last difficulty; for Cook arrived at a better understanding with the Maori and a clearer conception of the fine character which underlay their faults. The natives, too, showed an ever-increasing confidence in their famous visitor, whom they affectionately styled "Cookie." Notwithstanding their regard, they never allowed him to penetrate far inland.

Had Cook not been the just and temperate man he was, he might have pierced the interior with an armed force, composed of his own men and aborigines, and depopulated the land.

During the period of Captain Cook's visits the Maori were constantly at war, and the unwillingness of the coast tribes to allow him to proceed inland was probably due to their fear that he would aid the chiefs there, return, and exterminate them. So they first obstructed the progress of the explorer, and then made certain grim, but exceedingly practical, proposals to him.

These in effect were that Captain Cook should join forces with this tribe or that, proceed inland, and duly exterminate—everybody. This excellent scheme, properly carried through, would have left certain of the coast tribes supreme until civil strife began again to divide them. But what if Cook had turned upon them in their turn?

Fortunately this was not Captain Cook's way; but that he recognised what was at the bottom of all these requests for help is clear from his own words:—

"Had I acted as some members of almost every tribe with whom we had dealings would have had me act, I might have extirpated the entire New Zealand race."

Could any words more distinctly show the good disposition of Captain Cook, and at the same time prove how plagued the Maori were with internecine wars?

The day came at length when this great and good man, who did so much for Britain, must say a last farewell to the country towards which he seemed so singularly drawn. For it was written that he should never again see the Waters of Greenstone or the land of his birth, but should fall a victim to his own humanity at the hands of savages whom he was endeavouring to protect.

Such was the admiration which this great navigator and good man inspired that, when war was declared between England and France in 1779, the French Minister of Marine issued orders to the navy that, if encountered at sea, the ship of Captain Cook was to be treated with courtesy. "For," said he, "honour, reason, and even interest, dictate this act of respect for humanity; nor should we treat as an enemy the common benefactor of every European nation." The Americans, then at the height of their struggle for freedom, had already anticipated this generous action by the mouth of their famous citizen, Benjamin Franklin.

Captain Cook was dead before knowledge of this splendid tribute to his services and to his virtues could reach him; but, being dead, he was notforgotten, for the whole world mourned his loss and honoured his memory, as it has done ever since.

When Captain Cook died Britain was just awaking to a realisation of the evils of slavery, and beginning to recognise and endeavour to obviate the fact that, when and wherever the white man appeared among the coloured races, the latter invariably suffered. How intensely Captain Cook realised this, how earnestly he set himself to afford a good example to those who should come after him, and how his countrymen appreciated his aims and his success, these lines from Hannah More's poem on "Slavery" show:—

Had those advent'rous spirits who explore,Thro' ocean's trackless wastes, the far-sought shore,Whether of wealth insatiate, or of power,Conquerors who waste, or ruffians who devour;Had these possessed, O Cook, thy gentle mind,Thy love of arts, thy love of human-kind;Had these pursu'd thy mild and gentle plan,Discoverershad not been a curse to man!

CHAPTER IX

CLOUDS AT DAWN

As Captain Cook sailed from Doubtless Bay in the North Island to pursue his survey of the coast, Admiral de Surville, of the French navy, cast anchor therein. Unlike his great rival, De Surville remained only long enough to quarrel with the natives and to kidnap the chief who had hospitably entertained him.

Three years later, in 1772, Captain Marion du Fresne, with Captain Crozet as his second in command, anchored in the Bay of Islands. Du Fresne, or Marion, as he is usually styled, was received with great friendliness, and for a month Maori and Pakeha excelled one another in politeness and generosity. Then, quite unexpectedly occurred a shocking tragedy.

Marion landed one morning with sixteen officers and men, intent upon pleasure, and with no foreboding of evil. Night fell, morning broke again, and found them still absent. Yet Crozet felt no suspicion, for there had been no quarrel. But there had been a clear sign that something was gravely wrong; only neither Marion nor Crozetwas familiar enough with the Maori mind to perceive it.

The light brightened and, ere the day was many hours old, twelve men went ashore for wood and water. There was no appearance of unrest; everything seemed at peace. So the day wore on.

Suddenly all was violently changed. The restful quiet vanished in a whirl of wild commotion. What had happened? Who was the terrified creature who, dripping wet, with torn clothes and blood-streaked face, wearily dragged himself over the rail and dropped exhausted upon the deck?

He was the sole survivor of the twelve who had gone so confidently ashore; and he told a dreadful tale.

The natives on the beach, he said, received the boat's crew with their usual kindliness, chatting and laughing till the sailormen dispersed and got to work. Then the blow fell. The wretched Frenchmen had scarce time to become aware of their murderers ere club and spear had done their work, and all but one lay dead.

This one hid himself, but could not hide from his sight the horrid sequel; and he told with shaking voice how the Maori had dismembered his unhappy comrades, taken each his load of human flesh and hurried from the scene.

Incredible all this sounded in face of that pleasant month of dalliance; yet the proof was there in that terrified wretch, and incredulity gave way to wrath and sentiments of vengeance. The prolonged absence of the commander now took on a sinister aspect, andCrozet, too, with sixty men, was gone inland to procure akauri-pine. With such a force he could defy attack; but he must be advised of what had happened.

A boat crowded with armed men was pulled ashore, and the march began to the spot where Crozet was making a road for the hauling of the giant pine. One can imagine his feelings when his comrades arrived with their intelligence—the ghastly certainty, the terrible hypothesis.

Sorrowful, but grim, the company marched back to the boats, unmolested by the mob of natives who shouted the dreadful news that Marion du Fresne and his escort of sixteen had all been killed and eaten.

Not a word said Crozet until he reached the beach. Then, as the dusky crowd surged forward, he drew a line upon the sand with the butt of a musket. "Cross that and die!" he cried. No Maori dared to brave the dreaded "fire-tubes," and the Frenchmen embarked and pulled out from the beach.

Then began Crozet's revenge. Safe now from attack, he poured volley after volley into the mob of Islanders, until the last of them had fled, shrieking, beyond range. This was not enough. Day followed day and Maori were shot and villages burned, until Crozet, his vengeance only partially satisfied, turned in wrath and disgust from the land he had begun to love.

It all sounds very dreadful. It seems an act of atrocious treachery on the part of the Maori to havemasked their hideous design under an appearance of friendship; and this was Crozet's view. But was it the correct view?

The sign which he and his unfortunate commander had failed to read was this: the Maori, after a month of uninterrupted intercourse,suddenly ceased to visit the ships. It was equivalent to the withdrawal of an ambassador before the declaration of war. Captain Cook, if he had not understood, would at least have noticed the sign and been on his guard.

Crozet professed to know of no cause of quarrel, yet the Maori had found one, though not until many years later did the truth come out. The French, both officers and men, had carelessly—in some cases wantonly—intruded upon sacred places, destroyed sacred objects, treated with disrespect certain sacred persons. In other words, they had violatedtapu, and the Maori of that day viewed such behaviour as unpardonable and only to be atoned for by death. Bad as the horrid business was at the best, it is well to remember the old advice, "Hear the other side."

Crozet's utterances against the Maori were charged with such bitter execration, that for decades no French ship ventured near the island homes of those fierce and terrible cannibals. More, the lurid story spread across the Channel, effectually checking any desire on the part of the British for closer acquaintance with the wild men of the south. The reputation of the Maori still had power nearly ten years later to scare off all but the boldest intruders. Even the worst of criminals were held undeserving of so outrageous a fate as exposure to the chance of beingdevoured by cannibals; and a motion to establish convict settlements in New Zealand was strongly denounced in the House of Commons and defeated.

So New Zealand, fortunately for herself, never knew the convict stain, and rogues were packed off to Australia with leave to reform if they could. Some, perhaps, did. Others, pestilential ruffians who could not be tamed even by five hundred lashes on the bare back, were weeded out and sent to Norfolk Island, another of Captain Cook's discoveries, lying some three days' sail to the north of New Zealand.

This charming island ought also to have escaped the convict infamy, for it was already occupied by honest settlers. Oddly enough, it was this very occupation, associated with the needs of commerce, which helped to overcome the shyness with which men regarded New Zealand, and eventually induced them to people her beautiful bays and fertile valleys.

The new product, the now famousPhormium tenaxor New Zealand flax, samples of which had aroused the greatest enthusiasm in England, set manufacturers longing for a substance which would lend itself to so many useful purposes.

The manufacturers had to go longing for many years; for the prospect of forming thepièce de résistanceat the dinner-table of a Maori chief failed to attract traders, who left New Zealand severely alone. Then came the settlement of Norfolk Island, and men of commerce were immensely cheered; for the much-desiredPhormium tenaxwas found growing there, wild and in profusion.

But the Norfolk Island people failed utterly to manipulate the fibre as cleverly as the brown men to the south of them, and there was little use in exporting the fibre in the rough. Besides, their failure rendered them uncertain whether they had the right plant.

Twenty years after the death of Marion the effect of his tragic story had not worn off; but instruction being absolutely necessary, and as only Maori could give it, a couple of them were coolly kidnapped and carried off to Norfolk Island.

But the biters were bit. One Maori is very like another in the eyes of the Pakeha, and the kidnapper ignorantly carried off anarikiand arangatira, men utterly unused to manual work. During the six months they spent among their abductors not a word had these two to say upon the all-important subject of cleansing flax-fibre.

"It is women's work," they declared with lofty contempt. "What shouldweknow of it?"

Governor King had some compunction at the manner in which things had been managed, and at last redressed the wrong. He had treated the chief and the gentleman with scrupulous courtesy and unvarying kindness during their enforced stay, and now, after heaping presents upon them—not the least of which were a bag of seed corn and a drove of pigs—he took them back with honour to the Bay of Islands.

Generous themselves, the Maori responded heartily to Captain King's advances, and their behaviour, together with his own perception of theirunusual intellectuality, induced the Governor to write home glowing accounts of the New Zealanders, and warmly recommend the establishment of friendly relations with them. For this good man was far-seeing, and recognised the capacity for civilisation which lay beneath the crust of savagery. Therefore, in agreement with Benjamin Franklin's previously expressed opinion, he strongly advised that shiploads of useful iron articles be sent to induce the Maori to barter, and not beads and such gewgaws, which they most surely despised.

So "out of evil came forth good" and, as the news of the better disposition of Maori towards Pakeha spread, it was not long before it began to take effect. And here also Commerce had her say.

Ever since the days of Cook a few bold fellows had ventured upon an occasional visit to the Dangerous Land in search of whales; for the regular fishery had not come so far south. Others now began to follow these adventurers, feeling their way to the good graces of the coast tribes. There were no more massacres, whales were found in plenty, and word went forth presently that seals, too, abounded on the coast of this new and wondrous land.

The news brought more hardy fellows in pursuit of fortune, until, whereas in 1790 scarce a white man dared show his face off the coast, the earliest years of the nineteenth century saw a regular trade established between the whalers and the Maori. The whalers brought the delighted Islanders iron nails, fish-hooks, knives, axes, bracelets of metal and many other articles which pleased them well.The Maori in return brought pigs, fresh vegetables, flax and tall, straight trees for masts and spars.

Always brave and bold, delighting to ride the waves in their canoes, and in some cases taking a positive delight in danger, the coast Maori showed the keenest interest in whaling, regarding it as splendid sport, to enjoy which they readily shipped as harpooners.

There is no doubt about their aptitude; none about their enjoyment in the pursuit of the monstrous sea mammal. More than one tale is current of impatient Maori, fearing to miss the whale even at close quarters, hurling themselves astride the creature and driving the harpoon deep into the yielding blubber as the animal dived in a frenzy of terror. Then from the reddened foam that crested the tumbling waves the brown men would emerge, clamber aboard the boat and sit dripping, but happy, while the line ran out like lightning as the stricken whale raced to its death.

So there were bold fellows on either side, each compelling the other's respect and admiration by acts of high courage. In this way confidence grew and friendship followed; so that some of the whites took to themselves Maori women, and dwelt with the tribes to which their wives belonged.

Coarse though this particular variety often was, there is no doubt that these adventurous Pakeha-Maori (or Strangers turned into Maori) sowed the earliest seeds of civilisation among the Maori, though it was long before the plant became acclimatised and brought forth good fruit.

It is often the fate of a new country to receive at first the very worst elements, and this was the experience of New Zealand. As soon as it became known that a man might enter her gates without thereby qualifying for the cooking-pot, an eager crowd of depraved humanity rushed jostling through. The sealers and whalers were rough, but not a few were honest fellows, while, as a class, they were refined gentlemen beside the mob of escaped murderers, thieves, and panderers to moral filth, which overflowed from the convict-swamped shores of New South Wales. Had not the Maori, despite their grave faults, been capable of much better things, they could never have shaken free from the garments of impurity in which some of the earliest settlers endeavoured to clothe them. But there was good stuff in the Maori, and, though they fell often, they continually rose again. One innate virtue they possessed—that of sobriety. It was rarely that the Pakeha could induce them to indulge in the "fire-water"—"stink-water" was their name for it—which has been the ruin of more than one coloured race.

But many years were yet to elapse before the Maori threw off the worst of their own bad manners, much less improved upon those of their white instructors, and scenes of violence and bloodshed were to be enacted before the sons of Maui should dwell together in peace among themselves, or bend their stubborn necks beneath the yoke of the Pakeha. From time to time there were terrible outbreaks, and one of the worst of these was that which is evilly remembered as "The Massacre of theBoyd."

As early as 1805 an English gentleman had induced an adventurous Maori to accompany him to London, and not a few chiefs had since then paid visits to Sydney, while others of lower rank had embarked under the masters of vessels which touched at the Islands. These last were, of course, subject to the same discipline as the sailors; but, free and independent as they had always been, this seems to have been a hard lesson for them to learn. Hence arose misunderstandings, and from one such was developed the tragedy of theBoyd.

On her voyage from Sydney to London in 1809 the ship was to call at Whangaroa, near the Bay of Islands, to load wood for masts and spars. Consequently, several Maori who were stranded in Sydney embraced the opportunity to work their passage back to their own country.

Among these was Tarra, a chief's son, and he, too proud or, as he averred, too ill to work, refused to do his duty. Starvation was tried as a means of cure; but this failing, young Tarra was twice tied up and soundly flogged.

Boadicea, bleeding from the rods of the Romans, had not more indignation than had Tarra when he showed his scars and called upon his tribe to avenge him upon those who had inflicted them.

Ready enough was the response, for the law of the Maori required them to take revenge for every injury. The lure was spread, the master of theBoydwent ashore at Whangaroa with part of his crew, and every man of them was slain and eaten.

Even then Tarra's vengeance was not glutted.With his tribe at his back he boarded theBoydand killed every person on the ship with the exception of four. A woman and two children hid themselves, and Tarra spared the cabin-boy because of some kindness the youngster had once done him.

Singular contrast! The savage, who could go to the most appalling extremes to satisfy his hate, was, even at the very height of his murderous wrath, capable of gratitude.

This awful massacre set back for years the clock which had seemed about to strike the hour for beginning Maori civilisation, while the resentment of the whites led to a slaughter as wholesale as that which it was intended to revenge.

On hearing of the massacre of theBoyda chief named Te Pahi, whose daughter was wedded to an English sailor, hurried to Whangaroa, and was instrumental in saving the lives of the woman and two children. His good deed done, Te Pahi returned to the Bay of Islands, where he lived.

Terrible danger menaced him. In some unexplained way he had got the credit of having engineered theBoydaffair, and the crews of five whaling ships, accepting the rumour for truth, condemned the unfortunate chief unheard, and took bitter vengeance upon him.

Their task was easy, for the village was unfortified and the Maori wholly unsuspicious. Fully armed, the whalers fell upon the innocent people, sorely wounded the chief, and slew some two-score persons without regard to age or sex. Te Pahi himself escaped in the confusion, only to be killednot long afterwards by some of his own race because of the help he had given to the survivors of theBoyd. Doubly unfortunate was poor Te Pahi.

Thus bad began and worse remained behind. During the next decade numbers of tribesmen fell beneath the weapons of casual white visitors, while the Maori, on their side, smote with club and spear, and gathered as deadly a toll.

The country seemed drifting back into that state of savagery whence it had promised a short time before to emerge. It might have done so, but that at this juncture occurred an event which laid the true foundations of civilisation, and heralded that peace which, though long in coming, came at last.

CHAPTER X

RONGO PAI![55]

In spite of the tragedy of theBoyd, in spite of the war of individuals which vexed the coast—though murder was added to murder, revenge piled upon revenge,—more Pakeha filtered into New Zealand, content to brave death for the chance of obtaining a home and wealth.

On their part, more Maori deserted theirhapufor the great world outside their little islands and, needless to say, were gazed at with shuddering curiosity. Such as these, taught by experience that there existed a race superior to their own, convinced their countrymen of the advantages to be gained by permanent friendship with the British Pakeha.

So these played their part in watering the tree of civilisation, whose roots now began to take firm hold of the soil; while the white men, ever improving in type and conduct, helped along the great work.

As yet there was no attempt at systematic colonisation. Scattered over the Islands and whollydependent upon the good will of their hosts, the Pakeha kept as friendly with the natives as circumstances would allow, while they saw to it that musket or rifle stood ever handy to their grip.

The taste which the Maori had acquired for wandering outside their own country at length brought about a remarkable conjunction, destined to bear most importantly upon the future of New Zealand. It was nothing else than the formation of a friendship between a Christian Englishman of singular nobility of character and a Maori of sanguinary disposition, a warrior notable among a race of warriors and, withal, a cannibal of cannibals.

In the first decade of the years when George the Third was king there was born in Yorkshire a boy who was brought up as a blacksmith. For some time he followed his trade; but, having a strong inclination towards a missionary life, he was ordained a clergyman of the Church of England, and in due course found himself senior chaplain of the colony of New South Wales.

This man, whose name must be ever honoured in the history of New Zealand, was Samuel Marsden, who was the first to desire to bring, and who did actually bring the tidings of the Gospel to the land of the Maori.

There were missionaries at work in Tahiti, in the Marquesas and in Tonga; but New Zealand, the land of the ferocious warrior and savage cannibal, had been esteemed an impossible country, or, at all events, as not yet prepared for the sowing. So it was left to itself.

Then came a day when Samuel Marsden, walking through the narrow streets of Sydney, stopped to gaze at a novel sight. Not far from him stalked proudly three splendid-looking men, types of a race with which he was unfamiliar.

They were not Australian aboriginals. That was instantly evident. Their faces were strangely scarred, their heads, held high, were plumed with rare feathers, and the outer garment they wore, of some soft, buff material, suggested the Roman toga. There was, indeed, something Roman about their appearance, with their fine features, strong noses, and sternly compressed lips.

Mr. Marsden was from the first strongly attracted to these men and, being informed that they were New Zealand chiefs, come on a visit to Sydney, the good man grew sad. That such noble-looking men should be heathen and cannibals inexpressibly shocked him, and he determined then and there that what one of God's servants might do for the salvation of that proud, intellectual race, that, by the grace of God, he would do.

A man so deeply religious as Samuel Marsden was not likely to waste time over a matter in his judgment so supremely important. The chiefs readily admitted the anarchy induced by the constant friction between brown men and white, though it was not to be expected that they should realise at once their own spiritual darkness. Mr. Marsden was not discouraged, and set in train a scheme whereby a number of missionaries were to be sent out immediately by the Church MissionarySociety, to attempt the conversion of the Maori to Christianity.

Twenty-five of these reached Sydney, where men's ears were tingling with the awful details of the massacre of theBoyd, and judged the risk too great. So they stayed where they were, and the conversion of New Zealand was delayed for a season.

The residence of meek and peaceable men among such intractable savages was deemed to be outside the bounds of possibility; but Marsden firmly believed that the way would be opened in God's good time, and waited and watched and prayed, possessing his soul in patience. The opportunity which he so confidently expected arrived in 1814.

Some ten years after the birth of Samuel Marsden another boy was born on the other side of the world. Hongi[56]Ika was his name, a chief and a chief's son of the great tribe of the Nga-Puhi in the north. Marsden had swung his hammer over the glowing iron and beaten out horse-shoes and ploughshares. Hongi, too, swung his hammer; but it was the Hammer of Thor. And every time that Hongi's hammer fell, it beat out brains and broke men's bones, until none could be found to stand against him. Yet Hongi had a hard knock or two now and then and, being as yet untravelled, gladly assented when his friend Ruatara—who had seen King George of England—suggested a visit to Sydney.

Hongi found plenty to interest him, and also took a philosopher's delight in arguing the great questions of religion with Mr. Marsden, in whosehouse he and Ruatara abode. Marsden knew the man for what he was, a warrior and a cannibal; but so tactful and persuasive was he that, before his visit ended, Hongi agreed to allow the establishment of a missionary settlement at the Bay of Islands, and promised it his protection.

So the first great step was taken, and Marsden planted his vineyard. He was a wise man and, knowing by report the shortcomings of the land he desired to Christianise, took with him a good supply of animal food, and provision for future needs as well, in the shape of sheep and oxen. With a view to the requirements of his lieutenants, he also introduced a horse or two.

What impression the sight of a man on horseback made upon the Maori may be gathered from the experience of Mr. Edward Wakefield twenty-seven years later at Whanganui. In this district, which is on the opposite side of the Island to that on which Mr. Marsden landed, and considerably farther south, the natives had never seen a horse. Result—"They fled," writes Mr. Wakefield, "in all directions, and, as I galloped past those who were running, they fairly lay down on their faces and gave themselves up for lost. I dismounted, and they plucked up courage to come and take a look at thekuri nui, or 'large dog.' 'Can he talk?' said one. 'Does he like boiled potatoes?' said another. And a third, 'Mustn't he have a blanket to lie down on at night?' This unbounded respect and adoration lasted all the time that I remained. A dozen hands were always offering him Indian corn (maize) and grass, and sowthistles, when they had learned what he really did eat; and a wooden bowl of water was kept constantly replenished close to him; and little knots of curious observers sat round the circle of his tether rope, remarking and conjecturing and disputing about the meaning and intention of every whisk of his tail or shake of his ears."

It was for long all endeavour and little result. But other missionaries arrived, new stations were erected in various parts of the north, and the Wesleyans, seven years later, imitated the example of the Church Missionary Society and sent their contingent to the front.

To the fighting line these went indeed; for they settled at Whangaroa, where the sunken hull of theBoydrecalled the horror of twelve years before. Tarra himself was still there, the memory of his stripes as green as though he had but yesterday endured the poignant suffering. He rendered vain for five long years the efforts of the missionaries, and from his very deathbed cursed them, urging his tribe to drive them out; so that they fled, thankful to escape with their lives—for they saved nought else.

The missionaries of the Church Missionary Society nine years later endured a similar hard experience, and were forced to flee from their stations at Tauranga and Rotorua. A bishop and a company of priests, sent by Pope Gregory XVI., arrived at Hokianga in the year 1838, and these, too, presently learned what it was to suffer for their faith.

But in spite of hardships—whether stripped of their possessions, whether driven from their homes,whether death met them at every turn, the missionaries, no matter what their creed, persevered. They looked not back to the evil days which lay behind; but faint, yet pursuing, pushed onward, until the North Island was sprinkled with the white houses of their missions, over which floated the flag of the Prince of Peace, emblazoned with His message, "Rongo Pai!"

Then came the crossing of Cook Strait, and the spiritual conquest of the Middle Island. New missionaries constantly arrived, fresh recruits ever enrolled under the banner of the Cross; until, a bare two-and-twenty years from that Christmas Day when Samuel Marsden preached his first sermon in a land where Christianity was not even a name, four thousand Maori converts knelt in the House of God.

This was not accomplished without strenuous effort. The difficulties and dangers which confronted the earliestmihonariwould have driven back all but the most earnest and faithful men. The record of their sufferings and struggles would of itself fill a volume. Indeed, only the least suggestion has been made here of what they bore for Christ's sake. But their works do follow them, gone to their rest as all of them are; and what prouder epitaph can be theirs than this: They came; they saw; and they conquered at last!

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