Brighter Britain! Part 14

"Well done, Saint!" was the general exclamation; "that's a good excuse to get yourself off a job of humping over the rocks."

The Saint flushed up, and proceeded argumentatively, "Look here!

Wouldn't it be better to burn dead sh.e.l.ls?"

"F'what did sh.e.l.ls is it, me dear?" asked O'Gaygun, in a wheedling tone.

"Well, there's plenty on Marahemo, for instance."

Marahemo, I may mention, is a hill about three miles back from the river. It is about one thousand feet high, I suppose, and lies behind our land.

"Did ye ivver hear the loike av that, now?" roared O'Gaygun, boisterously. "Here's the bhoy for ye! Here's the bhoy that's afraid to ate an eyester fur fear av hurtin' the baste, an' that's goin' to hump Marahemo down to the farrum, aal so bould an' gay! Shure now, thim's the shouldhers that can do that same!"

After a brief, friendly pa.s.sage of arms between the two, the Saint continued hotly--

"Well, all I can say is, it seems to me more sensible to burn our lime on Marahemo and to hump it down here, than to hump oysters along the beach, and then have to hump the lime again up from there."

"By Jove!" broke in Old Colonial, "the boy's right, I believe. Shut up, you Milesian mudhead, and listen to me. Right from the old pa on the top of Marahemo down to the very foot, there's the Maori middens: a regular reef of nothing but sh.e.l.l, oysters and pipi and scollops and all the rest. There must be hundreds and hundreds of tons of pure sh.e.l.l. All we've got to do is to make a kiln near the bottom and shovel the sh.e.l.l into it; and there's any amount of firewood, dead stuff, round about."

"Well, but look at the long hump from there down to the farm."

"I know; but won't it be simpler to do that than to collect oysters on the beach? We should have to hump treble the weight of the lime we should get after burning them. And then we should have to hump the lime at least half a mile up from the beach. There is a track through the bush up to Marahemo, and we could easily open it a bit. Half a day's work for the lot of us would make it pa.s.sable for a bullock-sled; or we might pack the lime down on some of Dandy Jack's horses. Then the stuff we should get there would be easier burnt and make better lime. And we could make enough to supply the neighbourhood. A few boat-loads sold at a fair price would pay us for our work, and we should have the lime we want for our own use as pure profit. If we didn't find a market on the rivers, I'm certain it would pay to charter a schooner, load her up, and send her round to the Manukau. Auckland has to get all her lime from Whangarei or Mahurangi as it is."

So the thing was settled, and we went to work on Marahemo as lime-burners.

One day when we were "nooning," Old Colonial and I chanced to be together on the top of Marahemo. We were looking at the splendid prospect, glorious under the mid-day sun. All around us was bush--a dense jungle of shrubs and trees. The conical hill on which we stood was thickly clothed, and all round, over the steep, rough ranges, the abrupt ravines and gullies, with their brawling streams, was spread the one variegated mantle of gorgeous foliage.

Since then I have seen certain of the far-famed forests of the tropics, but I must candidly say that the scenery they offer is, on the whole, far less striking and beautiful than that of the bush of Northern New Zealand. The colouring is not so good; in the ma.s.s, it is not so l.u.s.trous, nor so varied. The rich flowers are hidden away, so that the fewer and less gaudy blossoms of our bush are more conspicuous, because severally more plentiful. But a woodland scene in England, the old home across the seas, even surpa.s.ses all in the glory of its autumn dress.

From where we stood on Marahemo we could see for considerable distances, where the ranges did not intervene. Here and there, through some vista of wooded gullies, we could catch a glimpse of shining river reaches, and, in one or two directions, could make out the house of some neighbour, easily distinguishable in the pure atmosphere, though possibly ten or twelve miles distant.

Looking towards the west, we could see our own farm. The distance was just enough to mellow the view softly. The shanty looked neat and tidy; the gra.s.s in the paddocks bright and fresh; the fences appeared regular and orderly; the asperities and irregularities of the ground were not seen, even the stumps were almost hidden; and the cattle and sheep that dotted the clearings might have been browsing on English meadows, so fair and smooth was the picture. As we looked on our home thus, the growth of our labour, we realized our independence of the outer world.

And I dare say that, for a moment, "our hearts were lifted up within us," to use the Scriptural phraseology.

I believe I was guilty, under the inspiration of the scene, of uttering some sentimental nonsense or other, in which occurred reference to "primeval forests," or something of the sort. Old Colonial took me up shortly--

"'Tain't primeval," he said. "There's the heavy bush, the real primeval stuff," pointing to a well-marked line that commenced about half a mile further back.

"No," he continued; "all this round us is only about fifty years old."

"Only fifty years!" I exclaimed wonderingly, for the woods looked to me as old as the New Forest, at least; judging by the size and luxuriance of the trees."

"Oh, here and there, there are older trees; but half a century ago all this land was under Maori cultivation."

Then he showed me the old ramparts that had defended the crest of the hill. A double bank of earth, now all overgrown with trees and shrubs, not unlike the outlines of ancient British and Roman encampments. On every point around us similar traces could be found, showing that the district had been thickly inhabited. As the Maoris had no grazing stock in those days, and no gra.s.s in these parts, their lands were solely spade-cultivations. Some thousands of acres between the Pahi and the Wairau had once grown their taro and k.u.mera and hue, together with potatoes and other things introduced by Captain Cook.

Marahemo Pa was the capital of the district. Its position, occupying the crest of a sugar-loaf hill, defended by earthworks and stockades, must have made it seem impregnable to people unacquainted with artillery. The s.p.a.ce enclosed was considerable; and the immense quant.i.ties of sh.e.l.ls thrown down the sides of the hill attested the numbers of its population--for all the sh.e.l.l-fish would have to be brought up here on the backs of women and slaves from the beach, which is over three miles distant; and sh.e.l.l-fish was by no means the princ.i.p.al item of the Maori commissariat.

"That must have been the way they went," said Old Colonial, looking in a direction where a strip of the Arapaoa was visible through a gap made in the ranges by a narrow gully.

"Who went?" I asked, for I did not follow his thought.

"Hoosh!" cried he. "Do you mean to say you've never heard the story of the battle and capture of Marahemo, the tale of Te Puke Tapu?"

No, I had not heard it. At least, I remembered only some confused account of a conflict having taken place at the latter spot, which, being our show-place, I had often seen and knew well.

"Well," said Old Colonial, "there's no time now; but we've got to get some schnapper for supper to-night, so you and I will go and fish down the Arapaoa yonder; then I'll tell you."

In the evening we were sitting in the boat, anch.o.r.ed in the river nearly opposite our much venerated show-place. We were fishing with line and bait, diligently securing a supper and breakfast for ourselves and the rest of the company who make our shanty their home. Every now and then either of us would pull up a great pink slab-sided schnapper, a glistening silvery mullet, or a white-bellied whapuka; we were in a good pitch, and the fish were biting freely. Our minds were relieved from the anxiety of a possible shortness of provisions. The scenery around us is truly magnificent, if only it were possible to describe it. I must, however, try to convey an idea of its outlines.

We are lying in the Arapaoa Firth, at the point where it loses its distinctive name and divides into three heads. These three lesser firths, together with the main creek that flows into each above the point where the tide reaches, are respectively the Pahi, the Paparoa, and the Matakohe.

Our boat seems to be floating in a lake, rather than in a river, for here the Arapaoa is between three and four miles across. Looking down to the right we see it stretching away, between bold, high banks of irregular outline, flowing down to the harbour and the sea thirty miles off. To our left is our own river, the Pahi, narrower than the other. It is, perhaps, a mile across at the mouth. Its sh.o.r.es present a diminishing perspective of woods; and, as mangroves line the beach on either side, the leaf.a.ge and the water seem to melt into one another.

Five or six miles up, the ranges rise higher and run together, so that the beautiful Pahi appears to lose itself in the forest.

The opposite sh.o.r.e of the Pahi ends in a high bluff that, from our point of view, appears like an island in the expanse of gleaming water. Round the base of the bluff are gathered the white houses of Te Pahi township; and the masts of several small sailing-craft are seen off the beach.

Behind and above is a bold sweep of dark woods, forming a background to the baby town.

The township bluff hides from us all view of the Paparoa, which lies just behind it. But we have a full prospect of the wide reach of the Matakohe, which has quite a lake-like look. Just within it, on the further sh.o.r.e, are some low mud-banks, partially covered with stunted mangrove. Here great flocks of grey snipe continually a.s.semble, together with kingfishers, s.h.a.gs, wild duck, teal, and other waterfowl. The high bank conceals all behind it; but in one or two places we catch a glimpse of some settler's house, cresting the bold bluff, or half hiding in its orchards.

And now we face to the east, with the setting sun behind us sending its rays full upon the central interest of the view, and thus we gaze our fill upon Te Puke Tapu. A small but deep bay forms a bend in the sh.o.r.e of the river, guarded by steep heights on either hand. On the left a long promontory runs out into the Pahi, as though to meet the township bluff upon its further sh.o.r.e. On the right a towering scaur shows the abrupt termination of the range behind it. The tide in the Arapaoa flows swiftly by, but within the bay the water lies smooth as gla.s.s.

Between these two points may be a distance of about a mile straight across. The curving line of the sh.o.r.e, sweeping round from one to the other, forms a complete crescent. No rocks or mangroves, no mud-banks or oyster-beds spoil the effect of a narrow belt of white and glittering shingle, which lines the beach of the little bay. And right at the edge of this border-line begins the mingled green of fern and forest.

The land slopes upward gradually from the beach, rising by regular steps into a grand semicircle of heights. The general shape is that of an amphitheatre. And here so rich is the soil, so sheltered the situation, that all the wild vegetation of the country seems growing with magnified luxuriance.

The colouring is brighter and more brilliant than it often is in the bush; and there is a more extensive mingling of different trees and shrubs, a more picturesque grouping of forms and tints. There are emerald feathery fern-trees, copper-tinted "lancewoods," with their hair-like tufts, the tropic strangeness of nikau palms, crested cabbage-trees, red birch and white ti-tree, stately kauri, splendid totara, bulky rimu, dark glossy koraka, spreading rata, and half the arboreal catalogue of the country besides.

And, in their several seasons, the blossoms which all the evergreen trees and shrubs put forth bloom more brightly here than elsewhere; and, while creepers of strange and beautiful forms twine and suspend and stretch from tree to tree, the woodland greenery is set with a rich variety of scarlet cups and crimson ta.s.sels, of golden bells or flesh-pink cl.u.s.ters, or the darker depths are lit up by showering ma.s.ses of star-like clematis.

Terrace above terrace, receding from the water's edge, the encircling lines of bush rise upwards and away, until at last the leafy mantle flows over the summit of the topmost range. Far back, and central, in the wide sweep of the amphitheatre is a sudden dip in the outline. It is the opening of a little gully, through which a hidden stream comes down below the trees and babbles out across the shingle; and that opening just reveals Mount Marahemo behind. His wooded crest has caught the tinted radiance of the sunset, and stands out in glorious relief against the purpling background of sky, framed in the glowing beauty of the nearer Puke Tapu.

Such is our show-place, the "Sacred Soil," where sleep the departed warriors of the Ngatewhatua. The bell-bird and the tui sing a requiem over them by day, while the morepork and the kiwi wail for them at night. And the wonderful loveliness of this spot, where they fought and died, might well inspire a Tennyson to pen another "Locksley Hall."

"Jee--roosalem!" sighed Dandy Jack. "Only put _that_ on canvas, and hang it in Burlington House, and what an advertis.e.m.e.nt it would be for us!"

Old Colonial goes on to tell the tale of Te Puke Tapu, in the intervals of hauling up schnapper. He says--

"The boys call it 'The Burying Ground,' because of the bones and skulls that are lying about or stuck up in the trees. That's rather misleading, though, for it was never a wahi tapu, or native cemetery. This bay was evidently the landing-place or port for Marahemo, and the subordinate kaingas on the ranges yonder. You can see it was naturally that. As such there would be constant traffic through it, even if there were no whares in the place itself. Now a wahi tapu was so sacred that no one but a tohunga dared to approach its boundaries, even under pain of death and d.a.m.nation; so that such a place was always in some very out-of-the-way locality, certainly never near a spot so much frequented as this would be.

"It's tapu enough now, though, and has been ever since the battle, which, I opine, must have been fought somewhere about 1825. The chiefs won't sell an inch of this piece to any one; and not a Maori dares go near it. Lots of people have tried to buy it, and have even offered as much as five pounds an acre for its magnificent soil; but the Maoris are not to be tempted, and, what's more, say they'll have utu from any Pakeha that goes into it.

"Once, some years ago, I was out pig-hunting, and killed a big one just on the top of that scaur. The carcase rolled down into the water, and the tide carried it away down river. It was washed up at Tama-te-Whiti's place, six miles below this. Now Tama, although he's an ordained parson, still retains most of the old superst.i.tions, as all the older Maoris do.

He was in a terrible stew when this pig, killed on tapu ground, and consequently tapu itself, stranded on his beach. His wife and he came out with long poles and pushed it into the water. Then they got into their boat, and managed to get the pig out into the channel and set it floating off again. Afterwards they carefully burnt the poles that had touched the dreadful thing. Finally, Tama came up to me and demanded utu, which I had to pay him. If we had not been such good friends, and if Tama had not been more sensible than the other Maoris, I believe the district would have been too hot to hold me.

"Tama told me the whole history of the place; and gave me a graphic account of the battle, in which he took part. He is one of the 'last of the cannibals,' one of the few survivors of the old fighting days, before the missionaries caused the abolition of cannibalism.

"You know who Hongi was, I suppose? The great chief of the Ngapuhi, who was so friendly with Marsden and the first missionaries, who went to Sydney and then to England, was presented to King George and made much of. When he got back to Sydney, this astute savage 'realized' on all the fine things that had been given him, and turned the proceeds into muskets, powder, and ball. Then he loaded up a trading-schooner, chartering her with a promise of a return cargo of pigs, timber, and flax, and joyfully sailed back to New Zealand.

"All his life, Hongi was very friendly to the missionaries, as well as to traders from Sydney. But the former never converted him. He remained a ferocious manslayer and cannibal to the last. Yet it was owing to this chief that missionaries gained a first footing in the country.