The Treaty of Waitangi Part 9

At this point there was again some general dissatisfaction amongst the Europeans who apparently were only able to hear imperfectly. A hawker, a pedlar named Jones, from Kororareka, called out to His Excellency that the whites could not follow the interpreter. A young man on the opposite side of the tent confirmed his complaint, and the European who had previously objected to Mr. Williams's methods once more became prominent in support of his confreres. These dissatisfied individuals maintained a running comment across the tent for some moments, which resulted in the Governor again requisitioning the services of Mr.

Johnson, who came forward and interpreted the speech of Wai, but not to the complete satisfaction of that dusky orator, who described the Johnsonian effort as "great lies."

This resulted in the restoration of Mr. Williams, whose next subject was Pumuka, a man of influence in the Roroa tribe who was favourable to the treaty: "Stay, remain, Governor; remain for me" was his message. "Hear all of you. I will have this man a foster-father for me. Stay, sit, Governor. Listen to my words, O Governor! Do not go away; remain. Sit, Governor, sit. I wish to have two fathers--thou and Busby and the Missionaries."

"Yes, what else? Stay, sit if not what? Sit, if not how?" were the opening queries of Warerahi, a chief of Ngaitawake, who was popularly known as George King. "Is it not good to be at peace?" he asked. "We will have this man as our Governor. What! turn him away! Say to this man of the Queen, 'Go back?' No, no."[72]

The next speaker was to be Hakiro, who wanted room to deliver himself as became a great chief, and whilst the reclining natives were being moved back to make a clear s.p.a.ce in which he could run from one end of the platform to the other a chief from the Waikare, whose name has not been recorded, rose and complained of the unjust dealings of the white people, who had no sense of justice. For a very little thing--a shilling--they wanted a pig as big as himself. What he wanted to know was could the Governor make the _Pakeha_ give a payment as large as the article he bought, but the speech was little noticed in the hustle caused by the clearing of a pa.s.sage for Hakiro.

Hakiro belonged to the Ngatirehia tribes, being the son of Tareha, but on this occasion he essayed to speak for t.i.tore,[73] though it is highly questionable whether he reflected the sentiments to which that chief would have given utterance had he been still with the living.

t.i.tore was justly regarded as one of the n.o.blest of the Nga-Puhi chieftains, and his early death was generally mourned, not only as a personal loss, but as a misfortune to the cause of national unity. Be that as it may, his ill.u.s.trious representative on this auspicious occasion, swayed by other influences, elected to throw the weight of his great name into the opposite scale to which he would almost certainly have thrown it himself.

"To thee, O Governor! this. Who says sit? Who? Hear me, O Governor! I say, no, no."

As he shouted these questions and answers he ran swiftly backwards and forwards brandishing a _taiaha_ as he ran.

"Sit indeed! Who says sit? Go back, go back. Do not thou sit here.

What wilt thou sit here for? We are not thy people. We are free. We will not have a Governor. Return, return, leave us. The Missionaries and Busby are our fathers. We do not want thee, so go back, return, depart."

Tareha, who followed, was easily one of the largest natives in the North, and had been one of the most ferocious of cannibals.[74] He seldom burdened himself with much clothing, and on this occasion, as if to show how independent he was of such European luxuries, he appeared with nothing more than a dirty piece of old matting fastened round his waist. In the one hand he carried a canoe paddle, and in the other a small bunch of fern-root, tied by a piece of string, for the purpose of further demonstrating that he and his people still had the food of their fathers to rely upon. Tareha never became a Christian--dying as he lived, a heathen--but under the influence of Hongi he had always shown considerable solicitude for the Missionaries, whose interests he had invariably protected, both with his personal and tribal power. His particular protege at this time was Bishop Pompallier, to whom, in common with Rewa, Moka, and Hakiro, he lived near at Kororareka. Whether this a.s.sociation in any way affected the views of Tareha and his a.s.sociates is probably a matter best left to individual opinion, but it has been observed as an interesting coincidence that the natives who were in closest contact with the Bishop were the most aggressively hostile to the treaty.

This fact had already been so much in evidence that when Tareha rose, and in his deep sepulchral voice shouted, "No Governor for me--for us native men," no one who was taking a keen interest in the proceedings was very much surprised. With much of the gesticulation peculiar to Maori oratory and a clever application of the arts involved in native elocution, Tareha began to develop his p.r.o.nouncement against the Governor. "We, we only are the chiefs--the rulers. We will not be ruled over. What! thou, a foreigner, up and I down! Thou high, and I, Tareha, the great chief of the Nga-Puhi tribes low! No, no, never, never. I am jealous of thee; I am, and shall be until thou and thy ship go away. Go back, go back, thou shalt not stay here. No, no, I will never say 'Yes.' Stay! Alas! what for? Why? What is there here for thee? Our lands are already all gone. Yes, it is so, but our names remain. Never mind, what of that--the lands of our fathers alienated!

Dost thou think we are poor, indigent, poverty-stricken--that we really need thy foreign garments, thy food? Look at this!"

Here he dangled his bunch of fern-root in the air as proof that his argument was not without foundation.

"See, this is my food, the food of my ancestors, the food of the native people. Pshaw! Governor, to think of tempting men--us natives--with baits of clothing and food! Yes, I say we are the chiefs. If all were to be alike, all equal in rank with thee; but thou the Governor up high--up, up, as this tall paddle[75] and I down, under, beneath! No, no, no. I will never say 'Yes, stay.' Go back, return, make haste away. Let me see you (all) go; thee and thy ship.

Go, go, return, return."

The speech of Tareha with its forceful opinions and dramatic delivery had a marked and visible effect upon the native section of the audience, so much so that Captain Hobson began to regard the result with considerable trepidation. He expressed these fears to Mr.

Williams, who, knowing the delicacy of the situation, advised him not to betray his anxiety, but at the close of the meeting to recommend the treaty to their deliberate consideration, and to say that he would give them three days in which to finally make up their minds upon it.

For this advice Captain Hobson thanked the Missionary, and then a more favourable turn was given to the debate by a humorous sally from Rawiri, a chief of Ngat.i.tautahi, who, anxious to display his smattering of newly acquired English, opened his speech with the salutation, "Good morning, Mr. Governor, very good you." This was as far as his linguistic accomplishments could carry him, and for the remainder of his oration he relapsed into his native tongue, in which he made an earnest appeal for established authority and a law that would maintain them in peace. "Our Governor, our Father! stay here, O Governor! Sit that we may be in peace. A good thing this for us, my friends, native men. Stay, sit. Do thou remain, O Governor! to be a Governor for us."

Up to this point the weight of influence and oratory had been heavily against the Governor, the opposition evidently considering it good tactics to get in early and reap the fruits of a first impression. But the friends of the treaty now put up a powerful foil to Tareha in the person of Hone Heke, the nephew and son-in-law of Hongi, and admittedly one of the most influential men, both by lineage and achievement, in all the North. Heke at this time was actively espousing the Christian cause, and had not developed the mischievous spirit which afterwards gave him even greater prominence in European annals than he had as yet acquired in Maori fame. He began in that mystical manner so much beloved by Maori orators, the skilful use of which was regarded as a test of their accomplishment.

"To raise up, or to bring down? To raise up, or to bring down? Which?

Who knows? Sit, Governor, sit. If thou shouldst return, we natives are gone, utterly gone, nothinged, extinct. What then shall we do? Who are we? Remain, Governor, a father for us. If thou goest away, what then?

We do not know."

Then turning and addressing himself to those immediately about him, he said, "This, my friends, is a good thing. It is even as the word of G.o.d.[76] Thou to go away! No, no, no! For then the French people or the rum-sellers will have us natives. Remain, remain, sit, sit here; you with the Missionaries all as one. But we natives are children.

Yes, it is not for us, but for you, our fathers--you Missionaries--it is for you to say, to decide what it shall be. It is for you to choose, for we are only natives. Who and what are we? Children, yes, children solely. We do not know. Do you then choose for us. You our fathers--you Missionaries. Sit, I say, Governor, sit. A father, a Governor for us."

The emphasis with which these concluding sentences were p.r.o.nounced, and the gestures by which they were accompanied, came as a convincing climax to what had been a mighty speech. The _mana_ of Heke was great, for was he not descended from Rahiri, who came down in a direct line from a Viking Admiral of the Hawaiki fleet; was he not the representative of the Ariki family of Nga-Puhi; had he not by virtue of his great name levied toll upon all who crossed his estate at Puketona; was he not the brave who had distinguished himself at the 1830 fight at Kororareka when Hengi was killed, and had he not fought valiantly at Tauranga when t.i.tore attacked the _pa_ at Otumoetai?

Heke had thus become great in all that told most in the estimation of the Maori, and when he had spoken it was indiscreet for any dog to bark.[77]

No sooner had he resumed his seat upon the ground than the hum of approving comment could be heard in all quarters of the tent. Here was a speech indeed, Europeans and natives alike joining in eulogiums of both its manner and its matter. While the buzz of conversation filled the air, Hakitara, a chief of the Rarawa tribe, rose and commenced a speech in favour of the treaty. He was, however, unfortunate in having to follow Heke, who had for the moment captured public attention, and Hakitara, being unable to raise his voice above the din, soon subsided and made way for a greater even than Heke.

While the latter was speaking the gathering had received an important augmentation by the arrival of Tamati Waaka Nene, his elder brother Patuone, and the Nga-Puhi chiefs of Hokianga. They had mingled with the crowd, and immediately the Rarawa chief had concluded, Nene came forward and spoke "with a degree of natural eloquence that surprised all the Europeans and eventually turned aside the temporary feeling of hostility that had been created."[78]

Dr. Bright, one of the few Englishmen who have left us an account of this historic gathering, describes Nene at this moment as a "mild-looking, middle-aged man with a deportment as if he felt he was a gentleman." As he listened to Heke he rested upon his _taiaha_, and smiled upon those about him. His face bore evidence that he was glad to see the white man and the brown in conference.

To this chief with his great mental powers, his keen perception, his capacity to read the signs of the times, it had been long apparent that the advent of the _Pakeha_ was inevitable, and that the Maori system was incapable of developing the principles of a stable Government. To now enter upon a campaign of hostility to the whites would, he believed, certainly result in the destruction of his own race. It was too late. Yet to govern themselves was manifestly impossible. He therefore found himself in the same dilemma as had presented itself to a large section of the ancient Jews in the beleaguered city of Jerusalem, who honestly enough believed that their country had arrived at that stage in its history when its only salvation lay in its seizure and government by a foreign power strong enough to establish justice and security, even though it might be at the sacrifice of liberty. What the Romans were to Palestine the British were in Nene's eyes to New Zealand, and that was what he meant when he begged the Governor to remain and be to the Maori a friend, a father, and a Governor.

As he stepped into the arena of debate the storms were laid still, and a general calm suppressed the rising excitement, for he was esteemed by the white men and known to his own race as one who dared to fight as well as to talk of peace. His voice was low at first, nor needed he to raise it high--no sound intruded on it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TAMATI WAAKA NENE.

After the painting by G. Lindauer in the Partridge Collection, Auckland, by kind permission of the owner.]

"I will first speak to us, to ourselves, the natives," said Nene.

"What do you say? The Governor to return? What then shall we do? Say here to me, O ye chiefs of the tribes of the northern part of New Zealand, how are we henceforward to act? Friends, whose potatoes do we eat? Whose were our blankets? These spears (holding up his _taiaha_) are laid aside. What has the Nga-Puhi now? The _Pakeha's_ gun, his shot, his powder. Many months has he been in our _whares_; many of his children are our children. Is not the land already gone? Is it not covered, all covered with men, with strangers, foreigners--even as the gra.s.s and herbage--over whom we have no power? We the chiefs, and natives of this land, are down low; they are up high, exalted, yet they make no slaves. What do you say?

The Governor to go back? I am sick, I am dead, killed by you. Had you spoken thus in the olden time, when the traders and grog-sellers came--had you turned them away, then you could well say to the Governor, 'Go back,' and it would have been correct, straight, and I would also have said with you, 'Go back'--yes, we together as one man, with one voice. But now as things are, no, no, no. What did we do before the _Pakeha_ came? We fought, we fought continually. But now we can plant our grounds and the _Pakeha_ will bring plenty of trade to our sh.o.r.es. Then let us keep him here. Let us all be friends together. I'll sign the _puka puka_.[79] I am walking beside the _Pakeha_."

This portion of the speech had been spoken with all the fiery declamation of which Waaka Nene was capable when needs demanded it, but having delivered his message to his own people, he turned and, with pleading and pathos in his voice, said: "O Governor, sit. I, Tamati Waaka, say to thee, sit. Do not thou go away from us; remain for us a father, a judge, a peacemaker. You must not allow us to become slaves. You must preserve our customs, and never permit our land to be wrested from us. Yes, it is good, it is straight. Sit thou here, dwell in our midst. Remain, do not go away. Do not thou listen to what the chiefs of Nga-Puhi say. Stay, then, our friend, our father, our Governor."[80]

As it has always been frankly conceded that Nene's speech was the turning-point in the debate, it may be well to present here a sketch of the chief whose stirring history and admirable characteristics were well and personally known to a writer who lived through all these eventful days in New Zealand. According to this authority, Nene "had a singularly open, honest, and benevolent expression of face, and though, if needs were, he could be stern enough, there was little of cruelty or vindictiveness in his composition as there could possibly have been in one whose youth was spent in such surroundings. He was the bravest among the brave; a splendid Maori general, averse to fighting until every way of conciliation was exhausted; and although he never heard of Polonius, with him too it was a maxim, 'Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.' He was impressed with the abiding feeling that the only chance for his race was to keep peace with the _Pakeha_, to accept loyally the supremacy of the Queen, and to bear themselves patiently through the slow and difficult transition from Maori custom to British law. His bare word was trusted all through the country as the most binding writing would be trusted amongst ourselves, and he had the power of attracting followers to his person with a devotion which made them ready to stand by him in life or in death.

"He had for many years been a convert of the Wesleyan Mission, and had received at his baptism the prefix Thomas Walker to his old Maori name of Nene. From beginning to end he never swerved in his pledge of loyalty to the Queen. When he died he was buried in the little churchyard of Kororareka, having solemnly adjured his friends not to allow the Maori custom of disposing of his bones, but to let him lie in peace in a Christian grave; and over his grave the Government raised a stone monument, with an inscription in both languages expressive of their grat.i.tude, and purporting that _that_ was the resting-place of one who was alike steadfast in his friendship for the British and in his labours to secure the best interests of his countrymen--a chief of men, one wise in counsel as he was brave in war.

"For once in a way there was an epitaph of severe and simple truth, and there was not a word of flattery in its praise of the dead. He had been one of Hongi's lieutenants, and had traversed with his war parties the whole of the Northern Island to the neighbourhood of Cook Strait. But it was for his wisdom as a counsellor and his influence as a peacemaker that he was specially famous. No one could set down his conciliation to weakness or fear. In his ordinary bearing he was gentle as a child. In conversation his voice was soft as a woman's, but in the shout of battle it was said to be terrible, and it could be heard above all the clash of arms and the din of the conflict. He was hardly ever defeated, and it was his way before he fought to look beyond the victory, and to determine the move by which it should be followed. He was half a life older than Heke, and indeed he regarded the action of that chief very much as the escapade of a petulant boy.

In their case the struggle had none of the bitterness of personal resentment, and when Heke made his somewhat sulky submission, Nene advised the Government to treat him with kindness and consideration, and the war being ended, not to add to his disappointment anything that would hurt his sense of personal dignity. We owe Nene's memory, more than to any other of the Maori race, a real debt of grat.i.tude and respect, for at many a crisis he threw himself into the breach, and averted dangers that might have been fatal in those early days. As a father he was a man of tender feeling. He had but one son, eighteen years old, whom my mother nursed in his illness, and after the boy's death, when Nene came to our house, he could not speak of his loss without tears, or thank her too much for the kindness that seemed to him to have been all in vain."

Nene was followed in the debate by his elder brother, Patuone, well known as one of the fathers of Nga-Puhi. Though he has not held the picturesque position in Maori history occupied by his younger relation, his life was at least eventful enough to have become the subject of an interesting biography,[81] as he was at this time as highly esteemed by his own people as he was by the _Pakeha_ in later years; when in his old age he was living well down into the European era.

Patuone spoke briefly, but definitely. He favoured the coming of the Governor as the solution of all their troubles.

"What shall I say on this great occasion, in the presence of all these great chiefs of both countries? Here then this is my word to thee, O Governor! Sit, stay--thou and the Missionaries, and the word of G.o.d.

Remain here with us, to be a father to us, that the French have us not, that Pikopo,[82] that bad man, have us not. Remain, Governor, sit, stay, our friend."

The turn which affairs had now taken proved too much for the excitable Te Kemara, who had been the first speaker. He had patiently heard out Heke, Nene, and Patuone, but unable to longer restrain himself he at this point jumped up and in his lively, breezy manner proceeded to counter the flow of pro-British oratory: "No, no," he shouted. "Who says stay? Go away, return to thine own land. I want my lands returned to me. If thou wilt say, 'Return to that man, Te Kemara, his land,' then it will be good. Let us be all alike. Then, O Governor, remain. But the Governor up, Te Kemara down, low, flat! No, no, no. Besides, where art thou to stay, to dwell? There is no place left for thee."

This exclamation of Te Kemara's drew from Mr. Busby the remark that his house would be occupied by the Governor until a suitable residence could be procured for him, which piece of information served to produce a marked change in the chief's demeanour.

Crossing his hands as though they were locked in handcuffs, he ran up to the Governor, and with eyes flashing with anger, he exclaimed: "Shall I be thus? Say to me, Governor; speak. Like this--eh, like this? Come, come; speak, Governor, Like this--eh?"

Here his manner became distinctly offensive to His Excellency, and one of the chiefs sitting near-by reproached him for his insolence, whereupon he turned one of those violent mental somersaults which all extremists are at times apt to do. Leaping forward, he seized hold of Captain Hobson's hands and shook them heartily, grinning gleefully, while he shouted in the best English he could command, "How d'ye do--eh, Governor? How d'ye do--eh, Mister Governor?" This enquiry he repeated over and over again, the Governor evidently enjoying the joke as much as any one. "This," says Captain Hobson, "occasioned amongst the natives a general expression of applause, and a loud cheer from the Europeans in which the natives joined."

Thus the business of the meeting closed in the most amiable spirit, the further consideration of the momentous question being by general consent adjourned until the following Friday (the 7th), in order that the natives might have one clear day during which to reflect upon the Governor's proposal.[83]

When Captain Hobson and his escort left the meeting they descended the rude pathway cut in the side of the hill, and as they walked towards the beach where their boat lay, the Governor was discussing with Mr.

Colenso the printing of the treaty and other kindred matters. They had just reached the boat and were preparing to enter, when their attention was directed to a commotion not far off. They had not discovered the cause of the excitement before a chief, very much out of breath, burst in upon the viceregal party, and, standing directly before the Lieutenant-Governor, gazed intently at him for a few minutes. Then in a loud shrill voice he cried out in wailing tones, "_Au e he koroheke! E kore e roa kua mate_," and at once fell back into the crowd.

The incident was so sudden in its happening, and was so evidently of personal moment to himself, that Captain Hobson was naturally curious to know its full import. He appealed to Mr. Colenso to kindly interpret the old man's message, but the Missionary, unwilling to enlighten the Governor as to the sinister suggestion conveyed by the grey-headed seer, endeavoured to evade the point by telling him what was perfectly true--that this was an old chief who had just arrived from the interior and was anxious to see the Queen's representative.

The explanation, though plausible enough, did not satisfy the Governor, who had a predilection that there was more behind the chief's wild lament than this, and his importunities to know the truth being supported by those of Captain Nias, Mr. Colenso at length had to admit that there was more of prophecy than curiosity in the chief's mournful exclamation: "Alas! an old man. He will soon be dead."

The incident, which had something of comedy in its early features, thus terminated with a tragic note, and the Governor, who had been highly elated at the success of the meeting, pulled off to his ship in a gloomy and meditative mood.

During the remainder of the day[84] a strong effort was made by the beach-combers and whisky-sellers of Kororareka to spread dissension amongst the chiefs, and to prejudice the idea of the Queen's protection; but the Missionaries were whole-hearted in their support, and vigilant to counteract the opposition of these ill-disposed individuals.[85] The good impression created by Heke and Nene therefore stood, and before the evening had closed there was a preponderating number anxious to sign the treaty.