...Early Days ...
In The
Chatham Islands
The Son of a Missionary Looks Back

By … Dorothy Wiseman

(Batt, photo.)
Mr. John Henry Baucke.

Centennial year will no doubt set many an old pioneer remembering, and many a tale will be told of hardship and adventure in New Zealand's early days. There may, indeed, be such a wealth of material at hand that the story of some of the more outlying and lesswell-known parts of our Dominion may be overlooked. Who, for instance, will remember the Chathams, that little group which was the last refuge of the Moriori, and which lies five hundred and thirty-six miles due east from Port Lyttelton and is included in the Lyttelton electorate? Mr. Edward Baucke, now of Taupiri, South Auckland, remembers the Chathams very well, for he was born there, nearly eighty-two years ago. He was the son of one of the first missionaries, and spent all his boyhood and early manhood in the islands.

The Chathams were discovered by Commander Broughton of the brig Chatham in the year 1791. The group consists of two main islands, Wharekauri or Chatham, and Rangiauria or Pitt Island, and a third, much smaller, called South East Island. There are, too, a number of rocky islets, inhabited now only by sea-fowl, but in Mr. Baucke's boyhood, by seals also. The largest island, Chatham, has an area of 222,000 acres, but the interior is very low-lying and consists almost entirely of peat swamp and lagoon. The coastal area, though much of it is forest-clad, has nevertheless some excellent farming land. Only the two larger islands are inhabited, the third being used for grazing some five or six hundred sheep.

About the year 1840, Mr. Edward Baucke's father, John Henry Baucke, was sent by the Berlin Missionary Society, together with four other missionaries, to establish a mission at Akaroa. The others' names were Muller, Engst, Beyer and Shirmaister, the last-named being the leader. Six months' passage in a whaler from Hamburg brought the little band to Akaroa, only to find that a mission was already established there. They proceeded to Wellington to confer with Bishop Selwyn, and were eventually sent to the Chathams.

At this time the islands were peopled predominantly by Maoris, though only a comparatively few years before, the population had been Moriori entirely. This peace-loving people had, however, fallen an easy prey to the mere handful of warlike Maoris which first descended upon them in their island refuge.

Puki-ukio, Chatham Islands.

The story goes, that about the year 1800, some Taranaki Maoris, having been driven south as a result of tribal wars, seized a French brig in Wellington Harbour, and sailed it to the Chathams. There they fell savagely upon the Moriori and set fire to the brig. They are reputed to have killed and eaten two hundred and fifty of the Moriori, and to have made slaves of the remainder. The wreckage of the brig remained for many years, and fifty years later, during the boyhood of the Baucke children, her stout oak beams were being cut up for fences.

The Moriori population in 1800 was estimated at two thousand. In 1835 a careful estimate by Mr. Mair reduced the number to sixteen hundred. Thirteen years later, a census taken by Bishop Selwyn brought the total down as low as two hundred and sixty-eight. This wholesale decimation, begun by the invasion of the Maoris, was further hastened by a severe epidemic of influenza about the year 1838, which page 29 drastically reduced their already depleted numbers, as many as forty dying in a single day. In the year 1889 an official count put the number of living Moriori at twenty-seven and in 1920 there was one left—Horomoana. He died a few years ago, the last of his race.

The Moriori were essentially peaceloving, and although they fought against each other in tribal quarrels, there existed an unwritten law among them that killing was forbidden, and at the first sign of bloodshed a truce was called. No wonder that the fierce and warlike Maoris found them easy victims!

The German missionaries landed in the islands without mishap. Their future flock, amongst whom they found a number of renegade white men, seemed well-disposed towards them, so, having decided on a suitable situation for their main mission station, they set to work without delay on the erection of the buildings. Besides being missionaries they were all skilled tradesmen, carpenters, blacksmiths and the like, and they were well supplied with tools. They applied themselves diligently, also, to learning the Maori language, and to the arduous task of felling and clearing the bush in order to bring their land under cultivation. Wheat was first chipped in with adzes, and when ready for harvest, reaped with a sickle and thrashed with the old-fashioned flail. Finally, the grain was ground with two hand-steel flourmills that the missionaries had brought with them. The Maoris were exceedingly good to them, and provided for them generously until they had established themselves.

Work was hard and life rigorous for the missionaries, but they were diverted nevertheless by a glimpse of true romance.

Kaingaroa Harbour, Chatham Islands.

One of their most hard-working and willing helpers was one of the white men, William Tennant, who, though he had certainly deserted his ship, was no ordinary renegade. A decent, upright and zealous young man, he had fallen desperately in love with a Maori girl, Kareti, and she with him. Kareti had hidden him in the bush till his ship had left port, and then had presented him to her tribe, at the same time announcing her intention to marry him. Tennant had been sentenced to death for presuming to a chief's daughter, already betrothed, and had been saved dramatically by Kareti, who threw herself in front of his body just as the fatal musket was about to be fired. So impressed were her tribe by her bravery and devotion that opposition was unreservedly withdrawn, and Kareti's marriage to Tennant had been celebrated with feasting and rejoicing.

After a time, the missionaries, with some misgiving, opened a school. To their surprise and gratification the attendance on the first day exceeded expectations, and continued thus for about a week. Then, one morning, instead of pupils, they were confronted by a body of angry parents. When were they going to be paid, they demanded. “Paid?” echoed the startled missionaries, “Paid? For what?” For allowing their children to come to the school of course, rejoined the deputation with some heat. The situation was explained as tactfully as possible, but the indignant parents withdrew huffily, accompanied by offspring, and the school had necessarily, if regretfully, to be closed.

When the mission had been established about three years, the authorities in Berlin sent out three young women—two of them nursing sisters in the Berlin General Hospital—to be helpmates for the missionaries.

The old home of Mr. Edward Baucke, Maunganui, Chatham Islands.

Unaccountably enough they appear to have overlooked the fact that there were five young men, and when the women arrived, the position was felt by all to be more than a little awkward. The matter was discussed, however, and it was finally resolved that the orthodox procedure should be reversed, and that each young woman should indicate her choice among the men. Whether this arrangement led to any secret heart-burnings has never been recorded, but it seems to have worked out very well, and Mr. Baucke considers that his father was the luckiest man of all. In support of his natural opinion that his mother was a woman of unusually fine character, he relates the following incident. When the three young women first arrived, a formal welcome was given them by the Maori women. At its conclusion, a stately woman, just under middleage, stepped out from among her companions, and briefly saluting the first two of the strangers, passed on to the girl who was eventually to become the wife of John Baucke. Taking her hand and gazing deeply into her eyes, she said in Maori: “In the years to come, I shall be friend to you always, you, good far beyond all people.” And a faithful and devoted friend she did indeed remain, helping and supporting the pakeha woman through the many trying and sometimes tragic experiences which befel a missionary's wife in those early days.

When the selection of partners had page 30 been completed and the marriage ceremonies performed, Mr. and Mrs. John Henry Baucke set out on their honeymoon. They walked twenty-five miles across the island to the main mission station at Te Wakaru. The first five or six miles lay through dense forest, then came about four miles of fern and flax. Six miles of lagoon, varying from ankle to kneedeep, had to be forded next. Then came fern, flax and forest again until the new home was reached.

The future held hardships and privations in plenty for the woman who had once held a responsible position in a great city hospital. In the most primitive conditions, and with the help only of Maori women, she bore and reared a family of nine healthy children. Luxuries were absolutely unheard-of, and even things regarded today as the barest necessities were quite unprocurable. These included tea and sugar, and more than those, milk, butter and cheese, for cows were not imported into the islands for many years afterwards.

On the other hand, the Chathams were rich in natural foods. The coastal waters teemed with fish, notably the delectable rock cod, a delicacy which Mr. Baucke remembers being able simply to “swish” out of the surf on to the rocks with the hands. The lakes and streams were equally rich in eels, and there were birds too, in plenty, especially the grey duck, which in those days congregated on the lakes in thousands.

Like all places where the white man has set his foot, the Chathams have changed greatly in the past sixty or seventy years. When Mr. Baucke was a boy, the islands in the spring and summer were made glorious by the blooming of the Chatham Island lily–myosotis nobilis—a species of giant forget-me-not with leaves almost as big as those of rhubarb and huge clusters of sky-blue blossoms. Acres and acres of these beautiful flowers lay spread like a heavenly carpet alt over the coastal areas of the islands. Now the Chatham Island lily is very rare indeed, growing only, and that with reluctance, in the most inaccessible places. The ravages of stock, which, when finally brought to the islands, ate it with great relish, have been largely responsible for its dying out.

In Mr. Baucke's boyhood, seals too were very plentiful in Chatham Island waters, which were regarded as excellent sealing-grounds. Then, quite suddenly, and almost without warning, the seals just disappeared. Whales also, were very common, and often lay stranded on the beaches. The visits of whalers, most of them American, were the highlights of the lonely and uneventful childhood of the missionary children. When a whaler came, it was usually to trade with the Maoris for potatoes, with the best of the bargain, of course, for the whaler. Mr. Baucke recalls the visits of whalers during the Australian gold-rush. For a few yards of scarlet cotton cloth, an axe, or a trinket or two, the Maoris would trade huge quantities of potatoes. It was afterwards found that, owing to goldrush conditions, potatoes were selling, at that period, at £60 and £70 a ton.

The children loved the visits of the whalers for another reason, too, for from them was to be obtained the only sweetstuff and luxury they knew —black molasses. To their sweetstarved little palates it was nectar of the gods indeed!

The education of their children was a matter of some concern to the missionaries. Sometimes they managed to secure a tutor for a few months, or a year, but none would stay very long in the lonely islands. Then the missionaries would add the teaching of their children to their other duties. The eldest of the Baucke children was particularly clever, and showed such promise that he was sent to Wellington to be educated. He was William Baucke, who afterwards became a noted Maori scholar and interpreter, and wrote the well-known book, “Where the White Man Treads.”

The missionary children had a hard life (judged by modern standards) but they grew up healthy, vigorous, resourceful and plucky. Two of the Baucke boys, aged about ten and twelve years, were, as it happened, left alone in the house at a time when there were rumours of a Maori “scare.” Te Whiti, a Taranaki chieftain, was reported to be bearing down on the Chathams with the object of killing the entire white population. During the whole of one night the two boys heard footsteps and voices around their lonely home. They were convinced that the Maoris had come, and huddled together in terror all night. They were not molested, however, and next morning, instead of making for a neighbour's house, as was only to be expected of two very scared small boys, they attended to the stock and performed faithfully all the tasks they had been left to do. Then they made a careful search for weapons with which to defend themselves if attacked. In an outhouse they found an oldfashioned sword, so heavy that they could scarcely lift it. They spent the remainder of the day sharpening the blade on the grindstone, and retired to bed that night with the sword so placed between them that they could defend themselves against the first intruder who ventured through their door. However, the plucky little lads were not required to use their sword. The voices and footsteps they had heard were not those of Maoris but of a rescue party sent to help the settlers in case of molestation.

And what is the most brightly shining memory in Mr. Baucke's rich store? To that question he unhesitatingly replies, “Oh, my first visit to Wellington!” He was about ten years old and he can still recall, he says, the sense of mystery and enchantment with which Wellington inspired him. The elegant houses, to him who had seen only whares; the glittering shops; the marvellous shipping from which he could scarcely be torn away; and more than all, the palace of wonders that was the old Club Hotel—red carpets, stuffed chairs and a piano! To the wide-eyed small boy from the Chathams it was a veritable fairyland.

Mr. Baucke has travelled far since then, and both he and Wellington have changed much, but, he confesses that the Empire City still has for him an enduring glamour. She has never quite released him from the spell she cast more than seventy years ago.