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Annandale Past and Present 1839-1900

Chapter VII — The Peninsula Maoris

page 88

Chapter VII
The Peninsula Maoris.

The effect of the Wairau massacre on the Colony at large was to throw it into a state of paralysis; immigration was almost stopped for a number of years. The terror caused by it in the southern portion of the North Island prevented any attempt to spread settlements outside of the surroundings of Wellington, and the few traders and settlers already located at the township of Wanganui. Governor Fitzroy did his best to restore confidence, but it was long before the white settlers got over their horror and distrust of the Maoris. Our Pigeon Hay contingent very soon had more cause still to dread them, for, immediately following the massacre, a rumour reached them that a horde of 2000 natives was on the way south to exterminate all the white settlers in the country. Kaikoura was then a whaling station, and in their panic all the whalers fled.

To quote from one of Mr. Hay's letters homo, dated January, 1844:—"Some natives found their way to the whale fishery (Kaikoura), and told them they would all be killed in a day or two. The whole party fled, some to Port Nicholson, Wellington, and one boat's crew came to Port Cooper, (Lyttelton), walked over the hills to our bay, page 89and told us 2000 natives were within two days' march of us, killing all the white people as they went along. We could muster about thirty fighting men in the harbour, which included Port Cooper, Port Levy, and Pigeon Bay. We made up our minds to fight to the last, as there was no way of escape; so we cleaned our guns; made bullets, and determined to sell our lives as dearly as we could. But in place of them coming here, they all went back to the North Island, where they belong to. They are very much afraid of the white people, and know right well they will yet be punished for what they have done; but nothing can be done till we hear from the Home Government.'

This threatened raid, though so providentially averted, caused a feeling of dread in the minds of our settlers that subsequent events did not tend to allay. Emboldened by these war-like rumours from the north, the Peninsula natives very soon afterwards hatched a plot of their own to devastate the homes, and massacre every white man, woman, and child in the district. They had previously been most friendly, so this new departure was all the more alarming. Their plans, as afterwards explained, were as follows:—One party was to come from Port Levy (the Maori name is Koko-rarata), despatch the Sinclairs and Hays on their march to Akaroa, which they would lay waste, leaving no living soul to tell the tale of woe. Another party was told off to annihilate the Deans', Manson's, and Gebbie's families on the plains. Their plan of action was to set fire to the houses on a given night, and then club the inmates as they came out. The two parties were, then to meet at Ikoraki (a whale-fishing station between Akaroa Heads and Lake Forsythe), where there were a goodly number of whalers settled, and finish off their dreadful work there. Had the plot not been divulged, it would have been quite easy of execution; the settlers having no suspicion whatever page 90of danger from their Maori neighbours and quondam friends, would have been in every case taken unawares, and, of course, immensely outnumbered.

It was divulged, however, by the native wife of Tom White, an American whaler, who then lived at Port Levy, lie was an old identity, well known on the Peninsula, and will be met with frequently as our story proceeds. He came a few years after this time to Pigeon Bay, and lived the remainder of his long life there with his numerous family. He was much respected, being a sterling man, honest, and true lie died in 1896, at a great age, having survived his wife many years. Mrs. White gained the lasting gratitude of all the settlers by her noble action in warning them of their danger. The fact that her husband also would probably fall a victim prompted her, in the first place, to run the risk of offending her people by revealing the secret. But there is no doubt her kindly heart revolted at the thought of such a deed of cruelty, and she managed, through her husband, to give all the settlers timely warning.

Active preparations were made for self-defence, and on the night appointed they anxiously awaited the threatened attack, for which the Deans, Gebbies, and Mansons were also prepared. Happily the Maoris, hearing their attack was expected, and knowing the resolute courage of the white men, as well as their fair dealing, thought better of it and abandoned their barbarous project. For long after this the families kept themselves in a-state of preparedness for any contingency that might occur, never relaxing their vigilance over their uncanny neighbours. In Annandale some pistols that were loaded ready at that date, were unloaded quite twenty years thereafter, and then the powder exploded! Although they were never required, page 91the fact that they were ready for use gave a little security to their owners, and no doubt also served as a wholesome check to their possible assailants.

Gradually their fears subsided, and the regular routine went on, the two families busying themselves with the erection of their respective houses, known as "Graigforth," and in our own case "Annandale"—being named each after the old home in Scotland. The Sinclair's house, a thatched one, was built in their own bay, and was replaced a few years later by a better one, the same old house that forty-two years later was burnt down, being then, as it still is the property of Mr. G. G. Holmes, to whom it had descended from an uncle, who purchased the estate from Mrs. Sinclair early in the sixties. Strange to say, the old Annandale homestead—which also underwent enlargement and re-building in later years—was also destroyed after forty years' standing, when in 1886 the great landslip came down and entirely obliterated even the site of the old home, which had sheltered the family for so long. Thus "not a wrack remains" now of the two original homesteads, the first formed in Pigeon Bay: after weathering the storms of over forty years, fire and flood proved too much for their sturdy old age. However, we must not anticipate further by describing events which will naturally fall into place later on.

The two families were always on friendly terms with their Maori neighbours; but Annandale, being in closer contiguity to the Pah, was more subject to the various annoyances experienced by all settlers under similar circumstances. The Maori dogs in those days were so numerous as to be a constant source of trouble; endless were the "bones of contention" they furnished. They were half wild, half starved mongrels, wholly uncontrolled; page 92consequently they disported themselves at their own wills amongst the cattle, and were specially vicious on the young calves, often hanging on to them in threes and fours, tearing and worrying them to death. It was utterly useless to complain or remonstrate, the Maori character being benignly impervious to every consideration involving the slightest exertion, except in so far as it fell in with their own advantage or pleasure. So, as Mr. May expressed it in one of his letters, "club-law" was the only redress for these ever-recurring grievances.

On one occasion Mr. Hay killed a bullock and hung it on the "gallows," which he had erected for convenience between two fences—a plan he had to abandon afterwards a affording every facility to the marauders. Next day he found himself minus almost a quarter of the beast, which presented a very torn and mangled appearance. He at once prepared a boune-bouche by way of dessert for his canine friends—or foes—and at daylight it was necessary to dig a capacious grave, wherein 22 were laid before breakfast! Presently the hills and vales re-echoed the cry, "Kuri! kuri!! kuri!!!" (the Maori name for dog) but no answering bark was heard, and there was much speculation as to poor "kuri's" fate. Needless to say, that remained a mystery, the native mind being then too unsophisticated to suspect the truth, though to some evil spell of the white man the disappearance of their dogs was rightfully attributed. True to their nature, the Maoris were ever ready to retaliate for every real or imagined grievance; they would spear the horses, set their pigs into the garden or newly-planted Held, commit petty thefts, &c., all which occasioned more or less friction between them and the settlers.

The Maori pigs were as great a nuisance almost as the dogs, and were incessantly poking impudent noses into page 93prohibited places. Their numbers, too, seemed to be legion, for ever since the debut of their ancestor under Captain Cook's auspices in 1770 they flourished in the Maori Pahs amazingly. They, like the dogs, lived on terms of the closest intimacy with their owners in the Pah, often even sharing their meals and beds! Consequently their manners were familiar in the extreme, a circumstance that was not without advantage on occasion. The "wahines "(women or wives) were, like many of their civilized sisters, prone to pet their "kuris," and frequently might be seen marching along with the head of a "piceaninni" (child) looking over one shoulder and that of a "kuri" over the other! With those active mischief-makers ever at work, it is not surprising that very often our settlers found themselves in difficulties with their Maori neighbours. A greater danger lay in their inherent treachery, which demanded a vigilant eye and a brave front. Mr. Hay fortunately combined those qualities, and had an easy knack of quelling incipient rebellions.

On one occasion a pugnacious old chief, Te Pukanui by name, visited Annandale; he marched into the kitchen, full of wrath and "korero" (talk), and in his best English declared his intention of burning them all out as "pestilents." This had been a frequent and favourite threat of his; but Mr. Hay (who was luckily at hand) knew his man. Taking a burning log of wood out of the large open fire-place, he stepped up to the astonished old blusterer and offered it to him, saying "Fire away. You burn my house; I very soon bring the Magistrate from Akaroa." Having a wholesome dread of Magistrates, his dusky lordship was not in sympathy with that proposition, and beat a hasty and rather crestfallen retreat, nor did he ever again repeat the threat, openly. The dispute had arisen from the purchase of a calf; on seeing a better, larger one than the one page 94he had bought, he wanted Mr. Hay to let him have it instead. Needless to say, Mr. H. held him to his bargain.

Another time a wily old fellow came up for his day's pay amongst a troop of others. He was among the first paid, and then slunk behind the rest and came forward again among the last, holding out an open palm for the money! Mr. Hay was in the act of paying him when he remembered, and said, "No, you have been paid." James, too, saw the whole affair, and confirmed his father's words. The Maori blustered and gesticulated, but with no result—Mr. Hay was firm. Finally he sulked and refused to go home, muttering angry threats. After all were paid, Mr. Hay said, "Now, I am ready to settle with you," and accompanied him outside. It was not long till the old Maori called out, "Kati-kati, nui-nui" (stop! enough!) The assembled Maoris, all eager to see the play played out, quite approved of the denouement, though none of them would admit their comrade was in the wrong! Had Mr. Hay allowed that to pass, it would have been an encouragement to them to do the same thing again, ad lib. He was always particular in all his dealings with them to treat them fairly and honourably, exacting the same rectitude from them, and his plans succeeded well.

As a foil to the last stories we are glad to relate one concerning "Bloody Jack" (Tuhawaike), a famous fighting Chief, many of whose exploits are given in "Tales of Banks' Peninsula." He was a nomadic Chief, and spent much of his time between Timaru, Moeraki, and Otago. He came from south to interview Sir George Grey, who was at that time on a visit to Akaroa, and called at Annandale to pay his respects to Mr. and Mrs. Hay en passent. After dinner the Chief, in his most dignified page 95manner, begged Mr. Hay to grant him a favour before he took his leave. Explaining that he desired above all things to make a favourable impression on Sir George Grey, he deeply regretted having left his watch behind him, and asked Mr. Hay for the loan of his, promising if he injured it to make good the damage After explaining the use of the key, &c, to his guest, Mr. Hay willingly trusted him with it, and sent him on his way rejoicing. A few days afterwards he returned well pleased with his reception by Sir George Grey, returned the watch with many expressions of gratitude, and promised, in case of any trouble with the Maoris, to defend Mr. Hay against them, a promise he would have undoubtedly kept had occasion arisen.

Mr. Hay employed the Maoris freely in the working of his land, and his methods were as follows:—He would give them the use of a paddock for a first crop for themselves on condition that they planted therein a second for him. Wheat, oats and potatoes were the chief products then, and, as ploughing was quite impracticable on the bush land, owing to the roots, stumps and logs that everywhere remained after the clearing had been done, he hit on the following plan:—He employed the Maoris by contract to fell and burn the bush first of all, then fence the ground and plant it, the first crop always being potatoes. The contract for 20 acres was £10 per acre, 400 lbs. of flour, and 200 lbs. of sugar. The Maoris would not take a contract for money only, the sugar and flour being in their estimation of greater value. They made a decoction called "lillipi," of flour, sugar and water, and were very fond of the tough, sticky mess. Their fences were made by laying logs, about eight inches in diameter, or larger, along the ground; every five or six feet apart they put two stakes into the ground, on either side of the logs page 96opposite each other; these they tied firmly together with supplejacks just across the top of the logs. Then they filled in the spaces to the height of two feet or so, and tied the stakes again. If they wanted a high fence they added a third or even a fourth tier. These fences, if well made, would last for year's, being strong enough to keep out wild pigs and even cattle and horses.

Whatas, Or: Maori Storehouses

Whatas, Or: Maori Storehouses

Alter the clearing and fencing was done, their way of working the land was primitive enough. No digging was necessary, they simply made a hole with an adze, dropped in the seed potato, and covered it with the earth. Grand crops were thus grown, 10 to 15 tons to the acre being the average. One year 80 tons were taken off 4 acres of ground. When ripe, the Maoris were again engaged to dig the potatoes, Mr. Hay going before them and sowing page 97his wheat, or oats which the Maoris covered, as they dug, with the loosened soil Again, when their crop was ripe, the Maoris were taught to reap and thresh it—at both operations they quickly became adepts.

As well as the flourishing Pah in Pigeon Bay, which was situated about the site of the present Annandale, extending from the Vicarage grounds to the slope opposite the wharf, in those early years there was a still larger one in Port Levy, and constant communication between the two places, so that there was abundance of Maori labour available for any work for which they were suited. Eventually the Native Reserves were laid out in Port Levy, and thither the Pigeon Bay Pah migrated to join forces with their kindred. This exodus did not take place, however, till some time after the formation of the Canterbury Settlement. Today this once important company of Maoris, the representatives of two large "hapus" (tribes) consists of about half-a-dozen souls, all told! No doubt some went elsewhere, Kaiapoiha for instance, or Wairewa (Little River), but the rapid decline of the Maori race after the advent of Europeans in New Zealand points to the fact that the habits, diseases and vices of our higher civilization are antagonistic to the aboriginal nature. Their dress in their native state was the usual scanty one common to all South Sea Islanders, viz., mats made of plaited, dressed flax as the groundwork, decorated with quills of undressed flax, strips of dog-skin, or bright coloured feathers, all more or less impervious to rain. Some of these mats were real works of art, especially the feather mats, which were less common, therefore more prized. These were beauifully made, generally from the feathers of the gay paroquet, the kaka, kiwi, &c, and often the feathers overlapped closely, like the natural plumage of the birds which supplied them.

page 98

The introduction of European clothing was not an unmixed benefit to the natives. They could not so easily divest themselves of damp garments as when attired in their own simple mat, and usually dried their clothing on their bodies. Their naturally indolent natures and love of finery led them to accumulate articles of dress on their persons to an extraordinary extent. When they became possessors of anything new it was immediately donned, but got the place of honour, viz.: the inside berth, the old garment being worn till it fell off by degrees! This unnatural loading of their persons, hitherto accustomed to fresh air and untrammelled freedom, caused innumerable rheumatic and chest complaints, which their careless habits aggravated. Another element was the state of their finances. If they had money, say, in summer, they loaded themselves with clothes, regardless of the heat. If funds got low, as they gradually parted with their garments, they would often find themselves in midwinter reduced to their native garb, thus reversing the natural order of things, and leading to many diseases, the result of exposure. The adoption of European food and drink, too, no doubt helped to bring about the inevitable result—an increased death-rate in the ranks of this "noble savage."

It is sad to think, too, that their beautiful wood-carving, so unique in the artistic world, will soon be a lost art. Fabulous prices are even now offered to them for carved canoes, meres, etc., which are fast becoming things of a past age The younger generation are too indolent or indifferent to learn the art from the few elders who remain alive capable of teaching them. Alas! soon "the place that once knew them shall know them no more" as a distinct race, and with them shall die out the ancient poetry, beauty, and romance of Maoriland. page 99
Carved Maori House.

Carved Maori House.