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Nation Making, a story of New Zealand

Chapter II. — Early Days

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Chapter II.
Early Days.

A Kindly Act.—Struggles.—A Soldier's service,—A Fire in a wooden City.—Liquid Fire.—A Maori Chief to the Rescue.—A War song and a Chorus.—A hardy Race, merry and grave.—Friends or Enemies.—Forecasts.—The Trial of Strength.—A tough old Salt.—No end of Bounce, no beginning of Courage.—Cannot Combine.—Cannot keep a Secret.—Predictions Fulfilled.

IN the year 1854 I arrived in the Colony of New Zealand. Ultimately I intended to embark in mercantile operations with an old schoolfellow, but in the first instance, I purchased a few allotments in the City of Auckland, and commenced making bricks there.

At the Government land auction sale, where I purchased my land, a little incident occurred, which I still remember with pleasure, as a kindly act The late Mr. David Nathan, then a wealthy merchant, and I, were the only remaining competitors for the two acres of land I wanted.

'Now, Mr. Nathan,' said the auctioneer, 'the bid is against you.'

'I have done,' said the kind-hearted merchant, 'let the stranger have it.'

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This kindly deed bound my fortunes to the City of Auckland where I still reside. So I set to work. At that time my freehold was covered with tall Manuka—a sweet-scented myrtle-like shrub—and was situated in a deep valley in the city.

How I cut down the Manuka; how I built a small cottage; how I engaged an old soldier and a rollicking Irishman, both old gold-diggers, as my first workmen; how I built my brick-kiln; how the water failed; how I digged a well; which said well, I am pleased to think, in all the dry seasons for twenty years and more, supplied water to scores of families in the now thickly peopled little valley; how I loaded the bricks into drays, my hands at first, often skinned and bleeding in the process; how I made a road out of the deep gully; how I battled with a pair of restive horses up the steep hill; how my men 'struck'; how I finally conquered these, and a hundred other difficulties, will be of no particular interest to anybody. Suffice it to say, that I often look at the scene of my early struggles with keen interest.

The soldier, Tom Brown, has been in my service for thirty-three years, an honest man and an honoured friend.

I had not long been at work in my little valley, when an incident occurred, which brought me first into acquaintance with the Maories—the aboriginal inhabitants of New Zealand.

One night, I was aroused by Tom Brown from that sound sleep, which those who work hard all day in the open air, usually enjoy, with the news, that a page 12great fire was raging in town on the 'Beach,' a place where, in the absence of wharves or quays, the business of the little town was then transacted.

At that time the town was built of wood, the houses being like wooden boxes, made by covering a light frame of timber with thin 'weather boards.'

The bugle was sounding the 'alarm' at the barracks, and as may be easily imagined, the excitement was intense. It was the first large fire in the infant city, Almost the whole population rushed to the scene. Companies of soldiers from the barracks, boats' crews from the man-o'-war in port, assisted by the citizens in long double files, were passing water in buckets from the sea, about one hundred yards away, it being then low water, men were shouting, women screaming, some wild with excitement, others paralysed with terror.

Owing to a large quantity of 'Kauri Gum'—an inflammable resinous substance peculiar to the North of New Zealand—having caught fire, all efforts to extinguish the flames appeared to be in vain, and a general conflagration seemed imminent. I had often witnessed 'fires' before, but never under such circumstances as this. A great fire in a stone or brick city, with fire brigades and abundance of water, is a sufficiently exciting spectacle, but it cannot be compared to a fire in a wooden city, without appliances or organization, and with such fuel to feed the flames, as the highly inflammable Kauri Gum. The lurid grandeur of the fire, and the tremendous excitement of page 13the people, most of whom expected the whole town to be burnt, were indescribable.

During the height of the conflagration, whilst the great burning piles of gum melted, and falling down in fiery cascades, ran about in streams of liquid fire, instantaneously igniting everything with which they came in contact, my attention was arrested by the actions of a party of Maories of the Arawa tribe under their Chief. I can never forget the strength, energy, concert and courage which these children of the woods displayed. Standing on a low cliff overhanging the fire, the Maories were engaged shovelling earth on the mass of blazing liquid gum beneath, the water having little effect upon it. The Chief, spear in hand, directed their efforts. Their lithe, swarthy, half-naked figures with strident and tremendous energy, formed a striking picture, one moment hidden by the dense black volumes of stifling smoke, the next, illumined by the brilliant glare of the burning gum. The Chief encouraged his men by a war song, the tribe at short intervals, answering by a chorus, which rose in its fierce, vehement energy above the roar of the flames, and above the shouts of the excited multitude below.

The Chief's Song.
Stretch forth your hands,
Lift your weapons high,
Loud roar the leaping flames,
Thick blackness hides the stars,
One in sympathy, O, warriors bend.

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Chorus.
We stretch our hands, our hands,
We lift our weapons high,
In sympathy we warriors bend.

By an hour's unabated toil, the Maorieshad covered the burning gum with earth, and before daybreak the conflagration was finally subdued.

Before this incident, I had noticed with interest, the Maories as they paddled their canoes laden, sometimes with fish, pumpkins, maize, peaches, live pigs or wheat; sometimes with a medley of most of these at once. I saw that they were a busy, clever, jolly, hardy race, full of fun generally, yet grave as Sachems when occasion needed.

After work was over, a quiet stroll on the beach was often rewarded by glimpses of Maori life and manners well worth noting. Squatting round the ruddy fires on the sea shore, they reminded me of the Gypsies I used to watch long ago, as they camped on the commons and green lanes of Old England. They had however, little of the arrant roguishness and none of the low, furtive looks of the gypsy, but looked ideals of frankness and freedom, as I strolled amongst them.

I often thought they would be much better fellows as friends than as enemies. They appeared to me, in these early days, to be quite satisfied as to who were masters. The free-and-easy patronage they displayed towards the Colonists, seemed to say

'We find you very useful people, you bring us blankets, guns and many other useful things, you page 15build schooners and ships, and your flour and sugar are very agreeable indeed.'

They seemed to have quite settled it, that we were good for everything except fighting. Curious speculations would occupy me during these evening strolls. I often drew fancy pictures of what would happen, when these free and independent savages began to find out that we meant to be rulers of these islands; of what deeds would be done; of what struggles, massacres, and terrors would be witnessed, if we ever came to take opposite sides.

I gradually made up my mind that the trial of strength between the races would certainly come before long, and the splendid tableau of the Chieftain directing his followers at the fire, convinced me, that when the struggle did come, it would be severe.

Sitting one evening about Christmas under the shadow of a Pohutakawa (the Christmas tree) laden at this season, with masses of splendid crimson flowers, I pointed out to a companion—who like myself was enjoying the quiet beauty of the sunset on the sea—the skill and agility of a party of Maori youths sporting beneath us.

'I have little doubt, Captain,' I said, 'that one of these days the Colonists will learn what stuff these fellows are made of. Their past successes have evidently made them look upon us with an air of condescension, if not of contempt.'

Captain D——, who was a tough old salt and a much older colonist than I, replied, by watching a whiff from his pipe as it quietly ascended, and gradually disappeared.

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'Contempt indeed!' said he, 'I should think so, and no wonder; why look at the rout of the military at Ohaiwai, when I ro soldiers were shot down in a few minutes, the Maories hardly losing a man.' 'It is true,' continued he, 'that such affairs as the Wairau massacre, where the Colonists showed no end of bounce and no beginning of real courage, degraded us in the eyes of the Maories, but for all that we have little to fear, for my experience of them teaches me, that they can never combine and can never keep a secret.'

'That remains to be seen,' I replied; 'the Maories have latterly regarded us so lightly, that there has been nothing to call for either one or the other. But let them once begin to feel that we are becoming too numerous, they will certainly combine and keep us in the dark as well. Once let them feel, that the predictions of the Missionaries, the runaway sailors, and the escaped convicts settled all round the coast, that we mean to be masters, are coming true, and they will combine to endeavour to drive us out of the Island.'

In less than seven years my predictions were fully realized. Hostilities recommenced, in 1860, at Taranaki, and gradually extended, till in 1863, and subsequent years, massacres sieges, battles, defeats, and victories had covered nearly every part of the North Island south of the City of Auckland. The Maori wars are matters of history, and it is not necessary that I should refer to them—in this story—further than incidentally, as, may be necessary to illustrate the Making of the Nation of New Zealand.