An Old New Zealander; or, Te Rauparaha, the Napoleon of the South.. T. Lindsay Buick
had to be guarded against. He therefore divided his warriors into suitable sections, and, appointing a sub-chief to lead each company, he retained the supreme command of affairs in his own hands. The carrying out of these varied preparations had now occupied several months, and when all was ripe for departure he paid a last visit to the surrounding tribes and chiefs – to Kukutai, of Lower Waikato, to Pehi-Tukorehu, of Ngati-Mania-poto, to Te Kanawa, of Waikato, bidding them good-bye, and, as an example in good faith, he kept his word to Te Wherowhero, saying to that chief: "Farewell! remain on our land at Kawhia; I am going to take Kapiti for myself: do not follow me." At Mungatautari a final effort was made to induce the Ngati-Raukawa to join him; but, although there were evidences of weakening resistance, he had still to wait several months before their objections were so far overcome as to permit him any measure of hope that they would yet yield and follow him. The tour of leave-taking at an end, Te Rauparaha returned to his pa at Te Arawi, and there summoned his people to prepare for the fateful march. When all was ready, the blazing flaxstick was put to the walls of the great carved house which had adorned the pa, and as the smoke of its destruction arose, the whole tribe of fifteen hundred souls passed through the gate which they were never again to enter.
In the case of unlettered peoples there is necessarily some difficulty in determining the precise periods at which important incidents in their history have occurred; and in this instance we have nothing to guide us except the arrangement and comparison of subsequent events. By this mode of reasoning we are led to the conclusion that the migration from Kawhia must have occurred during the latter months of the year 1821. But, whatever obscurity rests upon this point, tradition is clear49 that the circumstances under which the exodus commenced were singularly auspicious. The day broke with a cloudless sky, and, as the sun rose into the blue dome, the landscape for miles was lit by the rosy tints of morn, rendering every peak and valley more beautiful. On the route of march lay the hill of Moeatoa, and to its summit the pilgrims climbed, in order to take a last fond look at their ancient home. As they turned and gazed upon old Kawhia the memories of the past came crowding back upon them, and it is easy to understand their deep manifestations of sorrow at leaving their ancestral domain. The softer sentiments associated with home and country are not the exclusive prerogative of civilised beings. These people, savage and ruthless though they were, thrilled with the same patriotic feeling which prompted the Prophet of Israel to exclaim: "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem! may my right hand forget her cunning." And although their form of expressing it was neither so beautiful nor so poetical, they were, nevertheless, quite as sincere when they cried upon the mountain-side: "Kawhia, remain here! The people of Kawhia are going to Kapiti, to Waipounamu." "The love of a New Zealander for his land is not the love of a child for his toys," says a well-known writer.50 "His title is connected with many and powerful associations in his mind, his affection for the homes of his fathers being connected with their deeds of bravery, with the feats of their boyhood, and the long rest of his ancestors for generations." And there is no reason to suppose that these feelings were less active in the Ngati-Toa at such a moment than they were in other Maori tribes.
The closing scene in the life of the Ngati-Toa at Kawhia has been beautifully described by Thomas Bracken, whose word-picture of the scene on Moeatoa Hill is amongst the finest that came from his poetic pen: —
"Beneath the purple canopy of morn,
That hung above Kawhia's placid sheet
Of waters crystalline, arose on high
The golden shield of God, on azure field,
With crimson tassels dipping in the sea!
And from its burnished face a shower of rays
Shot up the hills and gilt their spires and peaks
In lambent sheen, until the turrets seemed
Like precious ornaments of purest gold
On mighty altars raised by giant priests
In olden times, to offer sacred fire
As sacrifice unto the Fount of Light,
From whence the planets and the myriad stars
Drink their effulgence!
In the wild ravines
And gorges deep, the limpid babbling creeks
Sang matins as they left their mother hills
To mingle in united waters, where
They lost their little selves, and merged in one
Pellucid flood that gathered stronger life
From day to day! as God's great human church,
Now building on the earth shall gather all
The little sects and creeds and small beliefs
That split mankind into a thousand parts,
And merge them in one universal flood
Of boundless charity.
The dazzling points
Of morning's lances pierced the bursting hearts
Of all the flow'rets on the fertile slopes,
And waked red Kawhai's drops from sleep
And shook the dew buds from the Rata's lids,
Until its blossoms opened up their breasts
And gave their fragrance to the early breeze
That played amongst the Koromiko's leaves,
And stole the rich Tawhiri's sweet perfume,
And strung the flax-leaves into merry tune
To woo the Bell-bird from his nest, to ring
The Tui up to sing his morning hymns.
The scene was made for man, not savage man,
The cunningest of brutes, the crafty king
Of beasts! but Man the Spiritualised,
With all the light of knowledge in his brain,
With all the light of love within his heart!
And yet they were but savages who stood
On Moeatoa's hill, above the scene,
Mere savages, a step beyond the brute!
But still there were bright sparks of God-lit fire
Within their breasts! they loved their native vales
With heart and soul! for they had hearts and souls
Far nobler than some milk-faced races who
Have basked 'neath Calv'ry's sun for ages long,
And yet lie grov'lling in the nations' rear,
With hearts encased in earth too coarse and hard
For Calv'ry's glorious light to penetrate.
Poor savages! that Orient had not yet
Shed its benignant rays upon their souls,
To melt the dross that dragged them down to earth
In carnal bonds! they knew not yet the road
To reach the standard of their better selves.
Yet they were men in all save this! brave men
With patriots' hearts, for as they stood and gazed
O'er fair Kawhia's hills and vales
That stretched into the sea, o'er which their sires
In ages past sailed from Hawaiki's shores,
The tears ran down their tattooed cheeks, and sobs
Welled from their bosoms, for they loved the land
With all the love intense a Maori feels
For childhood's home! The hist'ry of their tribe
Was written there on every rock and hill
That sentinelled the scene, for these had known
Their deeds of prowess, and their fathers'
I have here followed the narrative of Travers; but, in his
John White,