PREFATORY NOTE
As the long struggle between Maori and Pakeha dragged to a close, a new interest was given to it by the perversion of numbers of Maoris of various tribes to a singular religion, styled by its founders Pai Marire—that is, 'good and peaceful.'
There was nothing good or peaceful about the new religion, which was a fantastic blend of very elementary Christianity, Judaism and Paganism. Deadly hostility to the Pakeha, or white man, was an all-important item in this curious creed, whose votaries were known as Hau-haus, and prominent amongst its prophets was the rebel chief, Te Kooti, one of the best generals and one of the worst men of his day.
Brave, ferocious and animated by an almost oriental fatalism, the Hau-haus were formidable antagonists and, moreover, shocked even their compatriots by their ruthless savagery. At the very outset they defeated a mixed contingent of the 57th Regiment and Colonials at Taranaki, and cut off the head of Captain Lloyd, who had been killed in action. Lloyd's head, preserved after the Maori fashion, was then carried round from tribe to tribe by two Hau-hau missionaries, who strove to make converts to the new faith. When they succeeded, the head was spiked upon the summit of the niu, or sacred pole, round which the fanatics leaped and danced until they grew frenzied, uttering at frequent intervals their characteristic barking howl, 'Hau-hau! Hau-hau!' which has been described as the most frightful of noises, and a trial to the nerves of the bravest.
While in no sense a history of a particular period of the war, the story is built upon a historical basis. Thus, the imprisonment of Te Kooti on Chatham Island—according to some upon a fabricated charge—his escape thence in a brig, the sacrifice of his aged uncle in order to propitiate the wind-god, his landing near Poverty Bay, the massacre there, the fight at Paparatu and the final storming of a strong pah in which he had taken refuge, are all matters of history. Te Kooti, however, did not massacre the crew of the brig, nor was he slain in battle. Like the yet more infamous Nana Sahib, he escaped to be no more heard of. It is interesting to note that a nephew of Te Kooti appeared a few months ago in New Zealand, threatening to preach a new religion and to bring about the downfall of the Pakeha.
The mere[1] (pronounced almost as 'merry') or war-club of the Maoris was in shape something like an old-fashioned soda-water bottle, flattened, and was made of wood, bone, a very hard gray stone, whalebone, jade, or of the valuable mineral, nephrite, more commonly known as 'greenstone,' which is found in the Middle Island. The Maoris regarded the greenstone with superstitious veneration, and in times of danger would sacrifice their ornaments fashioned from it to the particular god whose aid it was desired to invoke. Greenstone clubs were the peculiar possessions of chiefs or very important tribesmen, inferior mortals contenting themselves with those of less costly materials.
Regarding the particular greenstone club which figures so prominently in the story, it is, perhaps, only fair to admit that it will be useless for readers with archæological tastes to endeavour to verify the tradition of its origin or the sinister prophecy attached to it.
While I took no part in the struggle, I well remember, when a very little boy, adding my small voice to the enthusiastic cheers of the people as first one regiment and, later on, another, marched through the streets of Sydney on their way to embark for New Zealand. When several sizes larger, it was my fortune to see much of the native races of the southern seas—in Maori-land, Fiji, the Loyalty Islands, and elsewhere. Now if I can succeed in interesting my readers by picturing for them some of the scenes which filled my childhood with so much colour and interest and delight, I shall be satisfied.
REGINALD HORSLEY.
[1] In Maori every letter is pronounced. Thus: whare, a house = 'wharry,' not 'whar.'