Reminiscences of Earliest Canterbury

Front matter

Copyright. The Christchurch Press Co. Ltd. 1915

Published November, 1915.

REMINISCENCES

Introduction

INTRODUCTION.

Some years ago (that is during the year 1909) a movement was made by a few of the older Colonists to collect letters, documents, photographs, and other articles bearing upon the settlement of Canterbury, with the view of preserving a record, which, at some future time, would furnish valuable and authentic data for the historian.

The writer is one of those Colonists, and a Committee having at once been formed on which he was placed, he lost no time in collecting and verifying information, procuring photographs, and otherwise forwarding the objects of the movement.

Fortunately, having himself been a witness in his childhood of the advent of the pioneers in the South Island of New Zealand, and being blessed with a very retentive memory, he is enabled, within his own experience, to supply a great many interesting and important incidents connected with those early days. In many instances he can fix those events with accurate dates and figures, and in practically all of them he can approximate those details, as will be found in perusing the records he has made.

In this introduction it is his object to set out, in a general way, his impressions of what transpired, from his earliest recollections down to the period of the arrival at Lyttelton of the first four ships on December 16th, 1850, making those impressions and experiences prefatory to the more explicit and more personal references to the pioneers, which follow.

As the pathway of reminiscences is tortuous and confusing, and is side-tracked at frequent intervals with trails of iteration and reiteration, the author has deemed it expedient to abandon any attempt at a chronological record of his recollections, and has chosen instead, at the risk of an occasional anachronism, to differentiate and classify those recollections in accordance with their bearing on the following subjects:—

(a) The Maoris, the aborigines of New Zealand.

(b) The Whalers, who preceded the pioneers.

(c) The French Pioneers.

(d) The British Pioneers.

(e) Personal and Sundry Reminiscences.

Following this classification then, something falls to be said of the Maoris, and it will be more convenient and more intelligible if, in the first place, the author, drawing upon a long and intimate experience with the Natives, sets down some general impressions concerning them, and afterwards specifies such incidents as throw some light on those impressions. He will conclude with a few personal reminiscences of one or two of the notorious chiefs who have left their mark for good or ill on the early pages of New Zealand history.

Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.

The Maoris.

In April, 1843, when the author’s father landed in Pigeon Bay, there were between fifty and sixty Maoris permanently settled there on the eastern side. For some reason they do not appear to have ever been a prolific race, for although those Pigeon Bay Natives were, for the most part, married, there were not more than some three or four families in the Native settlement who had any children, and, of those who had, four was the largest number.

Those Pigeon Bay Maoris were, in the main, peaceful and honest, and gave very little trouble. They were good workers, and did all the bushfalling, subsequently planting potatoes and sowing wheat or oats.

Sir George Grey set aside 125 acres as a reserve for them, and although this constituted the best section in the Bay, they would not take it, alleging as a reason that part of the Bay was “tapu” owing to Te Rauparaha having, during the thirties, slain some forty of them on the west side, now known as Holmes’s Bay.

They commenced to leave the Bay shortly after the arrival of the first four ships, and by 1860 they had all gone to other settlements, chiefly Kaiapoi.

In 1843 Port Levy was the largest Maori settlement in Canterbury. The author has heard his father say that when he landed in Pigeon Bay there were 400 Maoris in Port Levy. At that time, besides Pigeon Bay and Port Levy, there were Maori settlements in McIntosh Bay (now known as Menzies’ Bay), O’Kain’s Bay, Long Look Out, Laverick’s Bay, and a fairly large one at Gough’s Bay. Including the Natives at Kaiapoi and Taumutu, these various settlements must have totalled over 2,000 Natives. I believe this number to be under the mark.

All went well with the Maoris until 1848-9, when they were invaded by an epidemic of measles. This being an entirely new toxin against which they (unlike the whites) had acquired no immunity, its effects were very severe; but the ravages of the disease were enhanced by their ignorance, for, the epidemic having occurred in warm spring weather, they rushed into the creeks and into the sea to cool their fever-heated bodies, and died in large numbers, faster than their friends could bury them.

One incident in connection with this epidemic is worth recording. One fine old Maori who had been working for my father, having been attacked by measles, immediately applied for the wages due him. Having secured his earnings, amounting to two sovereigns, he laid up. However, having recovered, he came out to resume work, but, the day being hot, he went into a cold creek, went home with a relapse, and lingered for a fortnight, getting gradually weaker. My father visited him every day, supplying him with such food and delicacies as he desired. Having been separated from the other Maoris, as was the custom during illness, he had an old woman attendant on him as nurse and cook. It appears that he had made up his mind to die, for my father, calling one day, was accosted by the nurse as follows:—“Mr. Hay, do you know what he has done this morning?” On my father replying in the negative, she said, “Well, he has swallowed two sovereigns.” My father, turning to the invalid, said, “What did you do that for?” His response was:—“Well, Mr. Hay, I would have liked to have given them to my nurse, for she has been good to me, but if I had done that the other Maoris would have quarrelled and taken them from her. Now no one can touch them, and there will be no trouble after I die.” He passed away that night, and was buried on the beach about a mile from the West Head of the Bay.

Many of the natives who died during this epidemic were buried on the beach just above high water mark.

Looking back at this period it appears to me that, between children and adults, almost half of the Pigeon Bay Maoris were carried away. From this time onwards the sur­vivors were quiet and peacefully disposed, a marked change in their demeanour, which, previous to the epidemic, was often boastful and threatening.

This aggressive attitude was more manifest in 1843-4, at which time they gave my father a good deal of trouble by their claims, and by the truculence of their general behaviour.

They were most insistent in demanding rent from him. This he never yielded to, knowing well that had he done so he would have subjected himself to numerous other extortions. Fortunately for himself, my father was very firm, and soon acquired a knowledge of the Native character. Having once passed his word he adhered to it, whether the dictum happened to be in his own interest, or in theirs, and it was not long before they recognised that whilst he was not to be moved, he was to be trusted. This acquired for him, in course of time, a great reputation as a judge or arbitrator, and he was frequently occupied in settling disputes among themselves. My father was scrupulously careful in money matters with the Maoris, paying them what was their due directly it became due, and by this means got them in the main to respond by working faithfully for him. He paid them in gold and silver coin, and unless payment were made by this medium they would not recognise it, hence when a little afterwards the Union Bank was established the greatest difficulty was experienced in getting the Maoris to accept bank notes. Eventually they became reconciled to them when they found that by presenting them at the Bank they got gold in exchange. The next diffi­culty was with reference to cheques. The only cheques they would recognise were those written by my father, and subsequently by members of his family, a circumstance which gave rise to complica­tions, as they brought whatever cheques were tendered them to us, asking our cheques in exchange. When the cheques they brought were from unknown or doubtful drawers, it seemed impossible to explain to them that we could not take them. This difficulty continued until toward the end of the “sixties.”

When I was a small boy I was much interested in the customs of the Maoris. I remember, for example, their method of killing a pig. Having caught him, they tied his feet and his mouth, and left him secured by a rope on the beach until the advancing tide covered and drowned him. The object of this was to save the blood which they, especially the women, regarded as a delicacy. When the tide receded the pig was first allowed to dry, and then the hair was singed off, and he was ready for the “Koppah.” Having seen my father “bleed” a pig, they gave up the drowning business, and imitated him in so far as the killing went, but always adhered to the singeing in preference to the plotting and scraping. Some other customs in reference to cooking, and food generally, I also recollect. Maize and karaka berries they steeped in semi-stagnant water (by damming up a slowly-running stream) for three weeks. It was then withdrawn, black-looking, and emitting a vile stench, and, when dry, ground into a kind of flour between stones. Rotten potatoes, which they collected when digging, were treated in the same fashion. They used to declare that the smell dis­appeared in the cooking. I remember one spring a cow of my father’s died of milk fever, and was promptly buried. The Maoris discovered this three days after, and asked my father if they could disinter her. He assented, but told them she was buried three days ago. They assured him that was no detriment, and they dug up the cow and devoured her, and pronounced her “kapai.” There were no bad results; neither were there, when, subsequently, they devoured the best portions of four working bullocks that had been poisoned by “tu-tu” forty-eight hours before.

The Maoris of old would never show anyone, out of their own tribe, the paths leading to their food supplies. They observed the same secrecy with reference to their tracks. There must have been Maoris on the Peninsula for hundreds of years, and yet they had no tracks as we understand them. No one, save themselves or a most experienced bushman, could follow them, as they were only indicated here and there by a broken twig or slight mark on a tree. One such track was a short cut from Temuka to Mackenzie Country, which they never divulged even after Mackenzie Country was settled. Mr. John Hay, of Lake Tekapo, was the first to discover it.

One year my father grew a crop of wheat, which he stacked in the usual way. When shifting the stack into the barn for flail threshing the Maoris came over in a body, young and old, to assist in killing the rats. From fifty to seventy were collected and put into a heap, and conveyed to the pa. When one was wanted for cooking he was covered with soft clay and put into the fire. When cooked he was raked out of the fire, and when cool enough to handle was knocked on a stone or hit with a stick to crack the baked cake encasing him. When opened out the hair and scarf skin adhered to the inner surface of the clay, and the flesh looked white like chicken. A dexterous twist with the thumb nail scooped out the entrails in a round ball. All was eaten save a few of the large bones and the tail. At this time the older natives were very fond of rats. The younger ones were not keen on them. To-day a Maori would scorn the idea of eating them. Thus rapidly does civilisation stamp out barbarous customs.

In the “forties” the Maoris had a method of extracting sugar from young cabbage trees, which, I fear, is now lost. They began operations by digging a hole 8ft. long, 4ft. wide, and from 5ft. to 6ft. deep. A layer of stones was placed in the bottom, and on them an enormous fire was built. When this had burned down the young cabbage tree was stripped and laid on the stones. Water was then poured over them, and all was quickly covered over with earth and left for many days. Beyond this I do not know what other process was adopted, but it seemed to me that the pith of the tree had the sugar encrusted in it. The Maoris carried it with them in this fibrous form. They chewed it when on a journey, spitting out the fibre when they had exhausted the sugar from it. As boys we were very fond of this. It had an excellent flavour, and we collected it, soft and brown in colour, by knocking the fibre on a piece of wood. It was very good for sweetening tea. This native-made sugar was troublesome to pro­duce, and when ordinary sugar could be procured they gave up preparing it, and I believe the art is now lost.

Potatoes were, of course, cultivated by the Maoris. In clearing a patch in the bush they cut down the small trees. They lopped the branches off the larger ones, and laid the timber thus collected on the ground. The grass and fern were then cut level with the ground. In this way they generally got a capital burn, and got splendid crops of potatoes from the soil. If they wanted a second crop they left a few small ones in the ground when digging out the first.

Their method of sowing grain (wheat or oats) was peculiar. When digging potatoes they sowed grain as they dug, and in turning over the soil covered the grain. In this way they would sow as much grain as was covered by the day’s digging. The crop, of course, did not ripen evenly, but as they cut it with the hook this did not matter. They cut it as it ripened. The Maori always had an eye to saving labour.

One great source of food supply to the Maoris was the “mutton bird.” This is a sea bird of nocturnal habits frequenting the coasts of New Zealand, especially in the south—Stewart Island and the Bluff. The female lays a single egg, nesting on the headlands by the sea. When the young is fledged both parents feed it until it gets so fat that it cannot fly. The parents then cease their attentions, and the young bird subsists on its own condition for two or three weeks, at the end of which period it has the ability as well as the incentive to look after itself. It is at this helpless period of repletion that the Maoris collect the young mutton birds. They are first plucked, and then, preserved in their own fat, are packed in bags made from the broad-leaved kelp, which forms an impervious casing round each bird. Finally those kelp bags are covered by totara or manuka bark, and the bundles shipped all over New Zealand and even to Australia. By some whites as well as by the Maoris the mutton bird is regarded as a great delicacy.

Sea-fishing was, of course, a principal source of food supply to the coastal Natives. At Pigeon Bay they used to catch large numbers of fish which they suspended in the sun to dry. Shark was one of their favourites. It was customary in the “forties” for the Pigeon Bay and Port Levy Maoris to carry tons of these dried fish inland, meeting halfway the Natives from Little River laden with eels. On the summit both parties held a korero, and, after exchanging their burdens, returned respectively to their homes.

However, when in funds the Maori declined to exert himself, and after the arrival of the first four ships at Lyttelton he had a rosy time, getting plenty of money for land, firewood, wild pigeons, etc., from the Canterbury Pilgrims. After this period many of their early industries fell into desuetude, and they gradually became more and more dependent on the whites.

For a time they interested themselves in cattle rearing, and advanced to a limited extent in dairy work, making very good butter. The irksomeness, however, of milking morning and evening soon wearied them, and they abandoned it, allowing the cattle to suckle and grow up; until in the “sixties” they sold off all their cattle.

The Maoris made a kind of wine from the fruit of the tu-tu. The juice was strained from the berries, the seeds carefully rejected, and the liquor fermented and bottled in the shell of the kuma-kuma. This was a gourd resembling a vegetable marrow, which they first boiled and then through a small aperture scooped out the pulp, thus converting the gourd into a rude kind of bottle, which they rendered capable of suspension by plaiting flax round it. With the advent of “waipiro” it no longer became necessary to make tu-tu wine.

The modern Maori, physically and intellectually, is not comparable to his ancestor of seventy or eighty years ago, who was a good whaler both at sea and on land, a good shearer, a capital hand in the bush with an axe, and industrious as a cultivator, especially when working under contract. The lower class Maori would steal whenever a chance offered, but that is only saying that there were degenerates among the Natives, as there are among ourselves. The better-class Maoris were keen in driving a bargain, but when made they were scrupulous in carrying out their part of the contract. They were honest in recognising their responsibilities, as the following incident will show:—A Maori who worked for my father, and who was known as “Tommy,” came forward one day and said, “Mr. Hay, I am going to Invercargill to see my friends. I owe you £10. I pay you when I come back.” Two years passed, and Tommy had not returned. One day my father met his brother, and enquired as to when he was expected. The brother responded:—“You not know Tommy dead? I know he owe you £10. You give me work, and I will pay for him.” He was as good as his word. There was another incident within my memory of the same kind where a Maori held himself responsible for the debt of his dead brother. Surely this is an example Europeans might emulate!

While on the subject of debts, the Maori as a rule was scrupulous to repay, however long it may have taken him, but he never recognised his liability for more than the principal. Interest he never could or would understand.

They were very loyal to one another. For example, when they took a contract, the total proceeds were equally divided amongst the gang, whether or not from sickness or incapacity some one or more of them had only worked a portion of the time. I can never remember their falling out over the division of their money.

The Maoris worked for us as late as the end of the “seventies,” so that they were under my observation, and in my employment (or my father’s) for over thirty years, so I have had ample opportunity to form an estimate of their character and ability. They were very fond of their children, to whom they were rather too indulgent. They liked flattery, and were always keen to be held in esteem by the white man. They had a strong sense of justice, as the following incident will demonstrate:—When my father arrived in New Zealand, he was for a time at the Hutt, near Wellington.

One day, having occasion to visit the latter town, he found a river so swollen that he couldn’t ford it. He agreed with a Maori to give him a cast over in a canoe, and paid him on landing. Returning with a small bottle of medicine for a neighbour, he got the same Maori to take him back, and paid him the same fare. On reaching the other side the Maori demanded more, but was refused. Watching his opportunity, he snatched the “trongo” (medicine) and made off with it. My father did not see him again until the following Sunday, when he met him on his way to church with a book in his hand. My father took the book from him and said, “Now you give me my ‘trongo,’ and I will give you your book.” There was a row, and the chief came on the scene, and inquired as to the dispute. The Maori told his version, and the chief, turning to my father, said:—“Now, Mr. Hay, let me hear what you have to say.” My father then described the entire incident. Turning to his tribesman, the chief said: “Is this true?” The answer was an assent. The chief ordered him at once to go for the “trongo.” He replied that it was locked in his box, and his wife, who was from two to three miles away, had the key. The chief then asked my father it he could await his return, which he agreed to do. In a short time the Maori returned with the “trongo,” and received his book in exchange, after which he was severely reprimanded by the chief, who asked my father to appeal to him if he had any further trouble with his people. Subsequently to this incident, when my father had occasion to cross that stream, the same Maori was on the look-out for him, and ferried him over, but would never accept payment, being better pleased to regain my father’s esteem.

In July, 1843, the Wairau tragedy occurred, and the news of it reached the Peninsula early in the spring of the same year. The Maoris there, as well as at Kaiapoi, were much excited when they heard of it, and two minor chiefs named “Bigfellow” and “Bukanui” persuaded them to massacre all the pioneers and whalers at one sweep. The plot was well conceived, and every detail arranged, but it leaked out prematurely through the Maori women who were married to whalers. Seeing that the settlers were aware of the design, and were preparing to protect themselves, there was a delay to further mature their plans. This delay proved providential, for it enabled the famous chief Tuhawaiki, better known as “Bloody Jack,” to get news of the plot at Dunedin Heads. He at once sent off a special messenger to stop the project, and there can be no doubt that we owe our lives to his timely intervention. The following details of the plan were subsequently ascertained:—

The Kaiapoi Natives were to account for the Deans, Gebbie, Manson, and Greenwood families. The Port Levy Natives, assisted by the Pigeon Bay Natives, were to account for the Sinclairs and the Hays. Those contingents were then to unite at one of the whaling stations and kill all the whalers. Finally, all the tribes were to rush upon Akaroa and destroy the inhabitants.

The whites would undoubtedly have been overwhelmed had the plot matured, for at that time the Maoris could have easily put 1,000 fighting men into the field. However, the lives would have been dearly sold, for every preparation was made, and every precaution taken against surprise. Had the Sinclairs and our people not sold their schooner (which had sailed for Wellington) we could have escaped in her and gone north. Had the French man-of-war been at Akaroa that place would not have been molested, as the Maoris were much afraid of her. She was in some other port.

My father’s armament was as follows:—Two rifles, two double-barrelled guns, and three pistols, with plenty of ammunition to last for a fortnight. He loaded all the weapons himself. He gave directions for a sharp look-out to be kept for smoke (the signal agreed on), and issued orders that no one should stray from the house.

Curiously enough those three pistols which my father loaded in 1843 were not discharged until after my father’s death, in 1864, when my mother requested us to do something with them. We adopted the plan of screwing them in the vyce in the smithy, leading a string attached to the trigger through a hole which we bored in the slabs. Everyone of them, even the flint-lock pistol, went off with the first pull.

Subsequent to the failure of the plot, the Maoris were morose and dissatisfied for several months. They demanded rent from my father for the land he occupied. He refused, whereupon Bukanui threatened to burn down the house. For answer my father took a burning stick from the fire, and handing it to the chief, said: “Go on and burn my house, and then I will see the magistrate.” Bukanui wisely declined, and so the matter ended. Bigfellow, the other chief who was associated with Bukanui in the plot, died very soon afterwards, but the latter continued to flourish for many years, owned a large portion of Port Levy, and ultimately became very friendly with the whites, so far flattering them by imitation as to don a top hat at all times when out of doors. He often expressed his regret for his murderous intentions in 1843.

Besides the intervention of Tuhawaiki already mentioned, and the knowledge that their women had divulged their scheme, there can be no doubt that the dread of reprisal by the French man-of-war had a salutary effect on the Maoris. What the early settlers owe to the French who kept a man-of-war on the coast for years has never been sufficiently acknowledged. The British pioneers of the “forties” owed far more to this country than to their own for protection in those troublous times.

The Maoris had a keen sense of humour, and always enjoyed a harmless joke. I remember a schoolmaster in the bay who possessed a small magnetic battery. On one occasion he induced some Maoris to join hands and complete a circle whereby all received the shock. They were much excited, and shouted “Taipo!” but lost no time in collecting all the others from the Pah (who were ignorant of what had transpired), and putting them through the same ordeal for their amusement.

The Pigeon Bay Natives had numerous dogs, which they used for pig-hunting. Those dogs were a great nuisance. For example, my father killed a bullock once, and hung it on a gallows, and the Maori dogs devoured almost an entire fore-quarter. My father was so annoyed that the following night he laid poison, the result of which was that he had 24 dogs to bury next morning before breakfast. The Maoris were much mystified over the disappearance of so many of their canine pets in one night, and scoured the district calling on them, and searching for them, needless to say, without success.

Genuine hospitality was characteristic of the early Maoris. Travellers had food prepared for them, and were received with kindness and attention. At the same time they were inquisitive, always wanting to know their guest’s name, whence he came, and whither he was going, etc. As an evidence of their loyalty to anyone under their protection, the following incident may be recorded:—In the “forties” a runaway sailor shot the mate of a French whaling ship, killing him on the spot. Fleeing to Pigeon Bay he sought shelter amongst the Maoris to whom he gave his gun as a kind of solatium. The Maoris agreed to keep him in hiding and feed him until a whaling vessel called, by which he purposed to escape. It was this man’s custom, for greater security, to hide himself in the bush during the day. We, as children, used to see him go there occasionally at daylight.

The Magistrate at Akaroa (Mr. J. Watson) getting some evidence of his whereabouts, came over to Pigeon Bay after dark, accompanied by a constable to effect his arrest. They put up at my father’s house, and before daylight the following morning Mr. Watson swore in my father, his nephew, Mr. John Hay, and one Toby Green as special constables. Taking a boat they slipped over to the Maori Pah before daylight, and proceeded to search every wharé for the criminal, but without success. No information could be gleaned from the Maoris, and there was every indication of the ends of justice being defeated. My father, however, was convinced that the man was cleverly concealed somewhere, and taking Mr. Watson aside, suggested that he should pick out one or two of the married natives and handcuff them, and then announce that he was going to put them in gaol for harbouring a murderer. One Maori was handcuffed, but while the gyves were being fastened on the second one, his wife touched my father on the shoulder and pointed to an empty wharé. Entering this nothing was to be seen but an old sail stretched over the ground as a kind of carpet. The woman pointed again to the sail, and on raising it the delinquent was found in a trench scooped out of the ground where he lay completely hidden with the level sail stretched over him. But for the ruse whereby the anxiety of the women was roused he would never have been discovered. The prisoner was taken to Akaroa, but the case being beyond the jurisdiction of the Magistrate’s Court, he was committed to Sydney for trial, where, through some flaw in the indictment connected with his name or identity, he escaped punishment. To conclude this incident, whilst citing it as evidence of the loyalty of the Maoris, it may be mentioned that the man Toby Green, when the party were returning by boat, carelessly drew a loaded gun from the bow. It exploded, and the charge entered his knee. For ten months he was under my father’s care. The bullet eventually suppurated out of his thigh, but the wound never healed, and the continued suppuration so drained his strength and affected his health that he died.