Chapter VIII: The Captive Chief (2)

Under the guarantee of good conduct given by Te Wherowhero and Waka Nene, Te Rauparaha was released at Auckland, and was received as a guest into Te Wherowhero's house, which had been built for him by the Government in what is now the Auckland Domain. Here, though nominally free, he must have felt the bitterness of his exile, for he frequently displayed the humiliation which was surging within his soul by relapsing into periods of deep melancholy, during which he doubtless meditated upon the departed glory of the past and the hopelessness of the future. With him times had indeed changed. From the imperious leader of a victorious tribe, supreme and absolute, his word the word of authority, his very look, his merest gesture, an unquestionable command, he found himself shorn of his power, degraded by captivity, destitute of influence, and little more than a memory--the hoary vestige of a stately ruin. But his path was not all strewn with thorns, and there were not wanting those, both Maori and European, who strove to lighten his burden and salve his wounded soul. Visitors frequently sought to cheer his drooping spirits, and, as a compliment to the conqueror of Kapiti, Te Wherowhero brought the flower of the Hauraki chiefs to do him honour. In September, 1847, two hundred of these warriors, casting aside their tribal prejudices, came and visited him. As the kilted band of strangers advanced, Te Rauparaha, dressed in a dogskin mat and forage cap, went out to meet them. He saluted several of the leading men according to native custom, and then followed the speechmaking inseparable from Maori gatherings. Squatting in a semicircle upon the ground, the assemblage listened with rapt attention to the oration delivered by Te Rauparaha, of whom all had heard, but whom few had previously seen. His speech was a dignified recitation of his past deeds, and while he spoke of his struggles with Waikato, his pilgrimage, and his conquests, he delivered himself brilliantly and dramatically, for the fire of the old warrior seemed to burn again within him and the blood of the victor to pulsate once more through his veins. But when he came to describe his seizure and captivity, the injustice and humiliation of it all bore down his valiant spirit, and he concluded his oration with difficulty and almost in tears. To this great effort of Maori eloquence replies of a lengthy and ceremonial nature were delivered by Taraia, Te Wherowhero, and several members of Hauraki's aristocracy, and then food was served on a sumptuous scale to the strangers. It was, however, noticed that Te Rauparaha ate but sparingly and was ill at ease. He rose and walked to his house, into which he was followed by two of the women, who there sang to him of the deeds of his fathers, and of the heroes of the ancient line from which he had sprung, the lament bringing a flood of tears to the old man's dim eyes. Still under the surveillance of Te Wherowhero, Te Rauparaha spent six months in the country of the Waikatos, the scene of some of his youthful exploits; but, feeling his freedom to be liberty only in name, and himself a stranger in a strange land, he preferred a request to the Governor to be allowed to return to his own people by the shores of Cook Strait, where was centred everything in life that he valued. The Governor granted his request, believing that he had now nothing to fear from the chief, and recognising that his return would have a quieting influence upon Rangihaeata, who, during his uncle's absence, had steadfastly refused to believe that the man by whose orders Wareaitu[187] had been executed would be more merciful to Te Rauparaha. Accordingly, in January of 1848, the Governor, Lady Grey, Lieut.-Colonel Mundy, Te Wherowhero, Taraia, Te Rauparaha, and several other chiefs, embarked on board H.M.S. _Inflexible_ and steamed for Otaki. Arrived there, the vessel was immediately boarded by Tamihana Te Rauparaha, who, clothed in the garb of a clergyman, came off to welcome his father.

The morning of January 16, 1848, was the time appointed for the restoration of Te Rauparaha to his people. When the boats had been lowered to row the party ashore, the old chief came upon the quarter-deck dressed in full naval uniform, even to the cocked hat and the epaulets. His surprise and indignation were, however, considerable when he observed that the Governor and his suite had no idea of regarding the event as a State occasion, and were clothed in simple undress coats. Nor was his ill-temper improved when the Governor further robbed the incident of ceremonial importance by refusing to accord to him the honour of a salute from the ship's guns as he left the vessel's side. With eyes flashing and nostrils dilated, he sprang back into his cabin, and, throwing off his brilliant uniform, immediately reappeared wrapped in the sombre folds of an ancient blanket. Wounded in spirit at the absence of those impressive features which would have made his homecoming something of a triumph, he landed on the Otaki beach in no enviable mood; and, as the party proceeded towards the inland _pa_, he turned away from them, and sitting down in the sand with his face towards the ocean, covered his old grey head with his mat, and for two hours sat and sobbed like a child. During this meditation of tears no one approached him. Maori etiquette forbade his kinsmen breaking in upon his grief, and European courtesy dictated a discreet respect for the feelings of one who had come back to find the times so vastly changed, and for him so sadly out of joint.

In that brief time, as the old warrior sat sighing in sympathy with the sobbing sea, there must have passed before him in vivid picture the whole panorama of his eventful life--his struggles, his schemes, his dreams, the anguish of defeat, the glut of victory, and then the final triumph in which tribe after tribe went down before him, and his name became wonderful and mighty throughout the land. But now, because of the advent of the _pakeha_, power had melted in his hand like snow. His life, like the wind-swept ruin of his old heathen _pa_, which stood broken and dilapidated a few chains off, had become but a shadow and a memory of the past; an exemplification of the fallible and transitory nature of mundane things. At length, rousing himself from his reverie, he proceeded to the new Christian settlement of Hadfield, at Otaki, which had been built mainly by the efforts of his son, Tamahana te Rauparaha, and his nephew, Matene te Whiwhi. A motley crowd of five or six hundred people poured out of the little settlement to welcome their chief, the Governor, and Lady Grey; and, as an evidence of the elevating influences which were operating amongst them,[188] prayers in the native tongue were read in the open air, before the feast which had been prepared for the visitors was placed before them. A glass-windowed, carpeted _whare_ was the banquet-room, and a clean damask cloth covered the table at which the guests were seated, while a daughter of Rangihaeata courteously discharged the duties of hostess.

On the following day Te Rauparaha presented himself before the people, and was received with the usual evidences of Maori jubilation--interminable speeches, wild and barbarous dances, and endless feasting. Almost immediately he exercised the prerogative of his freedom by visiting Rangihaeata, who was hovering in the neighbourhood of Otaki, but with what intent no one knew. Te Rauparaha was accompanied by Te Wherowhero and some of the visiting chiefs, and the _korero_ lasted several days. What the precise nature of their discussions was will never be known; but that they were not of a treasonable nature may be inferred from the fact that the Governor, hearing that Rangihaeata was at that time harbouring a notorious murderer, whom he refused to deliver up to justice, sent a letter to Te Rauparaha calling upon him and his compatriots to show their displeasure at Rangihaeata's conduct by instantly withdrawing from his presence. At the time the letter arrived, the chiefs were on the point of sitting down to partake of Rangihaeata's hospitality; but without hesitation they rose and left, though not before telling the obdurate chief their reason for doing so.[189]

This evidence of unfailing loyalty to the Crown was as gratifying to the Governor as it must have been aggravating to Rangihaeata, who, when he met His Excellency at Otaki, roundly abused him and all the _pakehas_ for their presumptuous interference with his affairs. He declared that he was not tired of war, but evidently men and women had changed with the times, and now preferred to fight with the tongue rather than the _mere_ or the musket. His contempt for the Europeans and all their doings was still as vehement as ever,[190] and in his violent denunciation of their encroachment upon his privileges as a chief, he declared that he wanted nothing of them, and he wore nothing of their work. He was then standing before the Governor, a tall and picturesque figure arrayed in a lustrous dogskin mat, with adornments in his hair; and when Grey quietly exposed his inconsistency by pointing to a peacock's feather dangling about his head, he angrily muttered, "True, that is _pakeha_," and cast it scornfully from him.

Though Rangihaeata never accepted the Christian faith, in course of time his feelings mellowed and his attitude somewhat modified towards the occupation of the land by the white people. He not only acquiesced in the policy of road-making, which he had at first so strenuously opposed, but in 1852 he constructed two lines at Poroutawhao at his own expense. A school was even established at his _pa_, and subsequently his declared principles not to use British goods were so far modified that he purchased and drove in an English-made buggy along roads made by British soldiers. His feelings, too, towards the Governor considerably softened, and when, in 1852, Sir George Grey was about to proceed to England for a holiday, the chief wrote to him in terms of genuine friendship, which gave proof of the surprising change which had come over the hitherto untamable spirit of "the tiger of the Wairau":--

"O Governor! my friend, I send you greeting. I need scarcely call to your remembrance the circumstances attending my flight and pursuit: how it was that I took refuge in the fastnesses and hollows of the country, as a crab lies concealed in the depths and hollows of the rocks. You it was who sought and found me out, and through your kindness it is that I am at this present time enjoying your confidence and surrounded with peace and quietness. This, then, is the expression of my esteem for you, which I take occasion to make now that you are on the point of leaving for your native land."

The release of Te Rauparaha was the signal for a furious outburst of hostile criticism against the Governor, and Colonel Wakefield led the agitation in one of the biased and bitter effusions usual with him where Te Rauparaha was concerned.[191] But the anticipation of the Governor that the chief could, or would, cause the authorities no further trouble, appears to have been amply justified. So far as is known of him from this time until his death, he lived quietly and unostentatiously at the Otaki settlement. It would seem that he accepted with as good grace as he might the new order of things, and even sought to assist his people in reaching a higher plane of civilisation than at his advanced years he himself could ever hope to attain. It is at least accounted unto him for righteousness by his son, Tamahana, that it was at his suggestion the Ngati-Raukawa people built the now famous church[192] at Otaki, wherein the tribe has so often heard the glad tidings of "peace on earth and goodwill towards men," so strongly contrasted with their old heathen doctrine of blood for blood. A striking feature in the architecture of this church is its central line of large totara pillars, which rise to a height of 40 feet, carrying the solid ridge-pole above. These wooden columns were hewn out of the forest on the banks of the Ohau, which in those days ran into the Waikawa, forming one large stream. The trees were felled in the bush, floated down the river to the sea, and thence dragged along the coast, one native standing on the tree with pole in hand to guide it through the surf, while a string of stalwart men tugged at the heavy tow-ropes, as they marched along the sandy beach. Column after column was, in this way, eventually landed at Waitohu, near Otaki, and then hauled across the sandhills by hundreds of brawny arms to the site where the church now stands. There the trees were, with infinite labour, dressed and prepared with native adzes, which are still kept in the church as interesting mementoes. No machinery of any kind was available to assist in the construction of the sacred edifice. Hand labour was everywhere brought into requisition, and only the most cunning workmen were employed, men of reputed skill being brought from the Manawatu to design and execute the carvings of the interior, while the reed lacework round the walls was also dexterously woven by these same masters of Maori art.

Some attempt has been made, but with dubious success, to prove that Te Rauparaha ordered the building of this church because he had become deeply and genuinely religious, and his son has given us the pious assurance that he spent these last of his days "continually worshipping."[193] "I saw," says an intelligent but newly arrived clergyman, who visited him at this time, "amongst the other men of note, the old and once powerful chief, Te Rauparaha, who, notwithstanding his great age of more than eighty years, is seldom missed from his class, and who, after a long life of perpetual turmoil, spent in all the savage excitement of cruel and bloody wars, is now to be seen every morning in his accustomed place, repeating those blessed truths which teach him to love the Lord with all his heart and mind and soul and strength, and his neighbour as himself." This amiable picture, drawn in a spirit of enlarged charity, is unfortunately dimmed, and the sincerity of the chief's religious convictions discounted, by the story related of him by a conscientious, if unfriendly, critic. "A few days before his death," says this writer,[194] "when suffering under the malady which carried him off, two settlers called to see him. While there, a neighbouring missionary came in and offered him the consolations of religion. Rauparaha demeaned himself in a manner highly becoming such an occasion, but the moment the missionary was gone, he turned to his other visitors and said: 'What is the use of all that nonsense?--that will do my belly no good.' He then turned the conversation on the Whanganui races, where one of his guests had been running a horse." Such an incident, if true, leaves behind it the impression that the chief was shrewd enough to observe that the Christian faith had taken root amongst his people, and conventional enough to adopt it for fashion's sake, without realising any real spiritual change. But we will not attempt to pass judgment upon one who was at so manifest a disadvantage in grasping the mysteries of a faith which centuries of science and learning have left still obscure to many more fortunately circumstanced. But, whatever the chief's spiritual condition may have been, it was not vouchsafed to him to witness the completion of his building scheme. He had long passed man's allotted span, and life's last stage was closing in upon him. He was in his eighty-first year, and was stricken with an internal complaint, the precise nature of which has not been ascertained, but which necessitated his taking much rest. His last days were therefore spent in enforced inactivity, and, while practically an invalid, his greatest delight was to recount to those capable of appreciating his narrative the stories of his early campaigns. The late Bishop Hadfield was especially favoured in this respect; and when he grew weary of the company of his own people (of whose intellectuality he had so small an opinion that he once remarked that they could talk of nothing better than dogs and pigs), he would send for the missionary, and regale him with stories of the past, told with a native force which aroused astonishment and admiration in the mind of his hearer. His descriptions of former fights were generally dramatic, frequently graphic, and always eloquent, for his vocabulary was rich in words and phrases which were far beyond the linguistic capacity of the natives by whom he was surrounded. It is to be regretted that these recitals have perished with the good Bishop. Until quite late in his life a vivid impression of them remained in his memory, and his constant readiness to refer to them confirms the claim that Te Rauparaha was a man of superior intellect, in so far as that term may be applied to a Maori of his day.

Towards the end of November, 1849, the complaint from which he was suffering begun to assume a more malignant form. On the 24th of that month he received a last visit from Rangihaeata, and bade farewell to his erstwhile comrade in arms. Three days later he was dead; the event was consummated for which Colonel Wakefield so devoutly wished when, ten years before, he wrote: "It will be a most fortunate thing for any settlement formed hereabouts when he dies, for with his life only will end his mischievous scheming and insatiable cupidity." Had Te Rauparaha been asked to pen his opinion of the promoters of the New Zealand Company, he might have couched his judgment in much the same terms. But now that he was dead there was no need, and little desire, to keep open the floodgates of vituperation, and there were many who in his lifetime could find no kindly thought for him, but were willing to bury the bitterness of racial misunderstanding in the grave wherein the chief was so soon to be laid.

The news that Te Rauparaha was dead spread like a prairie fire, and natives from all parts of both islands flocked to Otaki to swell the weeping multitude who wailed around the bier of the dead chief. So altered, however, had the times become, that, though there was a feast, there was little _tangi_ of the barbarous sort, for his son Tamahana, who was sincere and consistent in his emulation of European methods,[195] discouraged in the native people, as far as possible, the indulgence in their time-honoured mourning customs, and, according to a contemporary authority, the whole proceedings were conducted "in a most decorous manner." The interment took place on 3rd December, the last resting-place being a spot chosen by his friend Rangihaeata, within the church enclosure, and immediately in front of the unfinished building. A procession of fifteen hundred people followed the body to the grave, where the beautiful burial service of the Anglican Church was read by Mr. Ronaldson, the native teacher from Whanganui. The coffin, made in the usual manner, was covered with black cloth, and the final chapter in the life of this remarkable man was written on the brass plate which adorned the casket:--

KO TE RAUPARAHA I MATE I TE

27 O NOWEMA 1849

[Te Rauparaha died on November 27, 1849.]

[173] Heke had asked the pertinent question, "Is Rauparaha to have all the credit of killing the _pakeha_?"

[174] "From what I know of the young lieutenant, I have no doubt he laid about him vigorously. Even had burly Rangihaeata confronted him, I should not have feared the result" (_Mundy_).

[175] It was quite the orthodox thing for natives on opposite sides to hold intercourse with each other during war, and Rauparaha, having many relations engaged with Rangihaeata, would, in accordance with this custom, keep up a certain connection with them, and they with him. This, not being understood by the British authorities, was probably mistaken for treachery.

[176] Afterwards McKillop Pasha, an Admiral of the Khedive of Egypt.

[177] Grey, in his despatch to the Secretary for the Colonies, describing the seizure of Te Rauparaha, states that a "considerable quantity of arms and ammunition belonging to the disaffected portion of the Ngati-Toa tribe" was also seized, though he makes no attempt to explain what steps were taken under the exciting circumstances to ascertain who the precise owners were.

[178] On the voyage to Wellington the prisoners were quartered in the workshop above the boilers. During the night a great disturbance was heard in this direction, and, on an examination being made, it was found that the room was full of steam. One of the boilers had sprung a leak, but the natives imagined that their vapour bath was an ingenious contrivance to compass their death.

[179] Mr. Percy Smith is my authority for saying that Rangihaeata did not actually compose this lament, as is generally supposed, but merely adapted it from a very old original.

[180] In October, 1850, Dr. Dorsett, as Chairman of the Settlers' Constitutional Society, in a letter addressed to Earl Grey, complained of the inadequacy of Te Rauparaha's punishment. Sir George Grey replied by quoting two laments, of which this was one, "to show the light in which the natives regarded the punishment inflicted on him."

[181] Pohi was one of the inferior chiefs arrested with Te Rauparaha and afterwards released. Subsequently, Grey discovered that this man was supposed to possess "important information."

[182] For the passive attitude adopted by many of the Ngati-Toa people some credit must be given to Te Rauparaha, who had already advised his son to go to the tribes and tell them to remain in peace. "I returned on shore," says Tamahana, "and saw Ngati-Toa and Rawhiri Puaha. We told them the words of Rauparaha respecting that which is good and living in peace. Two hundred Ngati-Raukawa came to Otaki. Rangihaeata wished to destroy Wellington and kill the _pakehas_ as satisfaction. I told them the words of Te Rauparaha, that they must put away foolish thoughts, live in peace, and cast away bad desires. They consented."

[183] Ensign Blackburn, who was a fine officer and a great favourite with the troops, was shot by a native secreted in a tree, and he in turn was almost immediately brought down by an artilleryman.

[184] Under the chilling atmosphere of bleak winter the enthusiasm of our native allies soon began to cool and the vigour of their pursuit to slacken. Power, in his _Sketches in New Zealand_, gives an amusing account of a big _korero_ held at Otaki to decide whether or not they would continue the chase, in which he says: "Rangihaeata's sister was present and addressed the meeting in favour of her absent brother, making at the same time some very unparliamentary remarks on the aggressions of the _pakehas_ and the want of pluck of the Maoris in not resisting them, as her illustrious brother was doing. An old chief requested her to resume her seat, informing her at the same time that she was the silly sister of a sillier brother. He then put it to the meeting whether pigs and potatoes, warm fires and plenty of tobacco, were not better things than leaden bullets, edges of tomahawks, snow, rain, and empty bellies? All the former, he distinctly stated, were to be enjoyed on the plain; the latter they had had plentiful experience of in the mountains, and was it to be expected that they--and he confidently relied upon the good sense of the meeting--could be such fools as to hesitate for a moment? The applause of the old man's rhetoric was unanimous, and it received no slight help from the timely appearance of a procession bearing the materials for a week's feasting."

[185] Lieutenant McKillop, writing on this point, says: "We never had any such decided advantage over him in our various skirmishes with his tribe as to dishearten him, and had we been unassisted by friendly Maoris I have no doubt he would have held out and carried his point."

[186] While the _Calliope_ was lying at Wellington, Te Rauparaha was visited by his son Tamahana, who has left it on record that, in that trying moment of his life, his father displayed a spirit of calm forgiveness towards those who had so treacherously deprived him of his liberty. His advice was: "Son, go to your tribes and tell them to remain in peace. Do not pay for my seizure with evil, only with that which is good. You must love the Europeans. There was no just cause for my having been arrested by Governor Grey. I have not murdered any Europeans, but I was arrested through the lies of the people. If I had been taken prisoner in battle, it would have been well, but I was unjustly taken."

[187] In his _Travels in New Zealand_, Crawford remarks: "During the march to Pahautanui, a Maori named Martin Luther (Wareaitu) was taken prisoner and was some months afterwards tried by court martial and hanged. I cannot help thinking that this was a blunder." Dr. Thomson is even more emphatic, and declares that "Luther's death is a disgrace to Governor Grey's administration."

[188] Visitors to modern Otaki cannot fail to notice a tall pole erected near the roadside opposite the church. The totara tree out of which the pole was hewn was brought there at the outbreak of the Maori war. It was intended as a flagstaff, but Mr. Hadfield persuaded the Maoris to remain perfectly neutral and make no demonstration one way or the other. The tree lay for many years on the common until the Rev. Mr. McWilliam induced the Maoris to shape the tree into a tapering obelisk 40 feet high, with the dates 1840 (the year when Christianity was established at Otaki) to 1880 (the year the obelisk was erected) going spirally round it from bottom to top, and so it became a memorial of the English Church Mission at Otaki. It was first erected in the middle of the common, but in 1890, that is, the fiftieth year of the mission, it was moved into the corner opposite the church gate. It is called by the Maoris the "Jubilee." There was a great gathering of Maoris on that occasion, and fifty of them were clad in white and took part in the ceremony. The chief speaker was Kereopa Tukumaru, an old chief from Kereru, who had been one of the first converts to Christianity, and was now able to tell what great things the religion of Christianity had done for the Maoris. "This man," says Mr. McWilliam, "was the most consistent Christian I have ever had the privilege of knowing." He was most industrious, but when not working he was reading his Bible. He knew nearly the whole of it by heart. His grave may be seen near the Kereru railway station on a small natural mound. It is an oblong raised vault, built of concrete, with a beautiful white marble angel standing over one end.

[189] Colonel Mundy mentions that a remarkably plausible report was circulating in Wellington at this time, to the effect that Rangihaeata--in order to prove himself a convert to civilisation--had signified his intention to kill and eat the aforesaid murderer, and then "go into the best society."

[190] As illustrating Rangihaeata's intolerance of Europeans, Crawford, in his _Travels in New Zealand_, mentions that when he visited Fraser's whaling station on Mana in 1839, he saw sitting in the corner of the room a large Maori wrapped in his mat. "He listened to the conversation, but said nothing. At last, as if displeased, he uttered a hideous and prolonged grunt, and rose to his feet: I was struck with his height and imposing, although savage, appearance--he grunted again and walked out of the room without speaking. This was Rangihaeata, the great follower or coadjutor of Te Rauparaha--the Ajax of his tribe, as the other was the Ulysses."

[191] As illustrating the feeling of the time, we may mention that very great indignation was expressed in Wellington because Bishop Selwyn had taken Te Rauparaha to the house of the Rev. Mr. Cole, a clergyman of Wellington, to stay there during a visit to the city. Major Richmond, the Superintendent, and the Sub-Protector, Mr. Forsaith, had gone to Porirua and provided for his safe escort to Wellington. The Bishop had publicly refused to shake hands with Rangihaeata, showing to the natives his horror of the massacre at the Wairau on every occasion. But he refused to recognise Te Rauparaha as responsible for it, and did no more than his clear duty in providing for his safety on this occasion. The outcry raised against him was bitter, but was quietly ignored by him (_Brett's "Early History of New Zealand"_).

[192] The church, which is a noble specimen of native architecture, was built under the supervision of Archdeacon Hadfield and Rev. H. Williams. It was commenced in 1849 and opened in 1851. Its length is 80 feet, its breadth 36 feet, and its height 40 feet. The ridge-pole is hewn out of a solid totara tree, 86 feet long.

[193] "Te Rauparaha was not baptized, and, although his son wished the burial service of the Church to be used at his funeral, the minister did not feel himself justified in doing so; however, a lay member of the Church Missionary Society from Whanganui, opportunely passing through the place, read the service over him, and thus terminated the eventful life of the New Zealand warrior" (_Rev. Richard Taylor_).

[194] The late Sir William Fox in his _Six Colonies of New Zealand_.

[195] In 1868, Tamihana te Rauparaha and his wife Ruta (Ruth) lived by themselves about half-way between Otaki and Waikanae on his sheep run, but he now and again came to his town house in Otaki and stayed a few weeks. He was a fine, handsome man, tall and stout, but active and mentally energetic. He always dressed well, and in cleanliness and neatness was a thorough English gentleman. He had been home to England and presented to the Queen. He never forgot what he saw there, and he wished to be considered an English gentleman. For that reason he lost influence with his tribe. He held aloof from _tangis_ and other Maori feasts, but was most hospitable and generous to Europeans. His wife was a most ladylike and charming woman. She was not so well educated as Tamihana, but for all that she had the manners and taste of an English lady. She died several years before him, and he erected a small marble stone over her grave; but when he died, and was laid by her side, no monument of any kind was erected to his memory; the cast-iron fence, which had been broken accidentally, was not even repaired. The Maoris did not care much for him, because he was too civilised and _pakeha_-like for them, so they made no general mourning at his death. In his youth, Tamihana te Rauparaha and Matene te Whiwhi had journeyed all the way to the Bay of Islands to beg for a missionary, and in response to their request Mr. Hadfield (who was afterwards Bishop of Wellington and Primate) came back with them to Otaki, and lived amongst them and taught them Christianity for thirty years.

The graves of Tamihana te Rauparaha and his wife are enclosed with an iron railing. On the tombstone of the wife is the inscription: "_Te ohatanga tenei mo Ruta te Rauparaha wahine O Tamihana te Rauparaha, i mate ki Otaki i te 10 o nga ra o Hurae, 1870._"