Chapter IV: The Land of Promise (2)

It has been charged to the discredit of Te Rauparaha, that, in planning this attack upon Kapiti, he cherished a guilty hope that Te Pehi might fall in the assault, and by his death rid him of a powerful rival in the councils of the tribe. But, while his critics have never been slow to attribute to him the grossest treachery towards his enemies and infidelity to his friends, there is absolutely no evidence that on this occasion he meditated a crime, such as sacred history imputes to the King of Israel when he placed Uriah the Hittite in the forefront of the battle. Te Pehi was a great chief. He was Te Rauparaha's senior in years and his superior in birth. His prowess in battle was known far and wide, and the circumstances under which he afterwards emulated the example of Hongi by visiting England, and like him, subsequently procuring for his tribe, guns and ammunition at Sydney, stamp him as a man of strong initiative and individuality. But he did not possess the political genius with which his nephew was endowed; he lacked the organising power, the tact, and the gift of inspiring others with his own enthusiasm. While Te Pehi might lead a charge with brilliancy, Te Rauparaha could often gain more by diplomacy than he by force of arms; and these statesmanlike qualities gave the younger chief an influence with the tribe which Te Pehi did not and never could possess. Indeed, the tragedy associated with his death at Kaiapoi, in 1828, is sufficient to convince us that he was strangely lacking in conciliation and tact. So far as can be learned, there is nothing to lead us to suppose that Te Pehi ever questioned his nephew's superiority in the diplomatic department of his tribal office; on the contrary, he seems to have cheerfully accepted a secondary position, and loyally aided Te Rauparaha in all his projects. Under these circumstances, it is somewhat difficult to imagine what Te Rauparaha was to gain by sacrificing so brave an ally. Moreover, the intense grief which he manifested when Te Pehi was killed at Kaiapoi, and the signal vengeance which he took upon the Ngai-Tahu tribe for their act of treachery, render the suspicion of foul play on his part utterly improbable. In view of these considerations he may fairly be exonerated from any criminal intent towards Te Pehi. It is clear that the seizure of Kapiti was but an essential move in his policy of conquest, and that the manner of its seizure was but a cleverly designed piece of strategy, certainly not unattended by risk, but affording very reasonable chances of success.

The capture of this natural fortress did not result in its immediate occupation, for Te Rauparaha still had abundance of work to do on the mainland before he could regard the power of the enemy as broken and the conquest of his new home complete. In pursuance of his policy of extermination, he had been interspersing his larger movements with repeated raids upon Rangitane and Muaupoko, in which he invariably made them feel the sting of his revenge. Finding that these attacks were becoming more frequent and more vigorous, the chiefs of the latter tribe conceived a plan by which they hoped to elude the persistency of their implacable pursuers. Hitherto their _pas_ had been built on the shores of the picturesque lakes, around which they had lived since their advent into the district, centuries before. But they now decided to abandon these strongholds, which were exposed to every raid of the enemy, and build their dwellings in the centre of Lakes Horowhenua and Papaitonga. At the cost of an amazing amount of industry and toil, they constructed artificial islands upon the beds of these lakes at their deepest parts, and upon these mounds they built a miniature Maori Venice. The construction of these islands was most ingenious, and desperate indeed must have been the straits to which Muaupoko were driven before they imposed upon themselves so laborious a task.

Proceeding to the bush, their first operation was to cut down a number of saplings, which were pointed and then driven into the soft mud, closely enclosing in rectangular form sufficient space on which to place the foundations of the houses. Smaller stakes were then driven into the centre of the enclosure, upon which were spitted those compact masses of vegetation known as "Maori-heads." A layer of these gave the builders a solid basis upon which to work, and huge stones, earth, and gravel were brought in the canoes from the shore, and poured into the enclosures until the pile of _débris_ rose some height above the level of the water. Six such islands were formed on Lake Horowhenua and two on Papaitonga, and on these _whares_ were erected, which were gradually extended by the addition of platforms reaching a considerable distance beyond the islands. Round each of these platforms ran a stout palisade, which served the dual purpose of preventing the very young children from falling into the water and offering a formidable barrier to the assaults of the enemy. As the only means of communication with these islands was by canoe, and as it was well known to the Muaupoko people that Te Rauparaha had few such vessels, they felt comparatively secure from attack so soon as they had transferred themselves to their new retreat.

But they little reckoned on the kind of man with whom they had to deal, when they imagined that a placid sheet of water could interpose between Te Rauparaha and his enemies. Canoes he had not, but strong swimmers he had; and it is a fine tribute to their daring that, on a dark and gloomy night, a small band of these undertook to swim off to one of the Horowhenua _pas_ and attack its sleeping inhabitants. With their weapons lashed to their wrists, they silently entered the water, and by swift side strokes reached the walls of Waipata, the _pa_ which they had chosen for their attempt, and were swarming over the palisades before a note of warning could be sounded. Taken at such a disadvantage, it was not to be expected that the Muaupoko resistance would be effective, for they were both stunned by surprise and paralysed by fear at the awful suddenness of the attack. Flight was their first thought, and such as were not slain in their sleep or caught in their attempt to escape, plunged into the lake and made for the nearest shelter. In this endeavour to escape death all were not successful, and it is estimated that, between the killed and drowned, the attack upon Waipata cost the Muaupoko several hundred lives, besides adding to their misfortune by shattering utterly their belief in the inaccessibility of their island _pas_. The adjoining _pas_ upon the lake, warned of the impending danger by the tumult at Waipata, at once prepared for a stubborn defence; but the attacking party, feeling themselves unequal to the task of a second assault, discreetly withdrew to the mainland before it was yet daylight, and at once made preparations for another attack upon a more extensive scale. But both prudence and necessity dictated the wisdom of delay; it was wiser to wait until Muaupoko had relapsed into their former state of confidence, and, moreover, the plan upon which it was proposed to make the attack required time for its development.

Recognising the strength of the Waikiekie _pa_, against which the energies of his tribe were next to be directed, Te Rauparaha saw that success was not to be expected unless he could attack it in force. This involved the transportation of a large body of men over the waters of the lake, which could only be effected by means of canoes. These he did not possess in numbers, and, even if he had, he must still devise means of conveying them to the lake, which was several miles from the coast. His ingenious mind, however, soon discovered an escape from these perplexities, and he at once decided upon a plan, which was not without precedent in European warfare or imitation in subsequent Maori history. His scheme involved the haulage of his canoes over the belt of land which separated the lake from the sea, and the enterprise seems to have been as cleverly executed as it was daringly designed. Out of the lake runs an insignificant stream, which slowly meanders over shallows and between narrow banks down to the ocean; and to the mouth of this creek were brought such canoes as had fallen into Te Rauparaha's hands at the taking of Kapiti, and a larger one which had been procured from his friends at Whanganui-a-Tara.[59] Where the water was deep enough, or the reaches straight enough, the canoes were floated up the bed of the stream; but as this was possible only at rare intervals, the greater part of the distance was covered by dragging the vessels over the grassy flats and ferny undulations. Such a task would be laborious enough under any circumstances; but on this occasion it was rendered even more wearisome by the necessity for conducting it in absolute silence. As the success of the expedition depended mainly upon the completeness of the surprise, it was essential that no note of warning should be given, and therefore it was impossible to encourage the workers to greater exertions by song or speech; but so heartily did they bend themselves to their monotonous task, that the three miles of toilsome road were traversed before the break of day.

The outflow of the lake was hidden by a clump of trees which grew close to the water's edge, and behind this natural screen the canoes were concealed, and the men lay down to rest until the moment came to strike. At the first appearance of dawn, the canoes were shot into the lake, and before the inhabitants of Waikiekie had shaken slumber from their eyes, the shaft was on its way that would send many of them to their last long sleep. The _pa_ was attacked on every side, and with a vigour which left little chance of escape. Such resistance as was possible in such a situation was offered by the drowsy defenders. But the mortal fear with which they had come to regard the Ngati-Toa, together with the fury of the onslaught and the completeness of the surprise, spread panic amongst them, and the resistance was soon left to a desperate few. Their valiant efforts brought them nothing but the glory which attends the death of the brave. They were quickly borne down before the onrush of the assailants, whose shouts of triumph, joined with the terrified cries of the fugitives, filled the morning air. Large numbers, who looked to discretion rather than valour, plunged into the lake, and by swimming, diving, and dodging, a few managed to elude both capture and death. But many were slain as they swam, and, while their bodies sank to the bottom, their blood mingled with the waters of the lake, until it lay crimson beneath the rising sun. Warriors and women, old men and children, to the number of two hundred, we are told, perished on that fateful morning, which saw the Muaupoko tribe driven from Horowhenua, and the epoch of their greatness brought to a close. A mere remnant of the tribe escaped, and made their way through the forests and mountain fastnesses towards the south, where, within the space of another year, they were again pursued, hunted, and slaughtered, with all the old relentless hatred of their destroyer.

Having inflicted this crushing blow upon Muaupoko, and feeling convinced that they could never again be a serious menace to Ngati-Toa, the section of the Ngati-Awa tribe who, under Rere-ta-whangawhanga and other chiefs, had accompanied Te Rauparaha from Taranaki, now determined to return to their own country at Waitara;[60] and it was this decision which made it imperative that the Ngati-Toa leader should seek efficient aid from some other quarter. He accordingly, without delay, despatched messengers to the north, once again to invite his kinsmen of the Ngati-Raukawa tribe to come and join him. These emissaries, having arrived at Taupo, learned that an attempt to reach Kapiti by way of the east coast had already been made by Te Whatanui, but without success, as he had been defeated by a Hawke's Bay tribe and driven back. This experience had somewhat cooled his ardour; but when Te Rauparaha's messengers came with the news that Kapiti had been taken, and told of his marvellous success at Waipata and Waikiekie, interest in the project at once revived. Especially was a young chief, named Te Ahu-karamu, fired with its romantic prospects, and he immediately organised a force of one hundred and twenty men and set off for the land of promise.

Almost simultaneously with the arrival of these reinforcements, additional strength was gained by the accession of another band of Ngati-Awa from Taranaki; and, with these additions to his ranks, Te Rauparaha felt himself strong enough to resume once more active operations in the field. He accordingly moved upon a skilfully built _pa_ situated at Paekakariki, some miles to the southward of Kapiti, whither the escaping Muaupoko had fled and taken refuge. In this adventure a larger force than usual was employed; for not only were the new arrivals keen for a brush with the enemy, but the natural strength of the _pa_ was such that Rauparaha knew it would be useless to approach it without a force of adequate proportions. In these anticipations his judgment was correct, as usual, for the struggle proved to be an exceedingly obstinate one and the death-roll on both sides considerable. After some days of incessant attack, in which the few muskets possessed by Ngati-Toa played their fatal part, the Muaupoko defence was pierced, and the victory was sealed with all the atrocities associated with the savage warfare of the ancient Maori.

The capture of this _pa_ proved to be a rich prize for Rauparaha. Not only did it uproot the last stronghold of the Muaupoko people, but it brought a substantial addition to his supplies. Large quantities of provisions were discovered within the stockade, evidently collected in anticipation of a lengthy siege. So provident, in fact, had the inhabitants of the Paekakariki fort been in this respect, that the large attacking force spent the succeeding two months feasting upon the captured stores, interspersed with an occasional cannibal repast. This period of rest the visitors were prepared to enjoy to the full; for after a battle nothing was more congenial to Maori warriors than to lie idly about the sunny places in the _pa_, and discuss in every detail the stirring incidents of the fight.

It was while thus basking in fancied security that the tables were suddenly turned upon them, and from a most unexpected quarter. Hearing from some of the fugitives of the capture of the Paekakariki _pa_, and burning to avenge the raid which Ngati-Toa had previously made into the Wairarapa, the members of the Ngati-Kahungunu tribe residing at Wairarapa and near Wellington believed that this was their golden opportunity. Secretly collecting a fighting force of considerable strength, they made their way through the bush to Paekakariki, and there fell upon the unwary and self-indulgent invaders. To them it was something of a novel experience to be thus repaid in their own tactics; but the swiftness and audacity with which the blow was delivered completely demoralised them, and the erstwhile assailants suffered the humiliation of being beaten back upon Waikanae with inglorious precipitancy. The whole procedure necessarily involved considerable loss on the part of Ngati-Toa and their allies, and the bitterness of the reverse was especially galling because it was the first occasion on which they had been worsted in arms since their occupation of the country had commenced. The closeness of the pursuit did not slacken until the fugitives had reached Waikanae; but beyond this point Ngati-Kahungunu did not press their advantage. They were now rushing into touch with Rauparaha's permanent settlements, from which the echoes of the strife might draw reinforcements at any moment. Unwilling to overrun their victory, the men from Whanganui-a-Tara withdrew to the south, well pleased with their achievement, which was not without its lesson for Te Rauparaha.

The chief saw that the time had not yet arrived when he could relax his life-long vigilance. Heavy as had been the defeats which he had inflicted upon the resident people, he saw that their spirit had not yet been completely crushed. Brave as his own followers were, he saw that they were not proof against the panic which often springs from a surprise attack. The thing, however, which caused him most concern was the hostile attitude which was now being adopted towards him by the Ngati-Kahungunu people. Hitherto this powerful tribe, whose domain was a wide and populous one on the eastern coast, had remained comparatively neutral in the contest for supremacy in the west. But now this attitude was abandoned, and under the encouragement afforded by this prospect of protection, the displaced tribes were gradually venturing back to their deserted settlements. Should an effective alliance be formed between his enemies on the two coasts, the position would at once become so charged with danger that his comparatively small force would find itself in a most critical situation. It was, then, the threatening attitude of his neighbours which caused the Ngati-Toa chief to decide finally upon the abandonment of the mainland and the transference of the whole of his people to Kapiti, there to await the result of his mission to his friends at Maungatautari. In the meantime three strongly fortified _pas_ were built upon the island, and every preparation made against possible attack. These _pas_, situated one at either end, and the third in the centre of the island, were designed with as keen an eye for trade as for the purposes of defence. Te Rauparaha had not lost sight of the main purpose of his conquest, which was to bring himself into close association with the whalers, from whom he hoped to obtain, by purchase, barter, or bullying, additions to his store of guns and ammunition. For this purpose Kapiti was easily the key to the position. Favoured by deep water and safe anchorage, it afforded the securest of shelter to vessels seeking to escape from the dirty weather which comes whistling through the Strait. Boats lying snugly at anchor under the lee of the land would have opportunities for trade from which all others would be cut off; and there is little doubt that this commercial advantage was coolly calculated upon when the _pas_ on the mainland were evacuated and those on the island were occupied. This much at least is certain, that, whether part of a premeditated scheme or otherwise, the move proved to be a masterstroke, for it gave to Te Rauparaha a virtual monopoly of the white man's patronage, a privilege which for years he guarded with jealous exclusiveness.

When it became known that Te Rauparaha had retired to Kapiti, and there seemed less danger of immediate molestation, the Rangitane people again began to collect in force near their old home at Hotuiti. They built a strong _pa_ near the present town of Foxton, and here they were joined by a number of Ngati-Apa chiefs and people from Rangitikei. This proceeding Te Rauparaha regarded as a danger and a menace to his safety; for he had no reason to believe that he enjoyed their friendship, and no means of ascertaining when they might think fit to wreak their vengeance upon him. He therefore decided to take the initiative and attack them. Accordingly, with Rangihaeata and his Ngati-Apa wife Pikinga, he marched his war party up the coast and at once invested the place. The method by which he sought to reduce the _pa_ to submission was a clever stratagem--perfectly honourable, perhaps, according to the Maori code of warfare--but utterly repulsive to civilised ideas; and, to those who judge him by the latter standard, it lowers Te Rauparaha from the high plane of a classic warrior to the level of a cunning and unscrupulous savage. His first act of generalship aimed at separating the two tribes, a step which has been attributed by some to a desire to spare the Ngati-Apa, because of their relationship with Pikinga. Others, however, can see in it nothing but a clever ruse to divide the defending force, so that he might the more easily attack and defeat them singly. He therefore sent Pikinga to the Ngati-Apa chiefs with a request that they would withdraw to their own territory beyond the Rangitikei River. Probably he promised them safe-conduct on their journey; but, if he did, it was of no avail, for they firmly refused to evacuate the Hotuiti _pa_, and doggedly remained where they were. Feigning, then, to abandon his campaign, Te Rauparaha sent to the Rangitane chiefs, inviting them to come to him and negotiate terms of peace.

In view of their past experiences it might have been expected that such a request would be scornfully declined; but after long and anxious debate it was decided--mainly, it is said, on the advice of the Ngati-Apa chiefs--that the leading Rangitane warriors should meet the Ngati-Toa leader and make the best terms possible with him. The result was, of course, the old story: the ruthless slaughter of the confiding ambassadors, who found that Te Rauparaha had come, not with peace, but unrelenting war. Treachery was no more suspected inside the _pa_ than out of it; and while the people were deluded into the belief that the war-clouds had passed away, they were being secretly and silently surrounded. At a given signal the walls were stormed and a bloody massacre followed, from which the Ngati-Toa warriors emerged sated with gruesome triumph. The slain were eaten on the spot, and the prisoners were taken to Waikanae, there to await the returning appetite of their captors.

So dastardly an attack upon their friends and so gross an insult to their tribal pride could not be ignored; and although time might elapse before the Ngati-Apa peoples would be able to strike an avenging blow, it was quite certain that so soon as the favourable moment arrived the Ngati-Toa would have to pay the penalty of their treachery. But Te Rauparaha never dreamed that they would have the temerity to attack him upon his own land, and while he was lying in fancied security at Waikanae, the storm suddenly burst upon him. The Ngati-Apa, under Te Hakeke, had hurriedly collected their war party, and obtaining reinforcements from the fugitives who had escaped from the massacre at Hotuiti, came by stealthy marches down the coast and fell upon the unsuspecting Ngati-Toa in the dead of night. Next morning the camp was in ruins, Te Rauparaha's force was in flight, and sixty of his followers, including four of Te Pehi's daughters, were lying dead amongst the _débris_. The balance of battle honours having been thus somewhat adjusted, the aggressors retired, well satisfied with the result. They were allowed to depart without a resumption of hostilities, for the supports who had come over from Kapiti were either not strong enough, or not keen enough, to pursue them.[61]

Whatever may have been Te Rauparaha's previous disposition towards Ngati-Apa, whether he was genuinely disposed to befriend them or whether he was merely playing on their credulity, is of no further importance, for from that day he took on an attitude of undisguised hostility towards them, revoking all promises of peace, stated or implied, and becoming, in the characteristic language of Matene-te-Whiwhi, "dark in his heart in regard to Ngati-Apa." The shield of friendship having been removed, this unfortunate tribe was now exposed to all the fury of the most ruthless man in New Zealand; and in the raids which his warriors made against them, neither man nor woman was spared who was unfortunate enough to fall into his hands. These misfortunes created a bond of sympathy between Ngati-Apa and their neighbours, the Rangitane and Muaupoko, and paved the way for an alliance against the common enemy. Although banished from Horowhenua and wandering about the solitary places of the coast, a broken and shattered people, there was still sufficient energy and hatred remaining in one of the Muaupoko chiefs to make a final effort to recover their departed _mana_.

Te Raki, who had suffered captivity at the hands of Te Pehi, aspiring, after his escape, to be the regenerator of his tribe, became the active apostle of a federation which was to embrace the tribes who had felt the weight of the Ngati-Toa hand. From Waitotara in the north to Arapawa and Massacre Bay in the south, and Wairarapa in the east, he organised an alliance which could hurl two thousand fighting men against their redoubtable adversary. Canoes from far and near brought this host to the appointed rendezvous, the northerners assembling at Otaki and the southerners at Waikanae. From these two points this army converged upon Kapiti, their canoes "darkening the sea" as they went. The magnitude of the armada, however, was greater than its discipline, and before it had proceeded far its movements were discovered. The noise of the paddles, as the canoes approached the island in the early morning, caught the keen ear of Nopera, and when the right wing landed at Rangatira Point, they were opposed by the people whom they had expected to surprise. The attack was fierce and desperate, and when Pokaitara, the Ngati-Toa commander, found himself being driven back towards Waiorua, he astutely proposed a truce. It would give him a welcome respite while it lasted, and perhaps some advantage in the first moment of its violation. Ignorant of the fact that a message had been sent to Te Rauparaha, who happened to be at the centre of the island, and hoping for the speedy arrival of his own laggard reinforcements, who were still at sea, Rangi-maire-hau, the Ngati-Apa chief from Turakina, in a weak moment, agreed to a suspension of hostilities. Scarcely had this been arranged, when Te Rauparaha, with the major part of his people, arrived upon the scene, and repudiating the agreement to which his lieutenant had committed himself, he recommenced the sanguinary work, and fought to such purpose that the issue was soon placed beyond doubt. With one hundred and seventy of their tribesmen slain, the Ngati-Apa attack began to slacken. Presently their ranks were seen to waver, and an impetuous charge at this decisive moment drove into rout what had hitherto been an impenetrable front. The slaughter of pursuit was scarcely less than that of resistance. Dead and dying lay on every side, and many found a watery grave in their vain effort to swim to the canoes, which had not yet reached the shore.

News that disaster had overtaken the advance guard quickly spread to the other sections of the allied forces; and, without attempting to retrieve the fortunes of the day, they turned and precipitately fled in whichever direction safety seemed to lie. When he realised that his host had been worsted in the battle, Rangi-maire-hau disdained to fly, but threw himself upon the mercy of Te Rangihaeata, who had borne himself with conspicuous bravery throughout the attack. That haughty chief, however, saw no reason why he should spread his protecting mantle over his would-be exterminator, even though the appeal was founded on the bond of relationship with his Ngati-Apa wife; and, steeling his heart against every entreaty, he ordered Rangi-maire-hau's immediate death. With this exception, it is recorded to the credit of Ngati-Toa that they used their victory with unusual moderation. Thus, the largest force which had ever been marshalled during the Maori wars along this coast was defeated by one of the smallest; the organisation of two years was dissipated in as many hours; and the invaders were only the more firmly established in the land by this futile attempt to uproot them. This great victory, which settled for ever the question of supremacy, was duly celebrated by feasting and dancing, during which Te Rauparaha chanted a song of triumph, which was especially offensive to his enemies, taunting them, as it did, with a lack of courage, and foretelling even greater misfortunes that were yet to befall them:--

"When will your anger dare?
When will your power arise?
Salute your child with your nose.
But how salute him now?
You will see the rejoicing tide
Of the warrior's coming glee,
And the departure of Rongo-ma-whiti."

While Te Rauparaha was enjoying the fruits of his victory, his forces received welcome reinforcements from two quarters. The news of battles fought and laurels won had reached Taranaki, where the Ngati-Tama chief, Te Puoho, and some of his followers, whose curiosity had been aroused by the tales told by their returned tribesmen, came down to learn the truth of the matter for themselves. Close upon their heels came the long-hoped-for band of Ngati-Raukawa, who signalised their advent by at once attacking the settlements in the Rangitikei and Manawatu districts. While one party skirted the coast,[62] the other struck inland, and under their chiefs, Te Whatu and Te Whetu, surrounded and captured a Ngati-Apa _pa_ at Rangiure, and then proceeded to Pikitane, where they killed a number of the resident people and made the rest prisoners. These two settlements had been taken completely by surprise, their people little dreaming that a war party was marching through the land. No better prepared were the Ngati-Apa then living at Awahuri, who were next attacked, and their chief, named Te Aonui, was added to the train of captives. The invaders then pushed their victorious march down the course of the Oroua River, as far as its junction with the Manawatu. Here they crossed the larger stream, and immediately attacked the _pa_ at Te Whakatipua. This assault was stoutly resisted by the chiefs, Kaihinu and Piropiro, who paid the penalty with their lives, but the remainder of the people who were not shot by the invaders were spared on proffering a humble submission. This was practically the only discreet course open to them. Not only were they placed at a serious disadvantage, away from their fighting _pas_, but many of the Ngati-Raukawa were armed with guns, while the Rangitane people had not as yet been able to discard the wooden spears and stone clubs of their forefathers.

The rapid movements of the Ngati-Raukawa, and the completeness of their captures, had prevented the news of their presence being despatched to the adjoining settlements; and, as a consequence, when they ascended the Manawatu and came upon the little _pa_ at Rotoatane, situated not far from Tiakitahuna,[63] they were able to attack and capture it almost before the people could be summoned from the fields. Not that it was a bloodless victory. A Rangitane chief, named Tina, fought with desperation, and, before he was overpowered by superior numbers, three of the assailants were stretched dead at his feet. Once more the advance was sounded, the objective this time being the _pa_ at Tiakitahuna itself. This settlement was under the chieftainship of Toringa and Tamati Panau, the latter being the father of the chief Kerei te Panau,[64] who until recently lived at Awapuni. These men were evidently more alert than their neighbours, for no sooner did the _taua_ come in sight than they took to their canoes and paddled across to the opposite bank of the river. While the two tribes were thus ranged on opposite sides of the stream, the Rangitane had time to consider the position. Tamati Panau was the first to seek an explanation, by calling out to Te Whatu, "Where is the war party from?" Clear and quick came the answer back, "From the north." That was sufficient for Toringa, who had already tested the mettle of the northerners, and he at once sent a curse across the water, hurled at the heads of the invaders with all the venom that tribal hatred and a sense of injured vanity could instil. Whether it was the dread of Toringa's denunciation, or whether the Ngati-Raukawa were satisfied with their unbroken course of victory, is not clear to the present-day historian; but the Rangitane traditions relate that, after firing a single shot from one of their muskets, the invaders retired from the district, taking their prisoners with them, and made their way south to join Te Rauparaha, who was anxiously awaiting their coming.

The prospect opened up to these new-comers was far beyond anything that they had dreamed. In fact, so fascinated was Te Ahu-karamu with the new and beautiful country which his great kinsman had conquered that, after a reasonable rest, he returned to Taupo for the purpose of bringing the whole of his people away from a position which was daily becoming more exposed to the aggression of the Waikato tribes. But his designs in this direction were nearly thwarted by the persistency with which the tribe clung to their northern home, even in defiance of his threat to invoke the wrath of his _atua_[65] if they dared to question the command of their chief. Finding that the terrors of his god had no influence upon them, Karamu adopted an instrument of the devil, and, taking a torch in his hand, brought his obdurate tribesmen to their senses by burning every house in the _pa_ to the ground. Rendered thus houseless and homeless, there was nothing for the dejected people to do but to follow their imperious leader. In his journey back to Kapiti he was joined by two of the most famous chiefs of that day--Te Whatanui and Te Heuheu, the former of whom was destined to become the patriarch of Horowhenua and the protector of its persecuted people. Collecting a strong retinue of followers, the three chiefs set off in 1825 by the same route which Karamu had previously travelled down the valley of the Rangitikei, varying the monotony of the journey[66] through the Ngati-Apa country by occasionally chasing frightened fugitives, in order to gratify their pride and glut their appetite.

Upon their arrival at Kapiti long and anxious consultations followed between the chiefs, the result of which was that Te Whatanui at last consented to migrate[67] and throw in his fortunes with Te Rauparaha. This was eventually accomplished in 1828-29, the consolidation of the Ngati-Toa and Ngati-Raukawa tribes making their future absolutely secure and bringing Te Rauparaha's wildest dreams of conquest within measurable distance of accomplishment. His broadened aspirations had long before this extended across the Strait; and, next to the conquest of the coast on which he was now operating, it had become his greatest ambition to measure his strength against the natives of the Middle Island. Their reputed wealth in greenstone had aroused his avarice, while the prospect of acquiring additional territory appealed strongly to his love of power.

But before he was able to perfect his plans for carrying into effect this new stroke of aggression, an event occurred which was destined to have important results. It will be remembered that the crowning circumstance which had induced Te Rauparaha to leave Kawhia was the sight of a vessel beating through Cook Strait. He had there and then settled in his mind that this part of the coast was soon to become an important rendezvous for whalers, &c., and already his anticipations were being realised with an amazing rapidity. The whalers were now frequent visitors to Kapiti, and many were the marvels which they brought in their train. But most of all were the natives absorbed in the prospect of securing from these rough seafarers guns and ammunition, steel tomahawks, and other weapons, which would give them an advantage over their enemies in the only business then worth consideration--the business of war. Many of these ships, however, had not come prepared for this traffic,[68] and the lack of guns, rather than any hesitation to part with them, made the process of arming a tribe a slow one. It had at least proved much too slow for some of the more restless spirits of the race; and impatience, added to a natural love of adventure, had led some of them to ship to Sydney, and even to England, in the hope of bringing back with them the means of accelerating their enemies' destruction. Of these latter Hongi had been a conspicuous example, and the success which had attended his mission to England roused a spirit of emulation in the breasts of other chiefs, who were only waiting the opportunity of following his example. Of these, Te Pehi Kupe, the conqueror of Kapiti, was one of the few who were signally successful. Knowing no language but his own, having only the vaguest notions of what a voyage to England meant, and a very precarious prospect of ever being brought back, this man had thrown himself on board an English whaler, and, resolute against all dissuasions, and even against physical force, had insisted upon being carried to a country of which he had but two ideas--King George, of whom he had heard, and guns, which he had seen and hoped to possess.

Thus it came about that, while the ship _Urania_ was lying becalmed in Cook Strait, about five or six miles from the land, on February 26, 1824, Captain Reynolds perceived three large canoes, fully manned, approaching the vessel. Doubtful what such a demonstration might portend, Captain Reynolds put his ship in a condition to resist an attack if necessary; and when the canoes were within hail, he, by word and sign, endeavoured to warn them off. Had he chosen, he might easily have sent the frail-looking barques to the bottom by a single shot from the ship's guns; but, unlike many another skipper of those days, Captain Reynolds was a man actuated by considerations which went beyond himself, and the thought of the retaliation which might fall upon other mariners coming to the shores of New Zealand restrained him from committing any such act of brutality. Fortunately there was no need for drastic action, and the behaviour of the natives was such as to leave no doubt in the mind of the captain that their intentions were of a peaceable character. Te Pehi boldly directed his crew to paddle alongside the ship, and, divesting himself of all his clothing except a mat which was slung across his shoulders, he, with the swiftness of an athlete, climbed on board. When he reached the deck, he endeavoured by signs and gestures to convey to Captain Reynolds that what he wanted was arms and ammunition, and, on being informed that the ship had none to spare, he coolly indicated that, such being the case, he had decided to remain on board and proceed to Europe[69] to see King George. These words he had evidently learned from some of Captain Reynolds' predecessors, for he was able to pronounce them with sufficient distinctness to be clearly understood. The audacity of this proposal completely staggered the master of the _Urania_, and he at once tried to nip such ambitious hopes in the bud by peremptorily ordering the chief back to his canoe. Te Pehi, however, met this direction by calling to his men to move the canoe away from the ship, and the captain next sought to give his command practical force by throwing the chief overboard, in the hope and belief that the canoes would pick him up out of the sea. But in this he was again checkmated. The chief threw himself down on the deck and seized hold of two ring-bolts, with so powerful a grip that it was impossible to tear him away without such violence as the humanity of Captain Reynolds would not permit. At this critical juncture a light breeze sprang up, and Te Pehi improved the favourable circumstance by ordering his men to paddle to the shore, as he was going to see King George, and that he would soon return. This command was at once obeyed, and the breeze carrying the _Urania_ off the land, Captain Reynolds was reluctantly compelled to keep the chief on board that night. But, far from satisfied with his self-constituted passenger, he next day made another effort to force Te Pehi on shore, and nearly lost his ship in the attempt. This narrow escape, and the favourable conditions for getting away from New Zealand, to some extent reconciled the captain to an acceptance of the situation; but his chagrin was as great as was the delight of the chief, when it was found that there was no option but to keep him on board for the remainder of the voyage.

With more intimate acquaintance, the relations between the captain and chief grew to be of the most friendly nature, and they lived together, both on shipboard and on shore, the captain taking a kindly interest in explaining to his protégé the mysteries of the great world upon which he was entering, while the native clung to his new-found friend with a confiding affection.[70] The _Urania_ ultimately reached Liverpool, where Te Pehi was the subject of much public attention. He was shown over the principal manufactories in Manchester and London, his great anxiety to see King George was gratified, and, although he was subject to a good deal of sickness, yet, thanks to the care of Captain Reynolds, he made an excellent recovery. After about a year's residence in England, he was placed on board H.M. ship _The Thames_, and in October, 1825, he sailed for his native land, loaded with presents of clothing and agricultural implements, which were given him by benevolently minded people in the hope that, combined with the knowledge of their use and blessing, which he had acquired in England, they would exercise an elevating influence upon his countrymen when he should return amongst them. Vain hope; for on his arrival at Sydney, Te Pehi reversed the beautiful biblical allegory, and turned his pruning hooks into spears and his ploughshares into guns and ammunition, to aid in the work of waging eternal warfare against the enemies of his tribe.[71]

Early in the year 1824, and immediately after Te Pehi's departure for England, Te Rauparaha found that, in consequence of the many recent additions to his forces, the number of natives who had placed themselves under his command was then sufficient to enable him to begin the main purpose of his conquest, namely, the systematic occupation of the land.[72] He and his own immediate tribe having decided to occupy the island of Kapiti, where they could be in closer touch with the whalers, he now proceeded to partition the country along the coast amongst the new arrivals. The first division led to civil war and domestic feuds between a section of Ngati-Raukawa and the Ngati-Tama from Taranaki, under Te Puoho, which at one time threatened to destroy all that he had already accomplished; and it was not until a new allotment was agreed upon, by which Ngati-Awa, to whom Ngati-Tama were closely related, were given exclusive possession of the country south of the Kukutauaki stream, and the Ngati-Raukawa sole dominion over the district northward of that boundary as far as the Wangaehu River, that his power to resist his enemies was restored by the restoration of harmony amongst his friends. Not that there was any immediate danger of attack; for his incessant raids upon the Ngati-Apa and Muaupoko tribes had reduced them to the condition of a shattered and fugitive remnant, incapable alike of organised attack or organised defence.

It was probably one of the proudest days of Te Rauparaha's life when, standing on Kapiti, he formally transferred the whole of the coast to his followers by right of conquest, than which no Maori could hope for a better title, and proclaimed to the assembled people the precise districts which were to be their future homes, where they were to cultivate, to catch eels, to snare and spear birds. These dispositions, however, did not imply that he was prepared to surrender his supreme authority over the lands, and the fact that he desired to, and intended to, retain his right of suzerainty was made abundantly clear. "The lands I now give you are in our joint rule, but I shall be greater in power than you individually"; such were the terms in which the transfer was made, and the people acquiesced in a unanimous "It is right, O Raha! it is as you say." But Ngati-Toa, Ngati-Raukawa and Ngati-Awa were commissioned to do something more than merely occupy the land. In imperious tones the great chief commanded them: "Clear the weeds from off my field." In other and less figurative words, they were to kill and persecute the conquered peoples without pity and without mercy; and perhaps it would have been well for Ngati-Raukawa had they more faithfully obeyed his instructions, instead of extending a sheltering arm to Ngati-Apa and Muaupoko, both of whom subsequently proved themselves so unworthy of this clemency.[73]

Under the arrangement thus determined upon at Kapiti the country round the beautiful lake at Horowhenua was taken possession of by that grand old member of a magnificent race, Te Whatanui, and those people who had come from the north with him. The district now known as Lower Manawatu was occupied by another section of the Ngati-Raukawa people, under Te Whetu, and, still higher up, Rangitikei came under the dominion of Nepia Taratoa, a chief who seems to have been as generous to Ngati-Apa as Whatanui was to Muaupoko. Southward of Horowhenua, as far as the present harbour of Wellington, the country was subsequently given over to Ngati-Awa, who were in settled possession when the first European colonists arrived. Here in 1825-26 Pomare, their chief, led the Ngati-Mutunga _hapu_ of the Ngati-Awa people, who forcibly occupied the shores of the great bay, where they hoped to cultivate the friendship of the whalers,[74] whose commerce was so profitable to them. Their tenure, however, was not an undisputed one. They were subjected to frequent raids and incessant harassment from the Wairarapa tribe, whom they had displaced, and who deeply resented being thus deprived of their one avenue of communication with the _pakeha_. This tribe, though powerless to retrieve the aggression of Ngati-Awa, missed no opportunity of irritating them, and Pomare was not reluctant to hand over his trust to some other chief, so soon as he could be honourably relieved of it. This opportunity came when, after the fall of the Puke-rangiora _pa_ in 1831, the survivors of that (for Ngati-Awa) disastrous day, together with the flower of their tribe from their other settlements, abandoned Taranaki, and came down, a fugitive host, to shelter under the protecting wing of Te Rauparaha.

With Te Puni, Wi Tako, and Wharepouri, an arrangement was entered into in 1834, whereby the land round the harbour and the right to contest the ownership of the territory with the unexterminated portion of the Ngati-Kahungunu were to be ceded to them for the consideration of a greenstone _mere_. Pomare was perhaps the more ready to relinquish possession of what is now amongst the most valuable land in the Dominion, because he had become possessed of information which seemed to open up a much more agreeable prospect than resisting the inconvenient incursions of his Wairarapa enemies. One of the young men of his tribe, Paka-whara, who had shipped on board a whaler, had just returned from a southern cruise, with the intelligence that the Chatham Islands were populated by a sleek and inoffensive people, who might be expected to fall an easy prey to such hardened veterans in war as Ngati-Awa could now furnish. Pomare at once acted upon the inspiration; and chartering, partly by payment and partly by intimidation, the British brig _Rodney_, he sailed with his followers in November, 1835, for the Chathams, where, by a fearful destruction of human life, the well-conditioned, unwarlike Morioris were reduced within the short space of two years to a remnant of two hundred souls.

Whether the allocation of these districts to these particular chiefs was due to their own choice or to the will of Te Rauparaha is not known; but in the case of Te Whetu the former appears to have been the fact. During the raid which he made upon Manawatu while migrating to Kapiti, he had secured amongst his captives a handsome young Rangitane woman named Hinetiti, whose charms so pleased him that when he reached Kapiti he made her his wife. Hine's gentleness moved her lord and master in a way that sterner methods would not, and she soon obtained such an influence over him that her will became his desire. Doubtless the memory of her old home was ever present with her, even amongst the beauties of Kapiti; and, when the partition of the country was being spoken of in the _kaingas_, she urged Te Whetu to take her back to the banks of the Manawatu, where she might be once more with her friends and relatives. In deference to this wish, Te Whetu brought her to a little settlement named Te Iwi te Kari, near Foxton. With them came the Ngati-Wehiwehi _hapu_, bringing the prisoners whom they had taken eighteen months before, and together they occupied the district around Matai-Kona.

The Manawatu was still well stocked with Rangitane, for many of their larger settlements in the upper portion of the district had not been so completely depopulated as some of the more southern _pas_ by the captures and slaughters of the marauding northerners. The presence of the Ngati-Raukawa in the midst of their country put no check upon their freedom, and, according to their ancient custom, they moved about from one _kainga_ to another at their pleasure. Indeed, the relations between the Rangitane and Ngati-Raukawa appear to have been of the most friendly nature after the return of the captives from Kapiti, a fact which the former attribute to the marriage of Te Whetu with their chieftainess, but which in reality was due to the generosity of the Ngati-Raukawa, who, had they chosen, might have left nothing but smoking ruins and bleaching bones to tell of the Rangitane's former existence.

The feeling, however, was not so cordial between the Rangitane and the natives immediately under the leadership of Te Rauparaha, who allowed no circumstance to mitigate his extreme desire for revenge; and, although no pitched battles took place, there were occasional skirmishes and massacres which served to keep alive the fires of hate. In like manner he constantly harried the Muaupoko and such members of the Ngati-Apa tribe as he now and then fell in with, until these people, feeling life to be unbearable if they were to be hunted like beasts of prey, decided to place themselves beyond the reach of so relentless a tormentor. They accordingly, to the number of three hundred souls, including women and children, determined upon flight into the Wairarapa; and there they threw themselves upon the mercy of the Ngati-Kahungunu, who might be expected to display some sympathy for other victims of the suffering from which they themselves had not escaped. But here again the hapless people were doomed to a bitter experience. Instead of being received with the open arms of welcome, they were cruelly set upon and driven back over the Tararua Ranges, because of some old and unavenged act of violence which their friends had committed, but of which they had probably never heard.