BY A TARANAKI VETERAN
DURING the Summer of 1873 I was living at Opunake, being manager of the Opunake Company's flax mill, and being in charge of the Europeans in that part of the district, as they worked at the mill, matters were brought more prominently to my notice than they otherwise would have been, and I had special facilities for seeing the full workings and effect of the muru of Te Namu kainga, the greatest muru that had been known on that coast in the memory of the oldest Maori.
Our mill and dwelling houses were situate on the south bank of the Otahi stream, and on the north bank, not far from the spot where Miss Dobie was afterwards murdered, was a Maori kainga, or village, of some twenty-five or thirty houses, usually called Te Namu pa, though it was not the real Te Namu, famous for Wi Kingi's defence against the Waikato war-party in about the year 1835; that was an intrenched position near the mouth of Otahi stream, about half-mile more to seaward.
One morning, about seven o'clock, while I was at breakfast a Maori woman rushed into the room crying out, “Kahui has run away with Lydia.” As our ideas of Maori morality were not of a high order, the news caused but a mild excitement, and I simply said, “Well, what then?” The woman, astonished at my indifference, drew herself up, and in an angry tone repeated, “What then, what then, why there will be a big row, that's ‘What then,’” and stalked indignantly out of the room. I laughed, went on with my breakfast, and thought no more about the matter.
About the middle of the morning, however, some of the leading men of the village came to Mr. Black—our store-keeper and paymaster—and myself, and told us, with grave and anxious faces, there was sure to be trouble over this escapade of Kahui's; that as the parties concerned were of high rank, the relatives, friends, and connections (other than those living in Te Namu) of the guilty parties, intended to muru Te Namu, that is, rob the inhabitants of the village of all they possessed as utu (payment) for Kahui's offence, he being of high-rank in the village.
One of the men who came to us with the news, was a regular old savage, a real old man-eater, and - 98 though he knew he would be robbed of all his belongings, he was in ecstasies at the prospect of the revival of a good old custom; he danced around, he leaped and yelled, he quivered his hands and smacked his thighs, “Aha! Aha!” he cried, “the Maoris of this day think they know all about muru, they think when a horse or a cow, or a pig is taken, that is a muru. But you and they will see a sight that has not been seen on this coast for a hundred years; you will see a real muru,” and, carried away by his feelings, he cried out, “O it is good to have lived to see this day,” and quivered and shook and turned up the whites of his eyes and lolled out his tongue in a most diabolical manner. We were intensely amused at the antics of the old savage, but began to have a dim perception that a muru after the manner of the good old-times, might not be a matter for universal rejoicing.
And now I will digress for a moment to explain what all this fuss was about. Kahui te Kararehe was a young and handsome chief of high rank in the Opunake district, and lived at Te Namu. He was already taking a leading position in the district, being clever, energetic, and possessing a soft and winning voice, and persuasive tongue. Lydia was a handsome half-caste, tall and graceful, and fair in colour, and Kahui was madly in love with her, and she returned his passion. Kahui wanted to marry her, but having years previously been betrothed and married to a half-negress named Betty, a daughter of black Davis (who boasted he was the first white man who came to Taranaki) the chiefs would not allow him to have Lydia. Whilst Lydia—to use a Scotch expression—was married on to Aperama, a young chief of high rank living in Parihaka. Kahui's marriage with Betty was not a happy one, nor was Lydia's with Aperama, and the trouble culminated in Kahui's eloping with Lydia.
As both Kahui and Aperama were of considerable consequence—prospectively—in the district, the chiefs within a radius of fifteen to twenty miles of Te Namu, decided the event should be marked in an emphatic manner, by reviving in its full power and consequences, the ancient law of muru. Hence the dread and down caste looks of the Maoris who came to us, and the exultant delight of the old savage.
That afternoon those of us who were at times outside the mill, saw the Maoris from the nearest kainga (Matakaha—about a mile to the south of Te Namu) both men and women, troop past on their way to Te Namu, and after a time return, laughing gaily, and laden with old clothes, blankets, boxes, kits, eel-baskets, cooking utensils—and in fact all the moveable possessions of the village on which they could lay their hands. Our Maoris—as I may term them—were left with nothing but the clothes they had on them, and their guns and some food they had hidden.
After dark the men came to Mr. Black and handed him in their guus, asking him to hide them away, as should - 99 any of the muru parties find them they would at once be taken possession of, as part of the spoil; and they also requested him on no account to return them until the muru was ended, for said they, “We may be hard pressed, more than we can bear, and we might be tempted to use the guns, and that would be bad for us, and for you.” Mr. Black accordingly promised to hide away the guns, and give them up to neither friend nor foe, until the trouble was over; but he little knew the difficulties in store, nor the pressure he would have to resist.
The next morning (the 2nd day) the Maoris from Umuroa, Nuku-te-apiapi and Waitaha villages, to the northward of Te Namu, came trooping in, and spent nearly the whole day in raiding every fowl, duck, goose, turkey, and pig in the vicinity of or on the lands belonging to the village; not a feathered biped or grunter was left, and our Maoris began to look exceedingly gloomy.
On the third day the Maoris from Taungatara, Punehu and Ouri villages—between Opunake and Oeo—came and took away every horse, bullock, cow and calf they could find, not a hoof was left; and we had to carefully muster our horses and working bullocks and pen them, for fear they also should be taken. Even the old savage looked glum, and thought the affair had gone far enough; but the muru was by no means ended. By this time they had been robbed of every moveable thing they possessed, excepting the hidden food, and the guns in Mr. Black's charge.
Early on the morning of the fourth day a runner came from Parihaka to Te Namu, with the news that an armed party had left Parihaka, and were coming to have their share of the muru. “But,” said our Maoris, when telling us this, “what can they get, we have only our houses and our lives left, and they may be coming to kill us,” and then they demanded from Mr. Black their guns back again, in order that if things came to the worst they could defend their lives and the lives of their wives and children; it would not have been etiquette for them to leave their kainga until all was over. But Mr. Black wisely refused their request, as in the event of fighting we would be between two fires. We learned that the war-party—taua—would be at Te Namu by 11 a.m.; and as there was likely to be an exciting time, we closed the mill soon after ten o'clock, and went to Te Namu to see all we could.
Not a Maori was there but those belonging to the hapu, it evidently was not correct for any but the principals to be present. The Maoris tried to persuade us to retire, as they knew not what would happen, and we might—accidently—be shot; but we had come to see the show, and refused to budge. We—there were about 20 of us—posted ourselves on a slight eminence on one side of the village, where we could see all that would happen. Our Maoris occupied a slope just across a hollow which lay between us, and about twenty yards - 100 distant, the men in front squatting down, the women cowering behind. The side of the village towards Parihaka was left open.
At about a quarter to eleven, we heard the Maoris coming along the track from Umuroa; we heard an occasional sound of a chant rising or falling as they passed over hills or hollows, and at times there were volleys from their guns. They evidently desired to create an impression before their arrival. The track was hidden with a dense growth of flax, tutu and toetoe, and though we could hear we could not see. The noises continued until the war-party was within about one hundred yards of the village, and then there was silence; a long, painful, anxious silence. I looked towards our Maoris, and the men were rigid and immovable as statues, but for an occasional quiver of a muscle, showing the intensity of the strain upon them, they might have been images of wood or stone.
Presently, amidst the stillness, we could hear an occasional faint rustle, and judged the enemy was taking up its position near the edge of the scrub surrounding the village, and again there was intense silence.
On a sudden the air was rent with screams, such screams as could emanate only from the throats of highly cultured female savages, and then two old hags, I verily believe the ugliest that could be produced in the district, sprang screaming, leaping and dancing into view. They were absolutely naked, and to add to their hideousness—if such a thing were possible—they had rolled themselves in the black mud of the raupo swamp. Each held in her hand a lighted torch, and each danced, screamed and reviled our Maoris in the choicest “Billingsgate” they possessed, and their vocabulary was an extensive one. They worked themselves up to a pich of frenzy, tore their cheeks and breasts with their sharp nails, until the blood ran down over the filth on their bodies; and at last seeming to be able to control themselves no longer, each rushed to a whare and shoved the blazing torch into the sides and roof; the raupo and toetoe, dry as tinder, blazed up in a flash, and they ran from whare to whare, until every one in the village was in flames.
A glance at our Maoris showed the awful strain upon them, they had drawn their blankets over their heads, and crouched forwards, their heads down almost to their knees. The two hags having done their worst retired, and not a sign of the enemy could be seen, nor a sound heard. But their silence and immobility was in a moment to change into active life; a cry went up from one of our Maori women that an old bedridden Maori had been left in one of the whares, and was being burned to death. Men, both friends and foes, rushed forward and reckless of burnt hands, arms or bodies, commenced frantically to pull down the whare, but it turned out to be a false alarm, and back each went to their places, our Maoris - 101 to their former position and attitude, and the enemy to their hiding places in the flax and scrub.
The burning went on merrily, and in a comparatively short time nothing remained to show where the whares had stood, but so many heaps of smouldering ashes, and then when the last frame had fallen, when the last tongue of flame had died down, the war-party entered the village, headed by an old fighting chief named Tamihana, and took up their position—squatting, with their guns between their knees—opposite to our Maoris, a space of about ten yards separating them; a beaten track running down the hollow lay between the two parties; the chief marched up and down this path in a slow and dignified manner. He was a stately but excitable old warrior, tattooed to perfection, he carried in his hand a splendid taiaha, which he used to give point and force to his speech; he soon worked himself up to a pitch of frenzy, would march one way in a slow and dignified manner, turning at the end with a yell and spring, and ceme rushing back raving and dancing, waving his taiaha, then on reaching the end of his self appointed beat, would turn, walk quietly back, turn with a yell and spring at the end, and so on for nearly half-an-hour. At times he would violently revile the Maoris, at others would lament in pathetic terms the disgrace they—through Te Kahui—had brought upon, not themselves but, Parihaka. “Oh Parihaka, Parihaka,” he once exclaimed, “my heart grieves for you, and for the shame brought upon you by this people.” At last, having exhausted both his subject and himself, he sat down at the head of and in front of his men; and then (but it is hard for a mere Pakeha to credit this) the wives of our Maoris brought forward food they had cooked, and actually waited upon and feasted the wretches who had burnt them out of house and home. None but the enemy touched the food, our men sat perfectly still, and apparently unconscious of what was going on; and when the food was consumed the enemy, without a word to our party or even a look at them, rose and departed by the way they had come.
Everything had been done in perfect order, and in accordance with the best of their old traditions. When the last man had gone, and the sounds of their tramping had died away, our Maoris, with a sigh of relief, a long drawn inspiration, rose to their feet, and we went towards them; “Well,” we said, “the muru is now over, the enemy has done his worst, and you have nothing more to fear.” But one of the chiefs said bitterly, “No, it is not over, Titoko-waru, and his warriors from Omuturangi, have still to come.” “But,” we said “of what use will be his coming, you have nothing left?” “Yes,” was the gloomy reply, “we have our lives.”
That evening and the next morning were anxious times for all, the blood-thirsty, one-eyed Titoko was not the man to spare anyone until he had received full utu for his fancied wrongs. At about 9 o'clock the - 102 next morning (the fifth day of the Muru) the news came that Titokowaru and a war-party had started from Omuturangi, and were on their way to claim their share of the muru. Our Maoris were in despair, and practically demanded back their guns, but Mr. Black, knowing the danger of a collision with Titoko, that we as well as the Maoris might be swept out of the district or from off the face of the earth, was firm and refused to show where the guns were hidden. At last, at about eleven o'clock, when the excitement had reached fever heat, a messenger came galloping in, his horse in a white lather, and cried out the danger was over.
Hone Pihama of Oeo had intercepted Titokowaru, and bribed him with a present of bullocks to turn back, that Tito had graciously accepted the bullocks in full payment of his claim, and that the muru had ended, without the shedding of blood.
And whilst all this trouble was on, Kahui and Lydia were spending their honeymoon in an old clearing some miles up the Oeo stream, and a few days after the muru was over they returned. Kahui all smiles and jubilant at having won his old flame, and Lydia dignified, but a little shy of the new honours which had come to her.
Kahui was very pleased at having been able to confer lasting honour upon his hapu, in making them the victims in such a splendid muru, the greatest on record; the fact that they were homeless and lost all they possessed did not trouble him in the least, it was but a temporary inconvenience which would soon pass away, but the honour would last for all time.
On meeting him I asked, “Well, Kahui, what is to become of Lydia now?” “Lydia,” he exclaimed, “why Lydia is my wife, I bought her with the muru.” “How can that be,” I said, “Betty is your wife.” “No, no,” he replied, “Lydia is my wife now, hang Betty, she can go and get another man.” On making further enquiries I found that what Kahui had told me was true; the muru had dissolved the marriges of Kahui and Betty, of Aperama and Lydia, and had soleminized the marriage of Kahui and Lydia; she became his legal wife according to Maori custom, and she remained his wife so long as he lived.