Old New Zealand: A Tale of the Good Old Times: And a History of the War in the North against the Chief Heke, in the Year 1845Maning, Frederick Edward
History
Old New Zealand: A Tale of the Good Old Times: And a History of the War in the North against the Chief Heke, in the Year 1845
Maning, Frederick Edward
Māori (New Zealand people) -- Social life and customs; New Zealand -- Description and travel
This head, I found on enquiry, was not the head of an enemy. A small
party of our friends had been surprised; two brothers were flying for
their lives down a hill-side; a shot broke the leg of one of them and
he fell; the enemy were close at hand; already the exulting cry "_na!
na! mate rawa!_" was heard; the wounded man cried to the brother, "Do
not leave my head a plaything for the foe." There was no time for
deliberation. The brother _did not_ deliberate; a few slashes with the
tomahawk saved his brother's head, and he escaped with it in his hand,
dried it, and brought it home; and the old woman was the mother,--the
young ones were cousins. There was no sister, as I heard, when I
enquired. All the heads on the hill were heads of enemies, and several
of them are now in museums in Europe.
With reference to the knowing remarks of the pakeha who accosted me on
the hill on the state of the head market, I am bound to remark that
my friend Mr. ---- never speculated in this "article;" but the
skippers of many of the colonial trading schooners were always ready
to deal with a man who had "a real good head," and used to commission
such men as my companion of the morning to "pick up heads" for them.
It is a positive fact that some time after this the head of a live man
was sold and paid for beforehand, and afterwards honestly delivered
"as per agreement."
The scoundrel slave who had the conscience to run away with his own
head after the trouble and expense had been gone to to tattoo it to
make it more valuable, is no fiction either. Even in "the good old
times" people would sometimes be found to behave in the most dishonest
manner. But there are good and bad to be found in all times and
places.
Now if there is one thing I hate more than another it is the
raw-head-and-bloody-bones style of writing, and in these random
reminiscences I shall avoid all particular mention of battles,
massacres, and onslaughts, except there be something particularly
characteristic of my friend the Maori in them. As for mere hacking and
hewing, there has been enough of that to be had in Europe, Asia, and
America of late, and very well described too, by numerous "our
correspondents." If I should have to fight a single combat or two,
just to please the ladies, I shall do my best not to get killed, and
hereby promise not to kill any one myself if I possibly can help it.
I, however, hope to be excused for the last two or three pages, as it
was necessary to point out that in the good old times, if one's own
head was not sufficient, it was quite practicable to get another.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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