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
"accidents and offences" would be atoned for by a milder form of
operation. But the general effect was to keep personal property
circulating from hand to hand pretty briskly, or indeed to convert it
into public property; for no man could say who would be the owner of
his canoe or blanket in a month's time. Indeed, in that space of time,
I once saw a nice coat, which a native had got from the captain of a
trading schooner, and which was an article much coveted in those days,
pass through the hands, and over the backs, of six different owners,
and return, considerably the worse for wear, to the original
purchaser; and all these transfers had been made by legal process of
_muru_. I have been often myself paid the compliment of being robbed
for little accidents occurring in my family, and have several times
also, from a feeling of politeness, robbed my Maori friends, though I
can't say I was a great gainer by these transactions. I think the
greatest haul I ever made was about half a bag of shot, which I
thought a famous joke, seeing that I had sold it the day before to the
owner for full value. A month after this I was disturbed early in the
morning by a voice shouting, "Get up!--get up! I will kill you this
day. You have roasted my grandfather. Get up!--_stand_ up!" I, of
course, guessed that I had committed some heinous though involuntary
offence, and the "stand up" hinted the immediate probable
consequences; so out I turned, spear in hand, and who should I see,
armed with a bayonet on the end of a long pole, but my friend the
umwhile owner of the bag of shot. He came at me with pretended fury,
made some smart bangs and thrusts, which I parried, and then
explained to me that I had "cooked his grandfather;" and that if I did
not come down handsome in the way of damages, deeply as he might
regret the necessity, his own credit, and the law of _muru_, compelled
him either to sack my house or die in the attempt. I was glad enough
to prevent either event, by paying him two whole bags of shot, two
blankets, divers fish-hooks, and certain figs of tobacco, which he
demanded. I found that I had really and truly committed a most horrid
crime. I had on a journey made my fire at the foot of a tree, in the
top of which the bones of my friend's grandfather had once been
deposited, but from which they had been removed ten years before; the
tree caught fire and had burnt down: and I, therefore, by a convenient
sort of figure of speech, had "roasted his grandfather," and had to
pay the penalty accordingly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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