LITMIR.BIZ

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and he was all in all to his people. He helped and consoled them in time of trouble, read their fate in the stars, their future in a host of natural objects, and interpreted their dreams. On one day he saw visions and prophesied; on the next he was busy with the work of a Lord Lyon or Garter King-of-Arms, instructing the Master of the Moko on behalf of some lusty warrior desirous of commemorating his own doughty deeds;[44] while he selected on a third a name for an infant, or presided at the obsequies of some notable chief or rangatira.

      In Maori mythology Rangi, Heaven, and Papa, Earth, long ago dwelt in happiness with their six children, but the brothers, with the exception of the god of winds and storms, rebelled against their parents, and cruelly dragged them apart.

      Yet their love remains unshaken, and Earth's sighs of longing, draped in clinging mist, every day ascend to Heaven; while Heaven's tears, a rain of refreshing dew, fall all night long upon Earth's sorrowful breast.

      Rangi and Papa were in part avenged. Their dutiful son, Tawhiri-ma-tea, rushed against the rebels, thunder rolling, lightning flashing, hailstones rattling and hurricanes raging in his van. Scared by this stupendous manifestation of wrathful force, Tangaroa hurled himself into the sea, Rongomatane and Haumiatikitiki buried themselves under the earth they had insulted, and Tane Mahuta called upon his forests to cover him. Only Tumatauenga, father of men and god of war, stood firm, scowling defiance at his brother of the storm.

      

      So has it been ever since, and Tawhiri-ma-tea, unable to overthrow his brother, continues to take a bitter vengeance upon the war-god's children. Men, whom he pursues on sea and land with tempest and tornado, ever seeking to slay and make an end.

      Under the collective name of Atua, the above were the principal gods of the Maori. Every tribe possessed an honoured tohunga-whakairo, or woodcarver; but the quaint finial figures upon the gables of their houses were not adored as gods, the Children of Maui never having been idolaters.

      The Maori looked forward to a future existence wherein their state and condition would remain very much as they had been in this world. A slave in life continued a slave after death, and, when a great chief died, several of his slaves were slain, that he might not go unattended among his fellow shades.

      The abodes of the departed were Rangi, occupied on different planes by gods and men of heroic type, and Reinga, under the sea at the extreme north of the North Island, where dwelt only the spirits of men.

      There was no question of reward or punishment. The dead simply continued to exist in spirit form, occasionally revisiting the scenes of their former life. These visitors preferably occupied the bodies of lizards, which explains the abhorrence in which these reptiles were held by the Maori, who, though they revered and prayed to their ancestors, were terribly afraid of meeting their pale ghosts, or transmigrated souls.

      The tohunga, or sorcerers, exercised unbounded influence over the minds of the Maori. Their duties on occasion coincided with those of the ariki, and their position, too, was hereditary; but, while men revered, and often loved their chief, their respect for the tohunga was tinctured with fear and, not seldom, with hate. The chief could lay tapu upon a man, which was bad enough; but the tohunga could bewitch him outright, condemning the poor wretch to loss of worldly gear, aches and pains, and even to death itself. The ariki thought it no shame to go in dread of the tohunga, while, let the tutua, or common fellow, be once convinced that the malign eye of the wizard had bewitched him, and he not infrequently laid him down and died.

      There did not exist among the Maori a middle class as we understand the term. Every Maori whose birth placed him in a position between the aristocracy and the tutua class was a warrior by choice. Among such were men of property, poets, philosophers, literary men who did not write, but told their stories to eager audiences—in a word, gentlemen of leisure until the need for fighting arose. In the infrequent intervals of peace these, if you will, represented the middle class; but, once "let slip the dogs of war," and they cried "havoc" with the best of them. The Maori warrior, or toa, unlike the Japanese Samurai, did not live for war alone, but was ever ready when it came.

      When speaking of the conduct and character of the high chiefs, it was mentioned that they were rarely deposed. The reason why, may be expressed in one word—land. Bad or good, the chief had a fuller knowledge with regard to land than any other person concerned.

      It is necessary clearly to comprehend what follows; for the misunderstandings which arose between the Maori and the colonists over the tenure of land had much to do with the origin of the long strife between them.

      When the canoes from Hawaiki had discharged their passengers at the various spots selected by the chiefs in command, each one of the latter took possession of a district which became his property, and the property of all his followers, every free male and female among them being part proprietor. In other words, the land was common to the tribe.

      In consequence of this community of ownership every additional person born claimed ownership by right of descent. As time went on only the few could have told exactly what their rights were; but every Maori was assured that the land belonged to him and that it could not be disposed of without his sanction.

      The chiefs share was the largest, because of his direct descent from the chief who originally took possession of the district; but even in this distinguished instance the voice of the people made itself heard, and the chief himself could not part absolutely with the land unless by common consent. The land might be leased to strangers, but the only way in which the owners could be dispossessed was by conquest.

      As with chiefs, so with humbler folk. The land held by a family was not theirs to dispose of without the consent of the tribe. A family of one tribe might lease to a family of another tribe; or an entire tribe might transfer its holding; but the land was not given away for ever, and could be reclaimed at a future date.

      The colonists could never understand this principle; nor could the Maori comprehend that land, once exchanged for money or goods, had for ever passed away from them. Endless difficulties arose with the Pakeha, because every descendant of the original possessor of land claimed a share of the property and of the price. It is indubitable that this conflict of the laws of one race with the law of another caused much of the bitter strife which arose later.

      The position of the chief thus rendered him the person of most importance with regard to land. In his family were kept records, such as they were; in his memory were stored facts concerning the district, which he had received from his father, who, in his day, had received them from his father.

      Who, then, so well fitted to decide an argument, adjust disputes, settle the right and wrong of any questions concerning land? The deposition of such a man might have been followed by his withdrawal from the hapu, perhaps from the tribe itself, an irreparable loss to those who relied upon him for correct information respecting their landed property.

      The origin of tapu, that tremendous engine of power, that law above the law, is lost in obscurity, so very ancient is the custom, and all that we know about its curious working is derived from observations made in the South Sea Islands, where alone it is now found in anything like its old power.

      The law of tapu served as a fairly efficient, if vexatious, promoter of law and order. Broadly stated, tapu stood for two principles—protection and punishment, and the person or thing affected by it was a person or thing apart, not even to be touched under pains and penalties the most severe.

      Chiefs were permanently tapu, as it was necessary that their exalted state should be clearly recognisable; so they were placed upon a pinnacle of isolation which extended to their property as well as to themselves.

      Food of many kinds was permanently tapu; for animal food was always scarce, and choice vegetables could be cultivated only after a tough struggle with the land. Therefore, since one tribe frequently infringed the rights of another it became necessary to render the common stock of provisions secure against depredators from within. Ordinary food which

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