Читать книгу: «The Treaty of Waitangi; or, how New Zealand became a British Colony», страница 8

Now it is the Queen who desires that the Governorship may be arranged that evils may not come to the native men, to the white who dwells lawless. There! Now the Queen has been good that I should be sent, William Hobson, a Captain of the Royal Navy, a Governor for all the places in New Zealand that are yielded now or hereafter to the Queen. She says to the Chiefs of the Assemblage (Confederation) of the tribes of New Zealand, and other chiefs besides, these laws which shall be spoken now.

Here's the first: Here's the chief of the Assemblage, and all the chiefs also who have not joined the Assemblage mentioned, cede to the utmost to the Queen of England for ever continually to the utmost the whole Governorship of their lands.

Here's the second: Here's the Queen of England arranges and confirms to the chiefs, to all the men of New Zealand the entire chieftainship of their lands, their villages, and all their property.

But here's the chiefs of the Assemblage, and all the chiefs besides, yield to the Queen the buying of those places of land where the man whose land it is shall be good to the arrangement of the payment which the buyer shall arrange to them, who is told by the Queen to buy for her.

Here's the third: This, too, is an arrangement in return for the assent of the Governorship of the Queen. The Queen of England will protect all the native men of New Zealand. She yields to them all the rights, one and the same as her doings to the men of England.

Now here's we: Here's the chiefs of the Assemblage of the tribes of New Zealand who are congregated at Waitangi. Here's we too. Here's the chiefs of New Zealand, who see the meaning of these words, we accept, we entirely agree to all. Truly we do mark our names and marks.

This is done at Waitangi on the six of the days of February, in the year one thousand eight hundred and four tens of our Lord.

The whole subject was now before the meeting for discussion, and the chiefs were invited to express their views upon it, or to make any enquiries upon points that were still obscure. There being some little hesitancy displayed Mr. Busby rose and, addressing the natives, assured them that the Governor had not come to deprive them of their lands, but rather to secure them in possession of what they had not already sold. He reminded them that he had frequently given them his word that land not properly acquired from them would not be recognised as the property of the person claiming it, but would be returned to the natives, to whom it rightly belonged. He was proceeding to say that this promise the Governor would of a certainty be prepared to carry out, when suddenly he was interrupted by Te Kemara, a chief of the Ngatikawa tribe, who, springing from his place in front of the platform exclaimed:

"Health to thee, O Governor. This is mine to thee, O Governor. I am not pleased towards thee. I will not consent to thy remaining here in this country. If thou stayest as Governor then perhaps Te Kemara will be judged and condemned. Yes, indeed, and more than that – even hung by the neck. No, no, no, I shall never say 'Yes' to your staying. Were all to be on an equality, then perhaps Te Kemara would say, 'Yes.' But for the Governor to be up and Te Kemara down – Governor high up, up up, and Te Kemara down low, small, a worm, a crawler. No, no, no. O Governor! this is mine to thee, O Governor! my land is gone, gone, all gone. The inheritances of my ancestors, fathers, relatives, all gone, stolen, gone with the Missionaries. Yes, they have it all, all, all. That man there, the Busby, and that man there, the Williams, they have my land. The land on which we are now standing this day is mine. This land, even this under my feet, return this to me. O Governor! return me my lands. Say to Williams 'Return to Te Kemara his land.'" With outstretched finger he ran and pointed to the Missionary, "Thou, thou, thou, thou bald-headed man, thou hast got my lands. O Governor! I do not wish thee to stay. You English are not kind to us like other foreigners. You do not give us good things. I say go back, go back, Governor, we do not want thee here in this country. And Te Kemara says to thee, go back, leave to Busby and to Williams to arrange and to settle matters for us natives as heretofore."

Te Kemara was a master in the art of Maori oratory, and he delivered this speech with much simulated anger. Gesture and grimace were alike extravagant even for a native; his eyes rolled in violent oscillations and flashed with demoniacal fire, while his whole body trembled as though convulsed by pent-up rage. He made a brave show of injured innocence, especially when pleading for the return of his lands. And yet it was not serious: it was mere theatrical display; for not long afterwards he gave evidence before the Land Claims Commissioners, and testified to the fair sale of his land. For the present, however, Maori vanity was satisfied – Te Kemara had made a great speech.

The serious impression made by the hostile deliverance of the Ngatikawa chief was somewhat dispelled by the diversion created when Rewa, of Ngaitawake rose, and, addressing His Excellency in the best English he could command said, "How d'ye do, Mr. Governor?" The sally was so unexpected that it immediately created a roar of laughter, in which all present joined. But Rewa soon became more earnest. He had evidently no intention of being frivolous – "This is mine to thee, O Governor!" he impressively said. "Go back. Let the Governor return to his own country. Let my lands be returned to me which have been taken by the Missionaries – by Davis and by Clarke and by who and who besides. I have no lands now – only a name,⁶⁷ only a name. Foreigners come, they know Mr. Rewa, but this is all I have left – a name! What do native men want of a Governor? We are not whites or foreigners. This country is ours, but the land is gone. Nevertheless we are the Governor – we the chiefs of this our Fathers' land. I will not say 'Yes' to the Governor's remaining. No, no, no, return. What! this land to become like Port Jackson and all other lands seen by the English. No, no, return. I, Rewa, say to thee, O Governor, go back. Send the man away. Do not sign the paper. If you do you will be reduced to the condition of slaves, and be compelled to break stones on the roads. Your land will be taken from you and your dignity as chiefs will be destroyed."

The next speaker was Moka, a chief of the Patukeha tribe, from Rawhiti, the burden of whose speech was also against the acceptance of the treaty. "Let the Governor return to his own country. Let us remain where we are. Let my lands be returned to me – all of them – those that are gone with Baker. Do not say, 'The lands will be returned to you.' Who will listen to thee, O Governor? Who will obey thee? Where is Clendon? Where is Mair?⁶⁸ Gone to buy, buy our land, notwithstanding the 'book'⁶⁹ of the Governor."

On this statement being interpreted to him Captain Hobson immediately stopped the speaker, and in the most earnest manner assured the gathering that lands unjustly held would be returned, and that after the date of the Proclamation all land, however purchased, would be the subject of enquiry, and no purchases would be lawful until sanctioned by the Crown.

This scarcely sufficed to satisfy the sceptical Moka, who replied, as he advanced close up to the platform, "That is good, O Governor! that is straight. But stay, let me see. Yes, yes, indeed! Where is Baker? Where is the fellow? Ah, there he is – there standing. Come, return to me my lands?"

Here the orator paused, awaiting a reply. His injunction was addressed to Mr. Baker in the most direct and personal way, so that it could not be evaded. Moka stood leaning against the edge of the platform, looking directly at the Missionary, upon whom all eyes were immediately turned. There was profound silence and the suspense was acute. Mr. Baker did not flinch but quietly replied, "E hoki, koia"; in other words, "We shall see whether they will return."

This retort was comfortless to Moka, who exclaimed, "There, there, that is as I said. No, no, no, all false, all false, alike. The lands will not return to me."

He was in the midst of this lamentation when he was again interrupted. A European came forward, and addressing His Excellency said that the speeches of the natives were not being faithfully interpreted by Mr. Williams, nor were His Excellency's remarks being fully reported to the natives. He said the natives complained of being robbed, and by a gesture indicated that Mr. Williams was the robber. This he followed up by venturing to suggest that a Mr. Johnson, who was present, could do the work with greater satisfaction to both parties. This was the first open declaration of the general discontent which pervaded the settlers, who were angry because of the Proclamation which had so summarily put an end to their speculations, and which they felt was playing them unfair. They had heard that a Charter had been granted to a rich Company in England, while many of them who had worked long in the land were being, as they thought, overreached by the Government. But the honest settler was not more angry than the land-jobbers, the gamblers of the south, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd, "looking like smugglers foiled in a run, or a pack of hounds lashed off their dying prey," and appeared as if they were taking a vengeful pleasure in thwarting the wishes of authority. Many viewed the proceedings with malignant eyes and smouldering mischief in their hearts, remaining silent themselves, yet prompting others to interrupt; hence these accusations of false interpretation, these irrelevant observations about the Missionaries and Mr. Busby taking advantage of their privileged positions to unfairly acquire land.

Captain Hobson, always willing to be affable, and desirous that nothing should give rise to misunderstanding, begged Mr. Johnson, who was a dealer in spirits at Kororareka, to come forward and do him the favour of making everything clear to natives and Europeans alike.

Johnson, however, was not so confident of his attainments as a Maori linguist as his friend was, and in qreply to His Excellency's question whether he fully understood the native language he replied, "Why, I can't say I do, but I know how to speak to them, and know also what they say when they speak to me, and – "

"Then pray tell me, Mr. Johnson, what has not been interpreted?" said Captain Hobson.

To which the modest Johnson replied, "No, Sir, I beg to be excused. The gentlemen of the Mission ought to be able to do it, and can do it very well; only let Mr. Williams speak out loud so that we may hear – that is, those of us in the back part of the tent, and let all that the natives say be interpreted to the Governor. They say a great deal about land and Missionaries which Mr. Williams does not translate to you."⁷⁰

This reflection both upon his capacity as a linguist and his integrity as a man rather nettled the Missionary, who, having obtained the permission of the Governor to vindicate himself, addressed the white people in English, and with his customary directness came at once to the point. He said there had been much talk about the Missionaries owning land and farming and such like; but the Commissioners who were about to sit would examine into the lands held by the Missionaries, and their titles thereto, as strictly as into any other. It was his special wish that this should be done, and he had so far given an earnest of his desire in that direction that he had already applied to His Excellency to have the Missionary lands made the first subject of investigation. "People," he said, "should recollect that were it not for the Missionaries they would not be here this day, nor be in possession of a foot of land in New Zealand. If any one person has a prior claim to land in this country that person must be the Missionary, who has laboured for so many years in this land when others were afraid to show their noses. I have a large family – a family of eleven children – more probably than any one present, and what are they to do when I am taken from them if they are not to have some land? Much has been said about my land, but I believe that when it is seen and known, and shared up between my children, no one will say that I have been over the mark, but on the contrary under. All I shall say at present is, I hope that all who hold land, obtained from the natives, will be able to show as good and honest titles to the same as the Missionaries can do to theirs."⁷¹

Mr. Busby, who owned the whole of the Peninsula between the Waitangi and Kerikeri Rivers, felt that he, too, was being drawn into the vortex of the speculators by these accusations of native spoliation. He accordingly deemed it due to himself that something should be said in defence of his purchases, and so having obtained the permission of Captain Hobson he rose, and, speaking in English, said with some emphasis, "I deny that the term 'robbed' has been used by the chiefs Te Kemara and Rewa with reference to my purchase of land, as indicated by the white man who spoke, and coupled by him with Mr. Williams, by gestures, though not plainly by words. I never bought any land but what the natives pressed me to buy, for which I always paid them liberally. Allusion has been made to my possessing large tracts of land. I am happy to say I do hold some land; but I did not make any extensive purchases until I was out of office, and then, on my finding that, after having served the Government for fifteen years, not any provision was made, nor was likely to be made for myself and family, I purchased land. I only regret I had not done so at an earlier period, and that to a larger extent. In all my purchases, also, I have reconveyed to the natives both habitations and cultivations, by an inalienable gift, according to the number of persons thereon."

Mr. Busby having delivered his protest against what he considered to be the unwarranted aspersions of the white settler, whose name does not appear to have been recorded, Tamati Pukututu, a chief of the Te Uri-o-te-hawato tribe broke in upon the monotony of the opposition with a speech in favour of the treaty.

"This is mine to thee, O Governor! Sit, Governor, sit, a Governor for us – for me, for all, that our lands may remain with us; that these 'piritoka' and 'piriawaawa,' these homeless wanderers who sneak about, sticking to rocks, and to the side of the brooks and gullies may not have it all. Sit, Governor, sit for me, for us. Remain here a father for us. These chiefs say, 'Don't sit,' because they have sold all their possessions and they are filled with foreign property, and they have also no more to sell. But I say, what of that? Sit, Governor, sit. You two stay here, you and Busby – you two, and they also, the Missionaries."

In his advocacy of the Governor's cause Tamati was seconded by Matiu, a chief of the Uri-o-ngongo tribe. "O Governor! sit, stay, remain, you as one with the Missionaries, a Governor for us. Do not go back, but sit here, a Governor, a father for us, that good may increase, may become large to us. This is my word to thee. Do thou sit here, a father for us."

"No, no, go back, go back," cried Kawiti, a turbulent Ngatihine. "What dost thou want here? We native men do not wish thee to stay. We do not want to be tied up and trodden down. We are free. Let the Missionaries remain, but as for thee, return to thine own country. I will not say 'Yes' to thy sitting here. What! to be fired at in our boats and canoes by night! What! to be fired at when quickly paddling our canoes by night! I, even I, Kawiti, must not paddle this way nor paddle that way because the Governor said 'No,' because of the Governor, his soldiers, and his guns. No, no, no, go back, go back, there is no place here for a Governor."

A chief of the Ngatiamake tribe named Wai, now rose and addressed some pertinent enquiries to His Excellency.

"To thee, O Governor! this. Will you remedy the selling, the exchanging, the cheating, the lying, the stealing of the whites? O Governor! yesterday I was cursed by a white man. Is that straight? The white man gives us natives a pound for a pig, but he gives a Pakeha four pounds for such a pig. Is that straight? The white man gives us a shilling for a basket of potatoes, but to a Pakeha he gives four shillings for a basket like that one of ours. Is that straight? No, no, they will not listen to thee, so go back, go back. If they would listen and obey, ah yes, good that, but have they ever listened to Busby? And will they listen to thee, a stranger, a man of yesterday? Sit indeed! what for? Wilt thou make dealing straight?"

At this point there was again some general dissatisfaction amongst the Europeans who apparently were only able to hear imperfectly. A hawker, a pedlar named Jones, from Kororareka, called out to His Excellency that the whites could not follow the interpreter. A young man on the opposite side of the tent confirmed his complaint, and the European who had previously objected to Mr. Williams's methods once more became prominent in support of his confrères. These dissatisfied individuals maintained a running comment across the tent for some moments, which resulted in the Governor again requisitioning the services of Mr. Johnson, who came forward and interpreted the speech of Wai, but not to the complete satisfaction of that dusky orator, who described the Johnsonian effort as "great lies."

This resulted in the restoration of Mr. Williams, whose next subject was Pumuka, a man of influence in the Roroa tribe who was favourable to the treaty: "Stay, remain, Governor; remain for me" was his message. "Hear all of you. I will have this man a foster-father for me. Stay, sit, Governor. Listen to my words, O Governor! Do not go away; remain. Sit, Governor, sit. I wish to have two fathers – thou and Busby and the Missionaries."

"Yes, what else? Stay, sit if not what? Sit, if not how?" were the opening queries of Warerahi, a chief of Ngaitawake, who was popularly known as George King. "Is it not good to be at peace?" he asked. "We will have this man as our Governor. What! turn him away! Say to this man of the Queen, 'Go back?' No, no."⁷²

The next speaker was to be Hakiro, who wanted room to deliver himself as became a great chief, and whilst the reclining natives were being moved back to make a clear space in which he could run from one end of the platform to the other a chief from the Waikare, whose name has not been recorded, rose and complained of the unjust dealings of the white people, who had no sense of justice. For a very little thing – a shilling – they wanted a pig as big as himself. What he wanted to know was could the Governor make the Pakeha give a payment as large as the article he bought, but the speech was little noticed in the hustle caused by the clearing of a passage for Hakiro.

Hakiro belonged to the Ngatirehia tribes, being the son of Tareha, but on this occasion he essayed to speak for Titore,⁷³ though it is highly questionable whether he reflected the sentiments to which that chief would have given utterance had he been still with the living. Titore was justly regarded as one of the noblest of the Nga-Puhi chieftains, and his early death was generally mourned, not only as a personal loss, but as a misfortune to the cause of national unity. Be that as it may, his illustrious representative on this auspicious occasion, swayed by other influences, elected to throw the weight of his great name into the opposite scale to which he would almost certainly have thrown it himself.

"To thee, O Governor! this. Who says sit? Who? Hear me, O Governor! I say, no, no."

As he shouted these questions and answers he ran swiftly backwards and forwards brandishing a taiaha as he ran.

"Sit indeed! Who says sit? Go back, go back. Do not thou sit here. What wilt thou sit here for? We are not thy people. We are free. We will not have a Governor. Return, return, leave us. The Missionaries and Busby are our fathers. We do not want thee, so go back, return, depart."

Tareha, who followed, was easily one of the largest natives in the North, and had been one of the most ferocious of cannibals.⁷⁴ He seldom burdened himself with much clothing, and on this occasion, as if to show how independent he was of such European luxuries, he appeared with nothing more than a dirty piece of old matting fastened round his waist. In the one hand he carried a canoe paddle, and in the other a small bunch of fern-root, tied by a piece of string, for the purpose of further demonstrating that he and his people still had the food of their fathers to rely upon. Tareha never became a Christian – dying as he lived, a heathen – but under the influence of Hongi he had always shown considerable solicitude for the Missionaries, whose interests he had invariably protected, both with his personal and tribal power. His particular protégé at this time was Bishop Pompallier, to whom, in common with Rewa, Moka, and Hakiro, he lived near at Kororareka. Whether this association in any way affected the views of Tareha and his associates is probably a matter best left to individual opinion, but it has been observed as an interesting coincidence that the natives who were in closest contact with the Bishop were the most aggressively hostile to the treaty.

This fact had already been so much in evidence that when Tareha rose, and in his deep sepulchral voice shouted, "No Governor for me – for us native men," no one who was taking a keen interest in the proceedings was very much surprised. With much of the gesticulation peculiar to Maori oratory and a clever application of the arts involved in native elocution, Tareha began to develop his pronouncement against the Governor. "We, we only are the chiefs – the rulers. We will not be ruled over. What! thou, a foreigner, up and I down! Thou high, and I, Tareha, the great chief of the Nga-Puhi tribes low! No, no, never, never. I am jealous of thee; I am, and shall be until thou and thy ship go away. Go back, go back, thou shalt not stay here. No, no, I will never say 'Yes.' Stay! Alas! what for? Why? What is there here for thee? Our lands are already all gone. Yes, it is so, but our names remain. Never mind, what of that – the lands of our fathers alienated! Dost thou think we are poor, indigent, poverty-stricken – that we really need thy foreign garments, thy food? Look at this!"

Here he dangled his bunch of fern-root in the air as proof that his argument was not without foundation.

"See, this is my food, the food of my ancestors, the food of the native people. Pshaw! Governor, to think of tempting men – us natives – with baits of clothing and food! Yes, I say we are the chiefs. If all were to be alike, all equal in rank with thee; but thou the Governor up high – up, up, as this tall paddle⁷⁵ and I down, under, beneath! No, no, no. I will never say 'Yes, stay.' Go back, return, make haste away. Let me see you (all) go; thee and thy ship. Go, go, return, return."

The speech of Tareha with its forceful opinions and dramatic delivery had a marked and visible effect upon the native section of the audience, so much so that Captain Hobson began to regard the result with considerable trepidation. He expressed these fears to Mr. Williams, who, knowing the delicacy of the situation, advised him not to betray his anxiety, but at the close of the meeting to recommend the treaty to their deliberate consideration, and to say that he would give them three days in which to finally make up their minds upon it.

For this advice Captain Hobson thanked the Missionary, and then a more favourable turn was given to the debate by a humorous sally from Rawiri, a chief of Ngatitautahi, who, anxious to display his smattering of newly acquired English, opened his speech with the salutation, "Good morning, Mr. Governor, very good you." This was as far as his linguistic accomplishments could carry him, and for the remainder of his oration he relapsed into his native tongue, in which he made an earnest appeal for established authority and a law that would maintain them in peace. "Our Governor, our Father! stay here, O Governor! Sit that we may be in peace. A good thing this for us, my friends, native men. Stay, sit. Do thou remain, O Governor! to be a Governor for us."

Up to this point the weight of influence and oratory had been heavily against the Governor, the opposition evidently considering it good tactics to get in early and reap the fruits of a first impression. But the friends of the treaty now put up a powerful foil to Tareha in the person of Hone Heke, the nephew and son-in-law of Hongi, and admittedly one of the most influential men, both by lineage and achievement, in all the North. Heke at this time was actively espousing the Christian cause, and had not developed the mischievous spirit which afterwards gave him even greater prominence in European annals than he had as yet acquired in Maori fame. He began in that mystical manner so much beloved by Maori orators, the skilful use of which was regarded as a test of their accomplishment.

"To raise up, or to bring down? To raise up, or to bring down? Which? Who knows? Sit, Governor, sit. If thou shouldst return, we natives are gone, utterly gone, nothinged, extinct. What then shall we do? Who are we? Remain, Governor, a father for us. If thou goest away, what then? We do not know."

Then turning and addressing himself to those immediately about him, he said, "This, my friends, is a good thing. It is even as the word of God.⁷⁶ Thou to go away! No, no, no! For then the French people or the rum-sellers will have us natives. Remain, remain, sit, sit here; you with the Missionaries all as one. But we natives are children. Yes, it is not for us, but for you, our fathers – you Missionaries – it is for you to say, to decide what it shall be. It is for you to choose, for we are only natives. Who and what are we? Children, yes, children solely. We do not know. Do you then choose for us. You our fathers – you Missionaries. Sit, I say, Governor, sit. A father, a Governor for us."

The emphasis with which these concluding sentences were pronounced, and the gestures by which they were accompanied, came as a convincing climax to what had been a mighty speech. The mana of Heke was great, for was he not descended from Rahiri, who came down in a direct line from a Viking Admiral of the Hawaiki fleet; was he not the representative of the Ariki family of Nga-Puhi; had he not by virtue of his great name levied toll upon all who crossed his estate at Puketona; was he not the brave who had distinguished himself at the 1830 fight at Kororareka when Hengi was killed, and had he not fought valiantly at Tauranga when Titore attacked the pa at Otumoetai? Heke had thus become great in all that told most in the estimation of the Maori, and when he had spoken it was indiscreet for any dog to bark.⁷⁷

No sooner had he resumed his seat upon the ground than the hum of approving comment could be heard in all quarters of the tent. Here was a speech indeed, Europeans and natives alike joining in eulogiums of both its manner and its matter. While the buzz of conversation filled the air, Hakitara, a chief of the Rarawa tribe, rose and commenced a speech in favour of the treaty. He was, however, unfortunate in having to follow Heke, who had for the moment captured public attention, and Hakitara, being unable to raise his voice above the din, soon subsided and made way for a greater even than Heke.

While the latter was speaking the gathering had received an important augmentation by the arrival of Tamati Waaka Nēne, his elder brother Patuone, and the Nga-Puhi chiefs of Hokianga. They had mingled with the crowd, and immediately the Rarawa chief had concluded, Nēne came forward and spoke "with a degree of natural eloquence that surprised all the Europeans and eventually turned aside the temporary feeling of hostility that had been created."⁷⁸

Dr. Bright, one of the few Englishmen who have left us an account of this historic gathering, describes Nēne at this moment as a "mild-looking, middle-aged man with a deportment as if he felt he was a gentleman." As he listened to Heke he rested upon his taiaha, and smiled upon those about him. His face bore evidence that he was glad to see the white man and the brown in conference.

To this chief with his great mental powers, his keen perception, his capacity to read the signs of the times, it had been long apparent that the advent of the Pakeha was inevitable, and that the Maori system was incapable of developing the principles of a stable Government. To now enter upon a campaign of hostility to the whites would, he believed, certainly result in the destruction of his own race. It was too late. Yet to govern themselves was manifestly impossible. He therefore found himself in the same dilemma as had presented itself to a large section of the ancient Jews in the beleaguered city of Jerusalem, who honestly enough believed that their country had arrived at that stage in its history when its only salvation lay in its seizure and government by a foreign power strong enough to establish justice and security, even though it might be at the sacrifice of liberty. What the Romans were to Palestine the British were in Nēne's eyes to New Zealand, and that was what he meant when he begged the Governor to remain and be to the Maori a friend, a father, and a Governor.

As he stepped into the arena of debate the storms were laid still, and a general calm suppressed the rising excitement, for he was esteemed by the white men and known to his own race as one who dared to fight as well as to talk of peace. His voice was low at first, nor needed he to raise it high – no sound intruded on it.

"I will first speak to us, to ourselves, the natives," said Nēne. "What do you say? The Governor to return? What then shall we do? Say here to me, O ye chiefs of the tribes of the northern part of New Zealand, how are we henceforward to act? Friends, whose potatoes do we eat? Whose were our blankets? These spears (holding up his taiaha) are laid aside. What has the Nga-Puhi now? The Pakeha's gun, his shot, his powder. Many months has he been in our whares; many of his children are our children. Is not the land already gone? Is it not covered, all covered with men, with strangers, foreigners – even as the grass and herbage – over whom we have no power? We the chiefs, and natives of this land, are down low; they are up high, exalted, yet they make no slaves. What do you say? The Governor to go back? I am sick, I am dead, killed by you. Had you spoken thus in the olden time, when the traders and grog-sellers came – had you turned them away, then you could well say to the Governor, 'Go back,' and it would have been correct, straight, and I would also have said with you, 'Go back' – yes, we together as one man, with one voice. But now as things are, no, no, no. What did we do before the Pakeha came? We fought, we fought continually. But now we can plant our grounds and the Pakeha will bring plenty of trade to our shores. Then let us keep him here. Let us all be friends together. I'll sign the puka puka.⁷⁹ I am walking beside the Pakeha."