LOST WHITE WOMAN KIDNAPPED 50-YEARS AGO FOUND AS WIFE OF MAOR.

THE wheel has changed from its axis of hate- to the ox-bit of un-i derstanding and faith; but the wheel of experience, swiftly spinning along its many courses, carried little Caroline Perrett no closer to those who, even thirty years afterwards, scoured native trails m the King Country, threshed the bushy mazes of Taranaki, for some sign or word of her. . ■ . The roots of tradition, of prejudice and of religious belief are buried deeply m the lives of the Maoris. It was thes^e self- same root's which Enclosed themselves around the Perrett family, tearing . their darling apart from the remainder, leaving them with a heartache so sharp, so overwhelming, that its effect left indelible scars on their memories. But it killed Caroline's mother, killed her through the processes of grief-stricken delirium, lasting often for days. In her pathetic state Mrs. Perrett cried aloud the pet name by which the; little girl was known to her brothers and sisters, but the walls of her lonejy homestead m the outback country of Taranaki blankly echoed her wailing cry of "Queenie, Queenie," and the poor woman •eventually went to her peace beyond the Veil, uncomforted. It is hot the first time that what natives held to , be desecration of ancestral bones and' graves has plunged

Strange Channels

tribes and races into bloodshed and Jong-standing vendettas. » In this instance it is the sign which ;led. Queenie's life through strange channels, and those of her people through alternate by-ways of hope that she . would return, then despair that she would not. Sentry Hill was the spot '; where Maori and pakeha came fiercely to grips on May 1,. 1864, and it was here that the Maori Hau Hau prophet was killed along witli . many ... of his followers. Since a good many of their kin were buried m this neighborhood, the Maoris regarded the ground as sacred, and when the white man..commenced pushing his .shining' rail tracks over and through this area, the brown men deeply resented it. William Perrett, Queenie's father, had a small holding of land at Manu~ tnhi (now known as Lepperton), ...but: for the most part he did small' cpntraeting jobs between his. home and New Plymouth, about ten miles- away. • Perrett successfully tendered for the work of clearing the burial grounds, but it was not long before the Maoris, with whom he previously had been very friendly, told him that no good would come of his interference with the spirits of their dead, whose rest-ing-places were tapu. In, face of what he knew of the Maoris and their beliefs, knowledge which he had acquired through close acauaintance with them m both war and peace, Perrett disregarded their warnings, comforting himself with the thought, maybe, that the war of subjugation was finished and complete m lits effects upon Iho minds of the natives. But the sting of resentment, although inscrutably suppressed for a time, at length leapt from its sheath, pinning a little girl to the 'crude,' elemental life' of the gumfields of Whangarei, stabbing to ihe heart a family which idolised her. Cruel? Undoubtedly, to the white /men whose minds had passed through the crucible of civilisation,, this swift, brutal (move of the natives ranked as a terrible thing, but to the impressionable/ fervent . Maoris, who had witnessed the spoliation of warriors' •graves by Perrett and his men, some I telling thrust of revenge seemed the only way m which the spirits might j lie placated. . ' One mornng, late m, the .summer of 1874, eight-years-old Queenie was. sent

Did Not .Return

down to the clearing to fetch the two cows which supplied the Pcrrctt family with milk and butter. Some time later, her mother, who was ill, asked whether Queenie had returned, as nothing had been seen of her since the cows were brought m, but was reassured by her daughter Mary, who said she thought Queenie would be playing with ( the younger children. ' But the little girl did not! return with the others, nor had she been seen since she went for the two cows. Thoroughly alarmed, they searched eyery corner dt their clearing, peering beneath clumps of bushes, to see • whether she had wandered too far from the house, and at length crept out of the suii, to rest beneath the shelter of the trees. But she could not be found. . ; Terrett was working some miles away, and it was not until thirty-six hours later that a special messenger, footsore and nearly'exhausted from the^ strain of forcing his Way through the closely-knit bushland whioh stretched between Perrett's house and- his work, staggered into camp, conveying the news tHat Queenie had disappeared.

The man told Perrett that Bushman Dick Bridle had seen little Queenie at two o'clock m the afternoon of the day on which she left home, but beyond that, not a single scrap of information could be gathered about her. Bridle was splitting posts m a lonely clearing that was separated from the Perrett homestead by at least three miles of standing bush, and when he saw the child she was crying bitterly, standing on a fallen log and surrounded by a band, of stalwart Maori warriors. When the natives caught sight of Bridle, they hastened away, and before the bushman could appreciate what might have lain behind their movements, they and the child had vanished through an opening m the trees. And Perrett? Weary though he was from his work on the permanent way, he braced himself for the physical ordeal of brushing his way through the tangle of undergrowth and intertwining trees which lay ' before him, and for the mental blow he sensed would be awaiting him at the end of the journey. ' Like a sharp thrust there came . to him the memory of the .day . when he commenced his contract on the bloody battlefield of, Sentry 5 Hill, the day when some of his Maori friends warned him against . pursuing his course, and of the ill it would bring 'to his family. Remembered, too, his feeling of assurance that the day of retribution for the violation of native beliefs was over when the flag of the white man" held dominance at the flagstaff s. And, remembering-, he wondered . ..■•.".and was fearful for the little girl. . Crashing through the unde/growth with the vigor which comes with alternate determination and despair, resting for a short while that he might regain his strength, while all the time, walking or resting, there fled through and through his mind the warning, his disregard of it, and then agonizing pictures of" his little girl. Meanwhile', Government officials of all degrees, neighbors and friends, pierced and combed the countryside for some sign of. the child, but although they .followed myriad - trails, along river banks, through, gullies and up heavily- wooded hill -sides, their search was unavailing, and at length they returned, disheartened and chagrined, commiserating with a mother whose mind had become temporarily unhinged by. the shock, and with a father whose, grey face related the story of anguish unexpressed. Night and day, for a whole fortnight, had they., threshed the surrounding bushlands, picking up- signs here arid there, marks and finger-posts Which led them •hopefully albng-'a • hilltop-br-across a stream, only to smash' their hope, m, some woody culVde-sac. . or watery^ morass, so cunningly, so com-

pletely had the native kidnappers covered their, tracks. Heavy of heart, almost physically sick with, despair, Perrett returned to his work, almost dread- ■ ing to hear what became of his . little girl, while his wife lay at : home m a state of coma, or, at times, bordering upon dementia, • wailing for the child which had been snatched from her side. But the weeks . which followed shortly afterwards, and the months which came m train merged gradually, imperceptibly, into years; and although the memory, of Queenie, the quiet, placid little girl who jhad so suddenly, so cruelly been' niched away, seared deeply into their memories/ yet never a word of her reached their ears.- ~ Dim 1 though it may be, its dimness heightened with the passage of many years, overcast as it may be by vicissitudes and unhnppier: experiences, there remain acutely m her recollection; certain factors which enable us to reconstruct the story of her experiences from the time when her sister sent her to fetch the. cows. : Ever since the day when the Maoris pleaded with Perrett to discontinue his contract work on the battlefield which had become doubly sacred by virtue of its being- a burial ground as well, while he remained adamant, the natives must have conferred and: . argued, wrestling between the thought of their friends-hip .with him and- w.ith their determination to appease their .gods. After many a korero, friendship gave place to the tenets of their ■ unwritten law, and it was decidedto grasp the first opportunity for hitting Perrett m the direction

NATIVE REVENGE ON HER FATHE

Early Settler Heeded Not The Tapu, So His

Little Caroline Was Stolen

TIME SOLVES MYSTERY OF MISSING CHILD

Fifty-four years ago, when the wheel of racial hatred between Maori and pakeha still was spinning, though slowly, a little girl of eight years was whisked away from her happy playgrounds m the bush-encircled hoWstead of her father and mother. 1 - . •' The Maoris who thus requited what they deemed just revenge for a pakeha wrong, made her one of themselves, and the little girl never saw her parents again. Her mother died of a broken heart. Half a century later, twp women sobbed hysterically as they unashamedly embraced each other m the streets of Whakatane — she who had felt the anguish of being wrenched from her people, and her sister, who long since had quenched all hope of seeing her again. : .

which would hurt, him most — by kidnapping the child they knew he 'idolised, by spiriting her away: to some far-away pa where rio white man should reach her, by making her work for them, teaching her to. forget the early lessons of her pakeha childhood. . So, when Queenie tripped gaily over the grass m her bare:,feet, on that memorable morning m late summer, 1564, calling to the cows, she had no idea that a semi-circle of half-clad brown figures was slowly closing the gap between its two ends., Iniall likelihood, the cows had stray-

Was Kidnapped

Ed quite close to the edge of the clearing; that she walked over to where they lay chewing the cud,' then; roused them and commenced driving them m a homeward direction; • that ere she had walked ten yards, the ends of the dusky semi-circle had joined, closed m upon her, and before she could realise their presence a blanket enveloped her head and shoulders, strange, powerful arms enfolded her, carrying her; some distance away. . . . It seemed a long time before they removed the blanket, and she screamed repeatedly as the man who held her on his shoulders stumbled occasionally, but the thick folds of the blanket effectively /stifled her childish cries, and by. the time the party came to a halt it was too far away from . the Perrett homestead for Queenie to be heard. She screamed the- louder when she caught sight of the fiercelooking group of men around her, but beyond making one or two threatening gestures m her direction, they practically ignored heV. After they had rested a while, the party moved- on once more, but this time Queenie was permitted to walk, and when they had traversed a distance of about half a mile, they came to a thin belt of trees, beyond which lay a small natural clearing. The Maoris squatted about on the ground while their captive stood disconsolately at one end of a lightningwithered tree, and occasionally she burst into tears at the thought, maybe,

Childish Fears

that one of her. -childish' fears, one of those frightening dreams which often had come With nigntfall, had really come to pass. She thought of her mother who was ill, and of her brothers and sisters whom she had left fro play in' the paddock while she went, for the cows; she thought of what might have happened to the cows, and what her father would say if they were lost. "What her, father would. say. ". '. . But would she ever see them • again? Would these men take her back, or must she go on with them, tramping, tramping, tramping, living the life which whispered stories among other white children at Manutahi had fashioned m her mind? She looked straight ahead of her, and some distance away she saw a .man splitting posts, and she wondered whether he would look at her, whether he would take her back home again, back to her mother, and the clearing, and the two cows, and the other white children. But the man did not pay very much attention to her, although he twice stopped what he was doing to look m her direction, and she commenced to cry once more. She could understand a good deal of what the Maoris were muttering among (themselves, since her father knew the native language very well, and had taught her a number of household words, and when she heard them remark on the pakeha m the distance, and the need for haste, she despaired of ever seeing her home again. Then followed a nightmare of years, a period m which she was absolutely forbidden to speak to the pakeha, when she learned

many of the Maori crafts, and to work very hard as well. Faintly comes the memory of what seemed limitless wandering through trees, fording streams, climbing steep hillsides, trekking, trekking, never staying long m one place for fear of search parties reaching them, falling wearily to sleep at the close of a day, her dreams at night time punctuated with the terror of she knew not what. Dimly, too, comes the memory of a long, open water-front, and of a huge, open . canoe to which she was carried by one of the men. Remembers also a sea voyage m the canoe; when the stretch of water seemed without end. Then, after interminably long days and terror-filled nights, they beached the canoe sojnewhere near Whangarei,

ca.mped there a short while and began wandering again through the bushLands of the north, repealing the exhausting plod-plodding which had been her lot m Taranaki and the King Country, until at length they came to the gum -fields . Queenie's earlier life, m fact the first twenty years of her existence among them, was one of unremitting labor and but little affection. Often : she cried herself to sleep, maybe because of her impotence to alter her lot. perhaps because her memory retained the more poignant terrors which fled through her mind

wood she had cut, she met a young Government surveyor, who stopped her, questioning her as to how she came to be living with the Maoris, and whether her father and mother were alive. But she could not remember anything very clearly. He gave her a few biscuits from the satchel he carried with him, and urged her to tell him something about her people, but before she could frame a coherent reply she was called away by some Maoris who stood nearby, and solemnly warned not to speak to any pakeha, man or woman. The natives must have received a fright," for next morning they scattered'

the embers of their camp fires and made away into the bush. The hope which springs from despair and longing never left the heart of William Perrett, <md he repea.tedly left his work to ■ follow the guide-posts of information he received from various sources. If his information was often correct, the cunning of the natives and the remarkable manner m which' they eluded their pursuers showed that they, too, kept themselves well-informed as to the movements of white men m the locality. Whenever they held a big tangi or korerd, Queenie remained at the pa,

wastelands, penetrating the bush areas, visiting the pas which were scattered sporadically throughout the province. Providentially (as they believed at the tftne) they met a white man; who told them he was living with the Maoris, and they knew the brothers were looking for Queenie. "It's of no use your looking for them. The natives know you're after your sister, and as you move forward so do they move back. "If you'll take my advice you will go back to your father m Taranaki, and wait there until you hear from me.

False Promise

"I live with them, and I know all their plans — or most of them. As soon as they settle down m one place I'll write you a letter, telling 1 you exactly where your sister may be' found, so that you can follow quickly and take them by surprise." . They were overwhelmed with joy and surprise at what seemed to them a wonderful stroke of good fortune, and they quickly made preparations for the return journey, profusely thanking the man who promised to be their good friend. How he must have smiled as he watched them depart! , The brothers hastened back to Taranaki.'where they passed on the tidings to their father, who was well-nigh overwhelmed by what they had to tell. Eagerly they awaited the arrival of the mail. Daily they spoke m fine terms of the man whom they believed would be 1 the menus of restoring Queenie to them, but the days sped with the cycle of months, as the fiend who promised, his help, laughed with his Maori friends at the thought of the letter, which, never would arrive. . . . and the heart of William Perrett gave out under the strain. . This was the second disappointment they had received within a period of four years! disappointments barbed with the knowledge that however quickly they received word of their sister's whereabouts, however astutely they contrived to reach her, the

Met Stranger

counter-moves of the natives were equally swift and cunning. Two or three years before the brothers toiled through the virgin forests of the King Country, their sister Mary, then married and known as Mrs. Marchant was nursing m one of the northern provinces, and while she was there a surveyor, named Coxhead came to the house. After he had known her a few days he. turned to Mrs. Marchant one afternoon, suddenly asking her whether she would tell him what her maiden name had. been. Somewhat confused by the suddenness of his question, Mrs. Marchant felt a trifle embarrassed, but at length she told him. Coxhead did not seem at all surprised. "Did you ever have a sister stolen?" was his next question. . "Yes, why?" replied Mrs. Marchant, with a catch, m her voice, wondering whether by some strange chance the surveyor had heard of her sister, Queenie, yet apprehensive that he might have ill news to tell her. He then told her of the way m which he had met a young white l woman splitting wood close to a Maori pa; how he closely questioned her as to the., reason for her being among the natives, and of her commencing to tell him that she had been stolen, and of the Maoris having called her away. One thing he recollected quite clearly was . a long weal extending from her left ear and across her throat, and he wondered at the time how she came to be burned. "Why, I could tell you that," exclaimed Mrs. Marchant. "When she was a very small girl, Queenie fell from her high chair on to the hot bars of the kitchen grate, leaving a scar that will be there for all time." Both William Perrett and his two sons took up the search for the girl, but without success, and although they

continued for months to follow avenues opened by fresh information, the Maoris always maintained their lead of one camp ahead, move against move, until, exhausted and disheartened the three men abandoned their quest. Perrett even circulated an offer of £150 for the recovery of his daughter, dead or alive, m the hope that the Maoris might be attracted by the money, but by this time Queenie had married a chieftain named Ewa, and it was unlikely that the natives would then relinquish their hold upon her. The hope of her return became an obsession with him. He scoured every big tangi, attended every large meeting of natives m the northern districts, m the belief that he one day would set eyes upon her, but the Maoris anticipated him at every turn, forbade her attendance at any public meeting,' and kept her m the seclusion of her own pa. The year-glass of the nineteenth century was nearly spent when Perrett passed away, a broken, saddened man. He virtually had devoted his whole life to the recovery of the little girl who, m her prattling days, had meant so much to him, pursued every conceivable channel that might lead him to her, to reap only disappointment that never nagged, and hope that was for ever crushed by the walls of trickery and counter-movement. It remained for a grand-child of his to pen the final phrases of this pathetic, yet romantic narrative, so tragically delayed. Nearly thirty years after the death of her grandfather, Mrs. F. J. Hayward, daughter of Mary Ann Perrett, who changed her. name 'from Perrett to Marchant, and from Marchant to Kay, met a white-haired old lady who was talking to.;. a.. group of Maoris, m the main street of Whakatane, Bay of Plenty. Mrs.. Hayward was n<jt intrigued, so much by the sight of a ; white woman conversing with a number of wahlries, as by her marked resemblance .to her own mother, Mrs. Kay, andVwhen the woman walked, away from -"tne, Maoris, Mrs. Hayward drew her aside, saying: "You are a white woman— what are you doing with the Maoris?" . ..-.' "I know," came the reply, "I know that I am a white woman, but I have been with them all, my life. I can't remember how. I came to be with them, nor do "I know who my parents were." While she was talking, Mrs. Hayward noticed a long scar on the old lady's throat. As soon as she saw the mark she realised that the strikingi likeness between Mrs. Ngoungou (the woman) and Mrs. Kay was too positive to be mere coincidence, and there came to her mind fragments of the many stories which her mother had toldj her concerning a little girl named Queenie, . who was kidnapped by the Maoris and never seen again. Mrs. Hayward said very little to the

woman she believed to be her aunt, but as soon as she returned to her home at Taneatua she wrote a letter to her mother m Lower Hutt, Wellington, apprising her of the discovery she made whilst shopping m Whakatane, and saying she believed the woman whom everyone m Whakatane knew as Mrs. Ngoungpu, wife of a native farmer m that district, was none other than Mrs. Kay's own sister. ; Mrs. Kay was astounded when she received the letter from her daughter, for she had believed Queenie to be dead many years before, but as soon as she was able to leave the Hutt. she , did so, making the long journey to the Bay of Plenty ■ that she might identify the sister .who for over half, a century had been lost to her. ; ■ What a poignant, what a wonderful meeting was theirs! They met m • the: little street of Whakatane— the small' girl -who had gone to fetch the cows,, and the other who innocently thought she was playing with the other [children— -and when they, saw each other they knew at once there was no need for idle, questioning, no need for another to introduce them. Unaffectedly, nor caring who .saw them, these two women tightly em- ' braced, the tears streaming down their, cheeks, the joy. of the moment and the fears and terrors of nights long since faded passing before them m a whirlwind of /incoherent expression, and the little girl who was made the instrument of terrible vengeance was restored once more to her family. , When they had regained- their composure, Mrs. Kay asked her sister: "Didn't you ever meet any white people all those years you were with the Maoris ?"j

"No, they kept me right away," wai the reply. "Don't you remember a white man — a surveyor^corrwnjr over 'to you one day when you were cutting wood? Don't you remember his giving you some, biscuits and the Maoris taking you away when : they saw him talking to you." Mrs. Ngoungou -was puzzled at first, trying to recall an incident at least forty years past, dredging her memory for some faint streak whiciv would bring back the mental picture of those laborious days m the gum-fields and the pa. Gradually it , came back to her. "Oh, yes, I remember . e ndfv-.>iHis name was Coxhead, and he wanted to. know how I came to be with the Maoris." Matiy _othe.r; questions passed mutual - ly ? between 'them,* questions -'which at times, bewildered the woman who had so long been, lost; questions which. cut Mrs. Kay to 'the quick, since there was much to tell and so much more to ask. When two representatives . of "Truth" called upon Mrs. Ngoungou it was clear that she had but few happy recollections of those nomadic yeara.;-;. .■■;;,-,■ ..i, -'•■:••. .-.-.•■...■ „•' ■ .' -.-. '■ She, the kindly, dignified wife of Ngoungou, who had brought her to Poroporo nearly thirty years ago, scarcely seemed to realise she was the centre-point of a remarkable story, but there was no question that the harsh experiences of her

"Not Very Happy"

early days among the. natives, m - the north of Auckland left her with unpleasant memories. •.■ ; . "They didn't treat me tod kindly m "' those days," she said wistfully. "I don't mean to say they beat me a lot, ~ or actually ill-used me, but they were harsh, and I had "to do whatever they, told me. -■•--•• -'- -.-- "Some of the women were not very kind, and my life" was- not a happy one," - but I can't remember it very clearly. A rjikau of gui| is : not a light load for ti girl, and' I ''was- not strong as they. .•'/■-." -''r .;,:;: ii " - *.-..■: „....,. • "When she anil her present husband took over sp^§^ndJ^'^jhe.^Whakatarie, where NgoungQii- '.tield-'^Smg rights,' 'she was unable to speak a word of English, but from the time they settled m Poroporo . it seems she grew to know a number of wKite -people, and after a good deal of patient learning, she;, became a fluent'speak.ecjsf^^e^Q^irianguage. VV '^' ■■■■•?■ ' ■-•'■'" " : "" 1 "' "'l - "I often wondered ...who. ,'.} could be," she said, "and how I came to be with the Maoris, but they never allowed ;me to; attend any of th£schools, consequently I can neither read nor write." But there is no sign of uhhappiness m the bearing of ..Mrs. Ngoungpu, and there is no question .thatishe holds her pre3ent husband m loving regard. She seemed, a trifle perplexed at the suggestion/ that this ro'jrnantic illscqAfr cry of her tiHie identity; must '.oe.yery pleasing to herself, .but m her quiet way she remarked: "Oh. I'm an old woman now, and I don't suppose it will make much difference — maybe I'm too old for -it to make me very much happier ..." ■' :-.-?." Like many another woman she shielded her true thoughts from the two newspapermen who sat with her at afternoon tea? since it is hardly likely she will .ever forget the moment when she s ami ■'Mrs? Kay met each".'', other m Whakatane, when the past wheeled by m swift rettospest, and the wide span of years was bridged by the ecstasy of a long embrace. . Everyone speaks highly of her and her family. For years she was ".-.'. the unwitting subject of conject- . ure as to how she became so close- . ly associated with the Maori people, and quite a number of Whakatane townsfolk believed her to be an orphan, from some Maori raid on a ' . pakeha settlement. But -whatever her real thoughts,however keenly she may feel the loss :

EveritfdllJfe

of parents who probably would have meant so much to her, there. can be no question that she has led a .full, an eventful life.- v ' '•• • V A life which, filled with the hazards and hardships inseparable from the experience of one who \was*so terribly the means of. expiating what the Maoris .deemed a wrongs is yet^tinged with the colors of incredible romance. Those who read her story will sense this romance, feeling, 11 little of what she passed through m those years of wandering, and wondering, creating mental pictures of those awful days and months when, as a little girl she was harried and.; hustled;" through the tree-packed hinterland .of,; the ,Taranaki coast", yet placing these pictures side by side with the more 4 brightly colored, romantic ones which imagination conjures up. . ' It is all very bewildering, very remarkable. Remarkable to reflect that although a winsome little dot was made to bear some bitter crosses, she has developed a sweet, dignified outlook which, with unpleasantness cast behind it, permits her to live on the pleasant hillsides of the present, abetted by the vista of. three manly sons, an accomplished daughter, and a. ; husband who means all m all to her. .