THE CRADLE OF OUR HISTORY.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 142, 17 June 1926, Page 9

THE CRADLE OF OUR HISTORY.

ON THE SHORES OF THE BAT. LITTLE REMAINS BUT MEMORY. (By JANET HANLEY.) If, as is said, all good Americans when they die go to Paris, surely all good New Zealanders go Home. To each comes some special attraction whether Wimbleton or Wembley, Henley or the National Gallery; but every visitor from the young world feels the glamour of the past as he gazes at the church where Cromwell stabled his horses, at the castle built during the tjfeubled days of Yorkist and Lancastrian, and at the village named and numbered in Doomsday Book. That historical atmosphere is entirely absent from New Zealand, although here and there, as at Russell, are the scenes of those events with which our history began. Unfortunately instead of stately castleg there are only a few old-fashioned houses scattered along the endless coast of the bay and lost in their surroundings. Lacking noble buildings or great ruins the bay yet offers its story and from the so'ftsounding names the past rebuilds itself. It is a far cry back through one hundred and sixty years to the day when Cook's Endeavour, driven by contrary winds, unwillingly cast anchor in the bay. He daunted the natives with the noise of guns, saw more Maoris in an hour than we now see in a week, traded, explored and once more sailed on his way. Here, too, came an expedition irom France. At its head was Marion dv Fresne, a wealthy man devoting bimself to the cause of science, a leader beloved by his men. He and his men came to this anchorage, "which is certainly one of the finest to be found anywhere." Around the vessel crowded countless canoes, some superb ones built out of a single piece of timber and large enough to carry a hundred men. Here fish in plenty was to be found and -xcellent oysters, a pleasure not to be enjoyed I to-day. To the travel-worn sailors this pleasant land seemed a glimpse of paradise. Daily the Frencn scattered to their several tasks and amusements. Marion frequently wandered away to fish and was of them all the one who least suspected evil. The letails of the dispute are not absolutely certain, for the French log and the Maori tradition differ somewhat; but we do know that the French were taken by surprise and that Marion and a number of his men met their death on the shores of Manawaora Bay. A sad ending to the hopes with which the officers had named the anchorage, "Marion Bay." The coming of the new century marks a great change at the bay. The inevitable clash between the tivo stages of civilisation was beginning. Whalers and other less reputable crafts came to obtain provisions from the Maoris, who grew potatoes and eagerly traded them for the coveted iron.

From these rough visitors the Maoris could learn little good, but fortunately they found a friend elsewhere. Long before ever Marsden came to New Zealand he had befriended many a Maori visiting the wonderful city of Sydney, and he planned even greater benefit* for the future. Christmas Day of 1814, when he preached the first eermon in New Zealand, was the first step in the fulfilment of these plans; but it was even more the promise of great, good things to come. Nor was the realisation of that promise long delayed. Rangihoua, Keri Keri, Pahia, Waimate, Te Puna, each marks a step onwards, the formation of a centre of peace in the midst of barbarism. Just as a fever must advance to its climax, so the laet thirty years of independence were the fiercest and most unrestrained in Maori history. Chiefs visiting Sydney returned with wonderful, new ideas. Hongi, the greatest of them all, made the much longer voyage to England, and secretly planned hie career of conquest. On his return he brought with him a great store of guns. Relying on these, he carried war far to the south, and the war canoes brought back plunder and prisoners. Of all the cannibal feasts which stained that soil, those were the worst, taking place as they did when a new light was shining among the people. Nor was the white race without cause for blame. Worst of all were the most disreputable of the class of pakeha Maori who gave themselves up entirely to the native life, and shared the most horrible customs. More and more veesels came to the Bay. At one time no fewer than 36 ships—English, American or French—were anchored there, and their rough crews gave point to the Maori's advice to the missionary to convert the latter's own countrymen before teaching the heathen. However the sentimentalists may regret the passing of the old order, however glaring the faults of civilisation may seem, the fiat had gone forth —the white man must come. So all things marched to their appointed end. The I British Government was compelled to realise that New Zealand was becoming the happy hunting ground of undesirable characters, but it was extremely . anxious to avoid any responsibility. Successive Secretaries of State recognised the independence of these islands, both of which Cook had annexed, and finally, ac a compromise, it was decided to appoint a resident, who might act as a restraining influence on the rapidly-increasing body of settlers. So there came the pompous but rather pathetic figure of Busby, attempting the impossible with inadequate tools, truly ""a man-o'-war without guns."

Seven years later, in 1840, dawned the day which saw the frigate "Herald" come drifting up with the tide, for there was no wind to drive her. The little settlements sprang into life; missionary and merchant welcomed, land-grabber and outlaw were hostile, and the Maori was pleased and excited. On the all-impor-tant Wednesday the sun shone brightly. Many canoes made their way to the mouth of the Waitang:, the paddles keeping time to the chant of the kaituki standing in the centre of the canoe. The ships in the harbour were gay with bunting, and the crowd both of natives and of white men was great at Waitangi. When Hobson delivered his message from the young Queen Victoria and her Ministers there was at first some indecision, but Tamati Waka Nene turned the tide in favour by signing the treaty, and one by one the chiefs drew their marks on the parchment. To-day we may gaze at Busby's house and walk on the lawn where Maori and pakeha 6wayed the crowd with their eloquence, but the glory and excitement have departed. February of 1840 did not mark the end of the drama. Five years later there was to be riot and bloodshed, when for the fourth time the flagstaff era-shed to the ground, and Hone Heke reduced Kororareka to ashes. To-day there remains hardly the memory of those daye. They are impossibly far beyond the horizon. ]