CURSE THAT FAILED

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 7020, 7 January 1910, Page 10

CURSE THAT FAILED

OLD MAORI'S STORY OF A TRIBE'S CONVERSION. FEOil OUE SPECIAL CORKESFONDEXT. LONDON, November 26. Dramatic glimpses' of Old Now Zealand in tho da's of the bloodthirsty Rauparaha are given in "Koro," a little volume jut-c published in which the Rev. J. W. Stack, late hon. Canon of Christchui-ch, tells the lifestory of &n old Maori convert named Koro.

Ono of old Koto's stories is about tho cursing of an English missionary. Mr Hadfield, by a 'Maori tohunga. Mr Hadfiold was opposing on one occasion the policy advocated by some of Kauparaha's leading chiefs, who wantel to go to war with a neighbouring tribe. , One of tho chiefs, a tohunga of great reputation as a wizard, worked himself up to a terrible pitch of fury against tho missionary, and ended by cursing him and handing Mm over to the Powers of Darkness. DRAMATIC- SEQUEL.

All the Maori converts were very frightened at this. They knew that Maoris often died after being cursed by a tohunga, and they did not know how far their missionary was proof against the evil spirits. All Mr Hadfield said was "I am in tho keeping of the true God. 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.'" Just a 3 the sun was going down, and tho converts were assembled with Mr Hadfield for. evening service, a. strange tiling happened. The chief who had cursed the missionary died suddenly, the blood spouting from his mouth till he expired. Of course this dramatic end to the curse episode caused a revolution of feeling in favour of the new religion. The Maoris accepted their tohunga's death as a proof that tho God of the Christians was stronger than the Gods of the heathens. "In a short time," says Mr Stack, "the majority of Eauparaha's -warriors avowed their determination to embrace Christianity, and place themselves under the missionary's instruction to be prepared for baptism." Thus the bursting of a blood-vessel in an old Maori's frame did what all the missionary's sermons and prayers had failed to do—it converted the heathen! KORO'S THREE! HATS.

Old Koro was a slave in Rauparaha's tribe before his conversion, and could tell some grisly stories of the cannibalism and other 'atrocities that took place in the old warring days. One©, he said, when a returned slave was telling a group of Maoris about the now teaching of the missionaries, a relative of Koto's master strolled in, and in a fit of drunken frolic deliberately cut the throat of an inoffensive old nmn who was intently listening to tho speaker. Koro, dressed as a Christian, must have been a quaint figure. He! was a little man, with an ungainly walk, Mr Stack describes his appearance thus:—

"Ho was_ attired after a very fantastic fashion in a variety of garments, which all seemed too big for him.

"His head was surmounted by no less than three hats, stuck one over the other. A thick woollen muffler enveloped his neck, while his feet were wrapped in rags, kept together by native flax sandals. . . . "Taking off his hat, he disclosed a bald, well-greased head. The loss of ono eye rather spoilt the expression of his face, which , though plain, was intelligent, and bore a striking resemblance to a Chinese typo of countenance." But, says Mr Stack,, despite his scarecrow appearance Koro was one of the best of men, and within his ungainly and misshapen body dwelt a pure and noble spirit. HALF-CASTE'S PLIGHT. "A BEING DIVIDED AGAINST HIMSELF." ' In a paper in the "Contemporary Review," by Miss Mabel Holmes, on the social position of the Maoris, occurs this revelation of the internal troubles *of the half-caste. Her informant is the son of a retired naval offieer, who married a Maori woman of means. This half-oaste son was given the best education to be obtained in New Zealand, finishing with Oxford and a Continental tour. At thirty-five he gave this description of himself and his plight:— "In my opinion the pure Maori, living away back from civilisation, is still a noble man and great orator. The nearest approach to an English translation of his language is to be found in the Psalms of David. He employs the same musical rhythm, and at times identical metaphor. But the half-caste —there has never been bom a halfcaste of any race who could be trusted, or who could trust himself. Funny, isn't it, to say that when I'm one? LIFE A HELL. I "But consider. The mixture of white and coloured blood is physiologically and psychologically wrong, and produces a being divided against himself, at one moment despising the black in him, at the next resenting and lothing the white. Take mo as an example. My life is a hell.. I wished to -become a I dootor, but my father, realising too late the fat© to which his marriage had condemned his sons, would not hear of such a profession for me —he could not trust me. '■O'O. with ample means, I travel for, say, two years, during which my white side is in evidenoe; I am a cultured gentleman, refined in thought and action. I return to New Zealand, drawn by that home-hunger to which every man of colour is subject. A wedding, a funeral, occurs amongst my mother's people; the Maori in me is in honour bound to attend. A feast, a da,nce, a tangi, a war-dance—down goes culture and the white heneath a savagedom bearing all the vices of civilisation to add to its horrors; "Afterwards, satiated, debauched, I crawl back to respectability through agonies of self-contempt and remorse. No, I will be the father of no children to endure such torture as this eternal struggle between my two selves."