A TRIP UP THE WANGANUI RIVER TO THE HOME OF THE MAORI.

Wanganui Herald, Volume XXI, Issue 6216, 12 May 1887, Page 4

A TRIP UP THE WANGANUI RIVER TO THE HOME OF THE MAORI.

BY THE WARRIGAL.

(weekly press.) Our river appetites appeased, and supper over, the table ia cleared for action which means for pipeß and glasseß, and we smok^and Mr.Throssel, -who has saUed in many parts of the world.telfs some of his adventures, and Captain Marshall and I talk Waikato, till we' all grow sleepy and seek our peaceful oouches. At daybreak in the morning I am awakened by a loud splash. Ah, I think, Alf with his usual perverseness has jumped into the water instead of on the bank, but ,it is only McGregor taking his mottling bath. I tumble out (for as I am on a ship I could not "get up,") I tumble out and go on deck, The morning air is sharp and biting, and only the tips of the hills are brightened by Bunlight ; in the depths of the gorge, the white mists curl over us and the Bteamer, and go rolling majestically down the river.' We soon get under weigh. Alf in response to the Captain's order to "stand by," lets go the the line that holds us to the bank and we drift down stream some distance before the apathetic Tuhua re covers sufficient energy to head the current. But we move on our way very soon, and passed the whare of Faipai, a well-known old warrior who condescends to have a splendid collection of fruit trees around his home. The sun rises over the highest hill and light and warmth creep down to the lowest depth of the gorge, and brightens the water over which we glide. Gregor McGregor is telling me about the kowhai floods; how ■when the kowhai (a tree resembling manuka) blossoms, there is bound to be a flood, and how not so long ago the river rose forty three feet in a few days, and how there is generally a flood at Christmas time when the Tata blossoms and it is called the rata flood, and another when the moki blossoms is called the moki flood; We lounge about the decks smoking and talking as the Tuhua struggles feebly up stream ; presently we near a long canoe that is being pulled in our direction by a tall well-built Maori and a grizzled old wahine. The captain offers them a tow, so the old lady steers the canoe alongside, and it is made fast to the rail. Then we see lying on a bed of grass a young wahine named Hipera who is very ill ; the tall well-built puller is her husband, and now he stoops over her in the narrow canoe, and draws the blankets closer round her and shelters her from the sunlight, and does everything he can to make her comfortable as a good husband should. Another of the canoe's crew, old Peneta, comes on board, and is introduced to me ; he is a good-natured individual, and smiles with his tattoo marks; McGregor haß a long korero with him, and interprets for me. Then Mr. McElwain joins us, and Bomehow the conversation turns to the Taupo regfon, and I am told how the lake teems with carp, which the Maoris call Morihana because a Captain Morrison placed them in it, and how sometimes these fish swim into a boiling jet of water in the lake without knowing it and are cooked before they can escape. And then Mr McElwain describes a huge black rock at the base of Mt. Ruapehu, out of which two rivers flow, one the Waikato, which is fresh and clear, and the other the Wangaehu, which is rank and sulphurous, and flows to the uiuth. We soon reach Te Punakewhetu pah, and opposite see a large clump of the Akerautangi tree, out of which most Maori weapons are made. We are amongst the native villages now, and the men, women, children, and kuris, come down to the edge of the j water and Bhout lenakoe, and wave their hands towards us. On by the large pah Farekino, where a number of people are shelling Kaanga Pirau (maize steeped in water till it is almost rotten), then to the noble reach of broad deep water, Whakauruawaka, which resembles its name, and is the place whore Major Kemp, Epita, Fatapu, Hore, and Fikirau, after a desperate struggle, during which one canoe was sunk, captured four out of the five natives engaged in the GilMan murders, and took them down to Wanganui, where the whole four were hanged on a gallows where the fire-bell station now is. Above the long reach is Terewa Island in tho middle of the, river, and,'to pass it we have to climb theSJpokopoito rapids — literally climb them I mean, for here the current runs more than seven knots, and the steamer can only go about five. So Alf has got into a bewildered frame of mind, whilst Arthur coils a long hawcer down the boat ; the boat pulls to the bank and they drag it up the rapids by main force until they reach a friendly tree, where the rope is made fast, and then the boat drifts towards us and brings us the other end of the rope, which is turned round the winch, and we all hang on to it ; the steam is put full on to the winch and the stern wheel also revolves as fast as it can and thus we haul, or rather the steamer hauls herself slowly up the steep of water, nntfl w.e reacn comparatively still water again. We pass a pahtuna, or eel weir, which is a strong closely-built fence of stakes set diagonally to the Btream, and against which the fish are driven and into a Huwtu or Hinaki [a basket made from the fibrous roots' of the Kia kia]. This pahtuna belongs to the Atene [Athens] pah, which is built on, a grassy flat just above a sandy, beach. Here I behold a novel way of delivering Her Majesty's mails, for Captain Marshall, who is postman, ties a letter for Te Rakee to a potato and heaves it ashore as the steamer goes past, and nearly annihilates a naked pot bellied boy who runs to catch it. All around the Atene pah are patches of maize, kumaras and potatos (the Maoris do not sow their potatos until after Christmas, and will probably not take them up until July). Both maize and kumaraß grow luxuriantly here, and show the wonderful fertility of the soil. There are also many fruit trcqa which grow here with prolific strength, and the quince trees are still heavily laden with splendid fruit, though the Maoris neither prune nor manure. There is no doubt that the terraces and valleys all up the river, and even the hill sides are specially adapted for fruit growing, arid I hope to see the day when, from Upokongaro to Taumaranui, the banks of this noble river are covered with vineyards and gardens rich with all manner of fruits. And perhaps, then, some "one more worthy than "The Warrigal"will write of the beauties of the Wanganui, and

jit will be fully understood how much it excels the European Bhine that I have likened it to. The Wanganui is 'not even lacking the legends on which the Bhine prides itself so greatly. There, on the bank, half hidden by the bush, is a strong wharc, that I am bidden to notice, and McGregor injterprets a legend belonging to it that old Feneta tells as he squats on the deck, and that I shall take the liberty j of re-telling for the instruction of the \ readers of the Weekly PrJics. Luckily it is not long : — " Not long ago in that whare lived Taketa, a reckless man, for he killed and did eat a manuteko (a white tvi — a freak of nature). Now he knew that it was unlucky to eat such a thing, yet he did eat it, and its spirit came and took Taketa to the top of Taupiri, that high hill way down the river, and from there it took him to Kuapehu, and where else he knew not ', but he did not return to the whare until a month had pass] ed, and then he was cut and torn with many wounds." McGregor himself has seen the man, and tells me that his body was frightfully lacerated, Taketa said that he had to drink his own blood to keep himself alive. This is quite a modern legend and shows that the Maori needs only a little encouragement to produce them by scores j but they should be told in the Maori's own poetical language to be fully appreciated. We hear a loud shout, and see the long mail canoe coming swiftly towards us, propelled by polers and rowers. It comes alongside, and then I learn how mails and goods are conveyed to the up river settlers. It is rarely that the long s.sTuhua can proceed up river, as she draws too much water, and her power is not sufficient. So there is a regular canoe service carried on by good boatmen, who ply between Wanganui and Fipiriki. These men have a hazardous and difficult task, for they have to descend a swift river that breaks into a whirling eddying rapids here and there and, all long the poles or oars must be going to make headway against the stream. It is surprising to s~q men standing on these narrow ticklish canoes- and putting all their weight on to slender poles and bending down as the canoe moves along till one thinks it impossible that they can recover their equilibrium again. But they do so, and again and again, whilst the steerer balances himself right on the pointed stern, and guides the canoe with wonderful skill. The river 'and surroundings are strikingly beautiful. On either side are low flats thickly covered with pitau (tree fern), and from the flats rise perpendicular cliffs, tapestried with gigis, slender ferns, and creepers ; and the clifls, after rising hundreds of feet in places, sheer off into peaked hills densely covered with bush. We glide slowly past Teponga, where the last fight took place between the natives. It appears that the tribe Fatutokotoko, in traversing the river, used wontonly to destroy the pigs belonging to the tribe Ngatipahmona. Here, Peneta, through the aid of McGregor, tell us how Pahmona, the father of the latter tribe, came from high up the coast near Taranaki anu settled on the Wanganui, and that the natives here looked upon them as intruders and hated them, but the Ngati-\>dh-mona were great warriors (Nga is the plural), and mustered fully 170 fighting men, who used as their boast "KalaJd tui, mo Pahmoana: Koho Pahnoum " (which means that in killing their enemies it was like killing tuis.) So the tribe Patutokotoko brought a hornet's nest about their ears for killing other people's pigs for the tribe Ngatipamoana in revenge attacked them and routed them utterly, and Peneta further tells us that the Ngatipamoana though often fighting were never beaten, but conquered all their enemies. I like sitting on deck, as we travel up the noble and picturesque river, watching the beautiful banks go by like a gigantic panorama, and better still I like to hear the stories of the land from two natives of the land, each different in race and colour. Peneta one, the other Gregor McGregor. It would repay any European tourists to see not only the beaten tracks of Otago and the Hot Lakes, but also to journey up this river, seeing, as he could scarcely see elsewhere, the native homes of the native race. We have a long distance yet to go up the river, and more stories of the land to hear ;but I must wait until next -week to write of what I heard and saw, *