THE LATE MAORI KING.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XVI, 20 October 1894, Page 368

THE LATE MAORI KING.

BY ONE WHO KNEW HIM. A * PALL MALL BUDGET ’ MAN S YARN. It is now ten years or more since, commissioned by one of the leading newspapers in New Zealand, I journeyed to Plymouth to meet the Orient line steamer Sorato, on board which Tawhiao, the recently deceased ‘ King of New Zealand,’ came to England, in company with several of his chiefs, to make representations to the ‘ Great White Queen ’ as to certain grievances which he entertained towards the Colonial Government. Getting on board, vid the tender, I was one of the first Englishmen to get in touch with Tawhiao, travelling as I did up Channel with him one beautiful Whit-Sunday, until, late in the day, the vessel reached the Port of London. Thenceforward I was almost constantly with him, from day to dav, and had ample opportunity of observing his idiosyncrasies. It is all nonsense

to talk about bis intelligence. He was, to all intents and purposes, a savage, and, moreover, had the instincts of one. He was deceitful to the backbone. When he left New Zealand he pledged himself to teetotalism, and I read that when he went back he asserted that he had continued to keep the pledge. Nothing of the kind. I have seen him drink champagne and bottled beer in London with infinite gusto. He would go to the Crystal Palace and put on the blue ribbon ; and on his return amply indulge in the cup which not only cheers but inebriates. On one occasion I accompanied the party to the Palace when a display of fireworks was arranged in honour of the * New Zealand King.* Tawhiao had arrayed himself in a superfine suit of black, with high silk hat and patentleather boots. After doing the sights he was entertained at dinner, and, what with the fatigue and the stimulants, it was with the greatest difficulty that he could be prevailed upon to attend the display ; and this only after he had, in a Gt of temper, smashed his hat, and torn off his boots, so that he had to go in bis socks to pull the string that sent the pigeon to set fire to his own effigy. What appeared to strike him most was the vast concourse of people that he saw below the balcony on which he was placed. Tawhiao was cunning and slothful, yet * childlike and bland.’ He would turn up his shirt sleeves and grind away at a barrel-organ with the greatest of gusto ; yet would be awe-struck on the Underground Railway or in Westminster Abbey, to both of which places I conducted him. The same features and the same characteristics, more or less, marked the chiefs who accompanied Tawhiao to England. Bow Lane, Montagu Place, Russell Square, and Holborn could tell some strange tales of the visit of Tawhiao and his attendant chiefs to England. They were fdted, as all strange and peculiar people are ; but, from my own observation, I can safely say that a more deceitful set of people could hardly have set foot on this island. Their character and their duplicity are well known to the colonials ; and, although they succeeded in getting an interview with Lord Derby, who was Colonial Secretary at the time, the Queen, doubtless acting under good advice, declined to grant the so called king an interview. They were, however, everywhere treated with hospitality—much in the same way as some people to-day treat a pet dog or a monkey. The leading spiiit of the English expedition was Major Te Whereoa, a native member of the New Zealand Legislature ; but, although he was head and shoulders above Tawhiao in intelligence, he rapidly fell into the toils of London life. One amusing incident may be mentioned, in which I played a conspicuous, though innocent, part. Overnight the king and the rest of us had been to the Alhambra. Between the acts a visit was paid behind the scenes. Later on, supper was partaken of at the Savage Club—very appropriate place. Here Patera Te Tuhi, the king’s cousin, and editor of a newspaper published in the native dialect, was introduced to a gentleman whom he had seen earlier in the evening in costume on the stage, and whom he did not now at all recognise. Next day Patera sum tinned me through the interpreter, and, complaining that he had been annoyed by boys shouting to him in the streets, by reason of his dark, tattooed face, asked if I could conduct him to some place where he could metamorphose himself in the same way as the artist had done overnight. Protecting myself by saying that I would not hold myself responsible for the results, I took Patera under my wing, and conducted him to Mr Clarkson’s, in Wellington street—he will probably remember it —where the chief was duly manipulated upon, and he afterwards left, highly pleased in the possession of cosmetique, powder-box, puff, etc , with which probably to startle his fellows when he returned to his native land.