The Greenstone Door
Chapter XI I Enter the White Men's City
Chapter XI I Enter the White Men's City
We left the wider way almost immediately afterwards and, plodding down a muddy track through dense tea-tree scrub, came presently on some slip-rails, which gave admittance to a paddock. The lights of a house shone forth at the farther end, and towards these Mr. Brompart directed his way, after having dismounted and closed the slip-rails.
"Ever seen a cow, Master Tregarthen?"
"No, sir."
"There is one yonder. You can see her horns against the sky."
I looked and saw her as he stated, her head and shoulders appearing against the pale background over the low hill. It was a thrilling sight, and, for all the years of familiarity that have intervened between that day and this, my first cow rises before me as I write the word, a veritable creature of romance.
A few yards from the building Mr. Brompart told me to dismount, and, bidding me go inside, led the horses away. For what I believe was the first time in my life I was seized with that strange, causeless trepidation of the mind, from which youth often suffers untold miseries. I made my way to the veranda, and though the house door stood invitingly open, and I could plainly hear the voices of the folk engaged in conversation inside, my will page 142was paralysed, and not a step farther could I go. In vain I reasoned with myself, called up the hairbreadth escapes of my life; more easily could I have faced the Great One than these harmless people of my own race. As the minutes passed and my terror, or whatever it was, increased rather than diminished, I sat down on the step and presently found myself listening to what was being said inside. Mr. Brompart had evidently gained the interior through another entrance, for his was the voice which first drew my attention.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Is the boy not come in?"
There was a unanimous negative and a chorus of questions—as to my whereabouts from the men and my appearance from the women.
"As to where he is," said the master of the house, "probably he has mistaken the cow-shed for the dwelling-house, and John had better seek him there before he turns in with the other calf."
This raised a guffaw, which John interrupted to declare that he would not be saddled with the responsibility of looking after me. "I know how it will be if I make a beginning," said he; "he will be shoved on to me all the time. I'm not going to have him hanging round, with every one making fun of his wild manners and his broken English."
"As to his English," Mr. Brompart admitted, "he speaks well, and there is no great fault to be found with his manners. Get me my slippers, Sarah; and you, Richard, go and see what has become of him."
"Not me!" said Richard. "Let Fred go."
"It would have been so simple to have brought the boy in yourself, William," said a new voice, "instead of troubling the boys to do so."
"As to that, Jane," returned Mr. Brompart, with unexpected mildness, "I have done a day's work. But let it page 143be: the boy, no doubt, will manage well enough in the open air."
"I'll go, father," said an eager treble; "he can't be very far away."
"Sit down, Sarah! I wonder at you! "reprimanded her mother. "Fred can go as far as the veranda and call out."
The sound of an advancing footstep brought me hastily to my feet. The flattering allusions to which I had just listened had served one good purpose by bracing my nerves, and, moving my feet noisily on the veranda, I saved Master Fred the trouble of coming any farther by myself entering the house.
I set down this conversation, not because I imagine it will possess any interest for the reader, but for the reason that it introduced the Bromparts to me in a characteristic way and may serve the like purpose with him.
The first thing that struck me in the personal appearance of my new housemates was their pronounced likeness to their father. All had the same near-set eyes, only avoiding a squint by a narrow margin, softened, it is true, in the faces of the two girls, but still perceptible. Yet they were not ill-looking girls, and but that Helenora had already delineated on my mind an imperishable image of female beauty in its perfection, I should, no doubt, have beheld them with deeper sensations than I actually experienced. Janet, the elder girl, possessed the better features, but her expression was too cold to be pleasing, and I liked better the looks of her sister Sarah, who had sufficient naturalness to regard me with interest and enough good-nature to frown on the rude antics of her three brothers.
As for these young men—for the youngest of them was scarcely older than myself—I came from a land of savages, it is true, but not such savages as they were. The Maori was, I doubt not he still is, a pattern host. To him courtesy page 144and hospitality to the guest was a religion. There was a ceremoniousness and reserve about him which flattered and elevated, and though, no doubt, his manners might on occasion be not altogether free from hypocrisy, yet better that than insult, and never had I seen a guest, however slight his rank and reputation, subjected to ridicule and buffoonery.
The eldest son, Richard, was at the moment of my entrance engaged with a book. He looked up, stared at me deliberately, and without any form of greeting returned to his reading. The second son, Fred, approached me with his tongue in his cheek, and making a sign to his sisters to observe his cleverness, spoke with a vile accent a number of disconnected Maori words, which he had no doubt picked up promiscuously on the beach. John, the youngest, burst into a laugh and stamped his feet rapturously on the floor.
"Come, come, boys, no tricks," said Mr. Brompart, mildly amused. "And sit down, Master Tregarthen—or Cedric, since you are to be one of the family. Mrs. Brompart—Miss Brompart—Miss Sarah Brompart. Now you know us."
Angry and confused as I was by the, to me, extraordinary nature of my reception, I still sufficiently recollected my father's lessons in the conventions to bow to the ladies. Miss Brompart favoured me with an inclination of her head in return. Mrs. Brompart gave me a languid hand, taken from between the leaves of a fashion journal and returned thereto, and only Sarah warmed my chilled blood with a smile.
"Tea will be ready soon, pa," she said. "Perhaps—Cedric would like to go to his room first."
The use of my Christian name seemed to cause her brothers exquisite amusement, and I saw the angry, red flame in her cheeks. "You should speak to John and page 145Fred, pa," she said warmly; "they don't possess the manners of savages."
The temptation to strike, and strike home, was irresistible. "Indeed, Miss Sarah, you are wrong," I said; "that is exactly what they do possess."
Had a bomb-shell burst in the room, I doubt if its occupants could have looked more astonished. Richard threw down his book, and with a sneering laugh at his discomfited brothers said it was the "best he had heard in a long while." Mr. Brompart said nothing, but he regarded me shrewdly and speculatively for several moments.
"You mustn't mind my brothers," Sarah said, as she conducted me to my room; "they don't mean any harm."
"Then I am sorry I spoke as I did," was my reply.
"Oh, as to that, it will do them good. I meant that you were not to let anything they say or do hurt your feelings. Here is your room. Do you think you will be comfortable in it?"
I had been too much occupied with my new acquaintances to take note of the contents of the room I first entered, but now I looked with interest around me. I have slept in many handsomely appointed bedrooms since that day, but I have never had again the sense of luxurious comfort which came over me at the sight of that little chamber with its single white-curtained window, its simple brass-mounted bedstead, its washstand, mirror, and chest of drawers.
"Indeed, it is a beautiful room," I said fervently.
She laughed gaily, checking her mirth when she saw that I was in earnest.
"Mr. Purcell is very rich, isn't he?" she asked.
"I don't know," I answered. "We used to live in a rush whare, and though we have a good house now, it is nothing to this."
To tell the truth, the idea suggested by her words was page 146almost new to me. My reading, of course, had acquainted me with the fact that there was—though in other lands—a wide disparity between the possessions of individuals, but it had never seemed to me a fact in which I was, or was likely to be, personally interested. Even a great chief like Te Huata had, beyond his clothes, his weapons, and his few hereditary ornaments, no personal possessions, and only my foster-lather owned more of this world's goods than he could immediately use or consume. Yet it would have seemed to me a ludicrous suggestion that Te Huata was poor. My eyes were shortly to be opened on this and many other matters.
I never learned with certainty to what rank in life the Bromparts had belonged previous to their emigration from England. From the number of titled names on the lips of Mrs. Brompart, when, later on, she condescended, for reasons of her own, to take notice of me, I could only conclude that she had moved in the highest circles; but as Mr. Brompart never supported her by word or look, and seemed, indeed, to possess a sneering contempt for titles of every kind, I judged it unlikely that he himself was a person of distinction in the country he came from. On the other hand, there seemed to be no lack of money. The sons made merely a pretence at working on the farm, leaving all the laborious work to hired assistants, and spending their time either idling in the town or riding over the countryside. On that night of my coming they went out after tea, disappearing one at a time, and I noticed that both Mr. and Mrs. Brompart looked annoyed when the discovery was made that they had gone. Janet merely curled her proud lip when asked if she knew where they were. She rarely addressed a word to her brothers, or indeed to any occupant of the house, and later on I could not but discover that she held every member of her family, with the exception of her mother, in disdain.
page 147At breakfast the following morning, Mr. Brompart—after vainly endeavouring to enlist the services of one of his sons to relieve him of the task—announced that he would himself take me into town and show me the sights. "You will be able to dispatch a letter to your foster-father to-morrow," he said thoughtfully. "There is a schooner leaving. Well to have something to write about."
I cordially agreed, for I was all agog to see the splendid city of the white men, of which for years past I had heard so many reports. It was a fine, bright morning as we rode our horses on to the muddy highway and turned our faces towards the shining, island-studded waters of the capital of the Colony. I had supposed the residence of the Bromparts to be, at the nearest, on the outskirts of the inhabited district, but, as I looked around, I could see in every direction the homes of the settlers dotting the grass lands, not merely in the direction of the water but along the ridge of Remuera and towards the beautiful ancient pa, which the white men had rechristened Mount Eden. In front of us, standing out against the sky, were several large buildings, and thence westward I could see them clustering ever more thickly together as the land fell away to the harbour.
"Inside the double rail here, to your right," said my guide, "are the Government House grounds. House itself was burnt down four or five years ago. Royal Hotel to left. The old Post Office and Customs House, Master Tregarthen."
A bugle call rang out sweetly on the morning air, sending a thrill of pleasure through my body.
"The barracks," explained Mr. Brompart. "You'll be interested in the redcoats. All boys are—and women. The 58th Regiment: Lieutenant-Colonel Wynyard in command."
The city of Auckland at that time had its centre in Point Britomart. To the left was Commercial Bay; to the page 148right Official Bay. The early settlers, in establishing themselves, fixed on the sunny slopes to the eastward in preference to those which were subjected to the force of the prevailing winds on the west; and thus the first intention of the town was towards what is now known as Parnell. Already, however, the greater physical advantages of the western side were making themselves felt, and into the muddy channel of Queen Street was rapidly flowing all the enterprise of the budding city. From the check of this westward expansion the east never recovered. To this day there is about Parnell an air—let me not write of stagnation—but of village quietude; nor will it awake to activity till a viaduct spans the intervening valley that proved its undoing.
Giving a name to every object which he saw attracted my attention, and hastening me along meanwhile, Mr. Brompart turned into Shortland Crescent and pushed on down the hill. Even at that date I think there must have been well nigh a dozen vessels lying out in Commercial Bay, while, standing across from the round green hill called North Head, on the opposite shore, came an object of such majesty and beauty that I drew rein, and, lost to everything else of the wonders around me, had eyes only for this. It was a full-rigged ship, one of those emigrant vessels of which I had so often heard in my native home, one of those wondrous floating palaces which were bringing the people of my race in hundreds and thousands to the land of the Maori. How great and glorious were the people who could fashion and control an object so transcendent! Tears of pride and delight came into my eyes as I watched her. Up aloft, I could clearly see the figures of the sailormen taking in the royals and top-gallant sails. Not by any possibility could such privileged beings be of the drinking, swearing class of the Matilda. Meanwhile Mr. Brompart had ridden on till, missing the sound of my horse's page 149footsteps behind, he turned and himself beheld the vessel.
"The Esmeralda!" he cried, gathering up the reins. "Put up your horse at the Osprey in High Street. I have business to be seen to at once," and, waiting no reply, he went off at a trot down the hill.
High Street and the Osprey Inn proved easy to find, and giving my horse in charge of the stable man, I set off on all but dancing feet to explore the town.
Auckland is larger now, but it does not seem to me quite so fine nor so densely populated as it did then. Its single or two-storied shops, with their small windows, its verandahed residences, its public-houses—I think I counted eight in Queen Street alone—represented to me the last word in civilisation. I wondered at the people, men and women, boys and girls, military and civilian, who passed me without a word and with only here and there, among the younger folk, a look of inquiry. The children moved together in twos and threes, and sometimes a couple of soldiers, very smart and dashing in their uniforms, would come along the street abreast, but I was impressed, as I had never been impressed among the Maoris, by a sense of the isolation of the human unit. It was only the rebound of my keyed-up emotions, but seeing so many men moving alone, exchanging merely a word or nod with others here and there, and all with a strange air of intentness on their faces, a sudden chill came over the warmth of my feelings. Unknown to myself, I had come face to face with the barrier of cold reserve which the Anglo-Saxon raises between himself and all but the chosen few.
I have still a vivid recollection of the novel scenes I saw that day. Sale by auction struck me as a magical way of disposing of goods, and I wondered that it had never occurred to my father to adopt it. I resolved, as I stood in Connell & Riding's sale-room on Queen Street and page 150watched the celerity with which the auctioneer disposed of his stock, that my first letter should carry to him full directions for the carrying out of this new idea. In front of the rostrum was a table, piled with drapery goods, muslins and silks and velvets of the finest texture and most delicate hues imaginable. They were mostly in short-length pieces, being, as the auctioneer told us, dress lengths, and so taken was I with their beauty that I could not resist the temptation of buying a couple of pieces for Puhi-Huia and also a large sun-bonnet of genuine Leghorn straw, which things I duly sent to her the next afternoon by the seventeen-ton schooner Gazelle.
I observed Fred Brompart—he was the second son—among the crowd of onlookers, but he took no notice of me uutil after I had made my purchases, when he came up and fingered the stuff and asked me, with more civility than I had looked for, what I intended to do with them.
I was grateful for his recognition, for by this time I was tired of my own company, and I launched out into a description of my foster-sister, all the more fervent that I had had no one to speak with of her since I dried her eyes on the river bank. I came to a conclusion abruptly, expecting to see a sneer on his face, but he merely nodded. "You paid enough for them, Cedric," he remarked.
"You mean I have paid too much?"
"No. The price is right enough as the things are going; but it's a good deal to give for presents to a girl."
"Don't you give presents to your sisters?" I asked, wondering.
For the moment Fred looked embarrassed. "Oh, that's right enough," he said, recovering himself. "But you don't want to be too free with your money till you know the ropes. If you've finished, let's get out of this. I'll tell the man to put your things aside till later on, and we'll go for a stroll round. What do you say?"
page 151My reply was that I was only too glad of his company, and this was the absolute truth. Fred led the way briskly down the street, till we came in front of one of the public-houses I have spoken of—the Crown and Anchor, I think it was—when he came to a halt and proposed that we should go inside and undertake the operation he defined as "wetting our whistles." I wished to be companionable, and there was no doubt also an element of curiosity in my consent, for I had a very exaggerated idea of the wickedness of these places. However, I followed him in, and, pushing our way through the noisy crowd which surrounded the bar, we were presently served with two glasses of English beer. Fred was greatly tickled when he found, after an exhaustive search of his pockets, that he had come out without any money. "After inviting you in and all," said he. "Lucky it was one of the family."
However, I was glad of the opportunity of paying for the beer, and begged that he would keep the change for a sovereign the girl handed him until another occasion, for, as I wisely observed, he would certainly need some more money before the day was out. As for the beer, one mouthful was enough for me. Anything more nauseous had never passed my lips, and despite the whispered remonstrances of my companion, not another drop would I take. Nor have I drunk beer from that day to this. Finding I was not to be moved, Fred kindly exchanged glasses with me, swallowing the contents of mine with the dual purpose of hiding my shame and avoiding such a flagrant insult to the house as I had projected. "Old Sheehan gets nothing but the best, and he's pretty touchy about it," he told me.
I thought this would have terminated our visit, but Fred's whistle, it appeared, was not yet properly moistened, and as I could not be induced to try any other kind of page 152drink, he fell back on a young man of his own age, with whom he had exchanged a nod on entering. Presently he was in the midst of a laughing group, every one with a glass in his hand. I think that was my first insight into the power of money. I could not but reflect that if I had kept my change in my own possession he would nave been obliged to come away with me as he had at first intended.
I was agreeably surprised with the good-humour and friendliness of the men around me. In pronounced contrast with the people in the street, every one addressed me as if I were an old and familiar friend. They asked no questions. They knew me and called me by my name—"Jack" or "Bill" or "Young Larkins here," as one individual persisted in designating me, with such perfect confidence that that name presently ousted the others. Nor did they make an embarrassing demand on me for conversation in my turn; it was enough-that I wore the appearance of listening and continued to smile amiably. Such was my innocence that it did not at first occur to me that I was witnessing the early stages of intoxication—I doubt if I knew that intoxication had stages—and it was only after I had made an earnest but quite unsuccessful effort to understand what they were talking about, that a suspicion of the truth began to form in my mind. After that I was all eagerness to be gone, and finding myself unable to get any answer from Fred as to how long he intended to stay, I finally worked myself to the door and took advantage of its opening to slip out into the street.
By this time it was past midday, and I repaired to the Osprey Inn for lunch. Here I came on Mr. Brompart, just finishing his meal and evidently in a great hurry. "I must return to the office," were his first words as he caught sight of me. "But come down to the beach. Where page 153have you been, boy? The shops? Come down to the——
Fine ship, the Esmeralda. Like to go aboard, perhaps?"
I said that I would extremely, and twenty minutes later, having dispatched my dinner, I hastened down to Official Bay, and was soon, together with Mr. Brompart and one or two other gentlemen, being pulled out to the ship. The cabin passengers had already come ashore, but the red tape of officialdom had tied up the emigrants, who still remained on the vessel. They were now, as I understood, about to be released. Upwards of a score of boats and canoes hung on the flanks of the big, weatherworn ship, some of them touting for passengers, some laden with fresh provisions—strings of fish, little baskets of vegetables and fruit. Through these we made our way, and, reaching the gangway, presently gained the deck.
I am bound to confess that, impressed as I was by the size of this great ocean voyager, I was still more impressed by the darkness, the noisome odours, the general air of filth and squalor that characterised the hold in which the emigrants were confined. Much of the disorder was, no doubt, due to the fact that the voyagers had collected together their belongings prior to leaving the vessel, but even when due allowance was made for this there remained a good deal unaccounted for. In spite of the depressing character of their surroundings, the emigrants were in good spirits. The women sat chatting among their household gods, keeping a watchful eye both on their surrounding bundles and the sturdy children who played hide-and-seek among the litter. The men also were much happier than they were aware of, in drawing comparisons, disastrous to the Colony, between the New Zealand officials and those of the land they had left.
But now word was passed down that they were free, and in a moment all was activity. I fancy that the majority page 154of the men were military pensioners, who had been granted an acre of land with a cottage and the right of pre-emption over five more acres, being in return liable for active service if required; but there was also one considerable batch who seemed to look to Mr. Brompart for instructions, or to possess the right to call on him for assistance.
I may say at once that I never arrived at a clear understanding of this branch of Mr. Brompart's business. Of his own affairs he never spoke to me, and it was chiefly from chance words let fall by other people that I gathered the idea that he represented some group of land-speculators, whose enormous claims were disputed by the natives and remained, so far, unsupported by the Government. How these claims were finally adjusted—if they ever were—or how far Mr. Brompart was himself responsible for the trouble and distress that ensued, I have no knowledge, but I do know that for many years he was rarely free from the importunities of the settlers for a week together, that he often took trips to the southern settlements to avoid receiving deputations, and that even after the lapse of forty years I have occasionally heard his name spoken with invective.
I lingered so long on the ship, taking stock of its proportions and method of construction—for I had resolved to have one exactly like it, but cleaner, at an early date—: that but for a native canoe which still lingered, I was in risk of having to spend the night on board. I found its proprietor among the crew, endeavouring to effect a sale of a few trivial articles of Maori workmanship, and waiting till his business was transacted, I told him that I wanted to go ashore, and asked his terms.
He looked me over thoughtfully, scanned the empty water, and having thus taken stock of the position, announced that the charge was "fi' bob." I had no idea what was a fair price for the proposed service, and, had I page 155been dealing with a white man, whether I suspected him of overcharging me or no, I should have closed the bargain at once. But the Maori was nearer to my heart than the pakeha. I could not bear that he should cheat me, and I knew by the fellow's manner that he proposed to take advantage of my necessities. After all, it would be a perfectly simple matter to swim ashore. So I gave him a proverb in use in our country, when it was considered one sought to make gain out of another's need. The effect on his face was instantaneous, cunning and greed gave place to a look of astonishment, and that, in its turn, to one of shame.
"Friend," said he, "your words are correct. In the Maori sayings lives the wisdom of our ancestors. The canoe is yours."
I found that my new acquaintance belonged to a hapu whose place of residence was somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Tamaki. His name was Tetere. He had been familiar with Auckland from its beginning, and both then and later I learned from him much of the feeling that attended the intercourse of the two races. On one side was humiliation, tempered or held in leash by greed of gain; on the other, at the best, tolerance, at the worst a scurrilous contempt that enveloped the whole native race in the epithet "bloody Maoris."
I am not now speaking of those hardy and courageous settlers, true chips of the ancient Anglo-Saxon block, who, taking their lives in their hands, had gone forth into the wilderness, there to hew out for themselves the homes the old land denied them—they, at least, were compelled by their necessities to hold the original owners of the soil in respect; nor of the men of culture and understanding who were able to pierce the dark skin of ignorance and observe with admiration the natural strength of the brain beneath; but of the mass of the townsmen, themselves of no particular page 156education, of narrow, insular views and absorbed in the petty issues of trade. Many of these had come direct from the cities of England or from Sydney, hired or purchased a shop or office immediately on landing, and entered on business, as though they had merely shifted from one street to another. Never moving from the narrow limits of the town, seeing only the worst side of the natives in their midst, they could form no adequate conception of the qualities of that race without whose continued forbearance and goodwill their lives were not worth an hour's purchase.
It is true that a share in the blame for this misunderstanding must be laid at the door of the natives. I think there was nothing in the early days of my residence in Auckland that so puzzled and even shocked me as the manners of the Maori visitors. I had been accustomed to dignity and reserve, to courteous speech, to honourable dealing; here I could see little of any of them. The men were boisterous and tricky, the women bold and worse. Their lack of pride angered me. I have seen—this was in the days before the establishment of the Maori hostelry—men and women lying wrapped in their blankets, asleep in the doorways and at corners of streets, the winter rain falling on them. Yet they must have known that no white man had ever so lain within reach of the shelter of a Maori whare. Keen as were their wits, their whole attitude towards the pakeha was a mistake. Nay, it was their very keenness that led them astray. In their manner was a reflection of the manner of those who addressed them. He who came with boisterous jest found a boisterous jester to receive him. The speech underlined with senseless oaths was responded to in like fashion. What the pakeha gave, that did he receive. But though, as I have said, a measure of blame must attach to the native on this account, the initial fault lay with the white man, who, page 157satisfied with his formula of "bloody Maoris," neither doubted nor attempted to conceal his immense mental superiority.
But I am anticipating. Only a faint suggestion of some irritating soreness came to me from Tetere's words on that occasion. I was aware of a cloud in the bright sunlight of that winter's afternoon—a cloud far off and impalpable. Would it melt away in the blue heavens, or grow till the whole fair land darkened under its shadow? Very pretty and peaceful looked this youngest of cities from the calm waters of the bay. Neatly painted cottages gleamed from their orchards and gardens round the shore. The highly prized Pinus insignis, destined before long to change the whole aspect of the surrounding country, rose in the first splendour of its vigorous youth. Flowers were not wanting, even at that season; great white trumpets of datura hung from the fences, bushes of yellow jasmine enlivened the gardens, and, most conspicuous of all, glowing, as though it itself originated the light it reflected, the resplendent bougainvillea of Australia made of some unpretentious dwelling a shrine of beauty.
From the high land over our heads, an unbroken series of buildings, beginning with the little church of St. Paul's, descended the steep gradient, westward, to the beach at its foot. Over the point rose the masts of the trading vessels then in port, and on the still air I could hear the chanties of the sailors, as they loaded timber for the Port of Sydney. Auckland was not yet in her teens, yet already so much was accomplished. Truly the men of my race loitered not on the way. Ever present in their minds were the mighty cities they had left. No time to be lost. No time for dalliance. As they were, so must this be. Swiftly they built: would the things that they built endure?
Breaking the silence with startling suddenness, came a bugle call, several bugles ringing out together.
page 158Tetere lifted his eyes to the cliff. "The soldiers," he said, and a brooding look gathered on his face.
Alas, if therein lay the answer! Alas, if to the arbitrament of what was suggested by those sounds should be submitted the question of the endurance of the works of the white man!