PAGES FROM THE PAST

Taranaki Daily News, 29 April 1922, Page 9

PAGES FROM THE PAST

MAKUTU MAORI. OLD TUHOTO, THE TOHUNGA OF TARAWERA. (By “Juvenis.”) Writes an old Taranaki resident:— It was my lot—in some senses fortunately—to be in Rotorua district during the eruptions of Tarawera and Rotomahana. Amidst the sad surroundings of desolation and death, which so severely marked the inner radii of volcanic action, it was amusing to listen to the many and various theories propounded by the Maori as to the cause of the thermal outburst. But each ai-.d ail ultimately agreed that the devastation was caused in some mysterious way by the agency of makutu or witchcraft. The, sense of awe pressed heavily on the native mind. The fearful scene witnessed —the peril experienced—had in a superlative degree impressed the erstwhile savage; and as civilised man hunts for precedents on all occurring matters of moment, so the Maori, lately emerged from the thraldom of savage life, cast round for some cause for the awful phenomena. To his mind anything profound or incomprehensible was connected with makutu, and by his reasoning what might be more probable than that the tohunga (priest) really possessed the power the pakeha scoffed at, and had invoked the aids of his Atuas (Gods) in performing a manifestation of his sacred powers? The Tuhourangi and Rangitihi tribes, who resided chiefly at Te Wairoa, had a tohunga of the old, old school. He was very aged. His people asserted that lie remembered seeing Captain Cook. That may be true. At the least, I should say he was 100 years old. His decrepitude was extreme, and for many years, through fear, he had been much neglected by his people. Poor old Tuhoto! Often was I touched by his pitiable j condition. Residing only with his old I infirm spouse, living a secluded life, his wants were badly attended to. He was far too sacred a personage for the younger people even to converse with, and many a light-hearted, frolicsome maid and boy hushed their mirth when coming in sight of the old seer. I often visited the old fellow, and sat by his side for long spells, endeavoring by little presents of tobacco and other luxuries to ingratiate myself, and obtain from him some narration of the stirring old times, when in his health and power he wielded over his tribe such despotism as could only be exerted by the tohunga. But Tuhoto’s ideas were very vague. He dwelt in the long past—his thoughts were with those long since journeyed to the Reinga. His speech was almost confined to the ancient, karakia. or incantations; and the being of to-day who crossed his vision was to him what the skimming bird is to us. sim-

ply an animate object—nothing more. Listlessly the old priest spent his days calmly waiting for the Spirit of Death to summon him to the bourne of his corn peers. June 10, 1886. startled the sleeping inhabitants of Te Wairoa with terrible earth trembles, and reiterated shrieks of Nature’s imprisoned forces. The houses fairly reeled—intense cold prevailed, the air was filled with electricity, darkness covered all as with a pall; fear approaching paralysis seized upon all—when, in the midst of the mighty struggle, Tarawera. the sacred resting place of generations of dead, burst into volcanic activity, and what had been known as the World’s Worn, derland.. wherein raposed the matchless terraces, was laid in devastation! Added to Tarawera’s eruption. Rotomahana vomited over the doomed settlement showers of mud, which speedily razed the dwellings, and consummated the work of destruction. It. is impossible to imagine the horrible time spent by the terror-stricken inhabitants, who, huddled in their various whares, waited till daylight would disclose the ravages of the volcano, and till they could leave their ruined homes. Slowly and sullenly day broke, and so marked were the changes wrought, that many could scarce credit that they were gazing on what had been their beautiful kainga. With grief-stricken hearts, and fear--1 of further volcanic outbursts, the descendants of Tuhourangi and Rangitihi plodded laboriously their ways through the piercingly cold volcanic mud to Ohinemutu, where they were received with sympathetic greeting by their neighbors and relatives of Ngatiwhakane. Two days later, the European residents in Rotorua formed expeditions to cross Lake Tarawera, in search of the inhabitants of Te Moura and Te Ariki kaingas. It was on the Monday, four days after the eruption, 1 was helping

to lower over the Wairoa precipices the •two boats, which crossed the Lake and brought back the dismal tidings that the sites of Te Moura and To Ariki were completely obliterated from the earth’s surface. Whilst at our labors we were startled by loud shouts. Hastily repairing a short distance, we observed a few Europeans digging excitedly round a gable end of a whare just showing above ground. The few scattered via!-, tors to the place speedily gathered' round the workers, and from beneath the ground muffled human sounds were audible. Spades were quickly in requisition. and highly eager workers tossed furiously away the debris covering the whare. Whilst the exhumation was progressing I learnt from an old friend who was directing operations, that it was old Tuhoto that they were unearthing. Learning from the refugees at Ohinemutu that amongst those missing was old Tuhoto: and for whom they were determined not to search, as many firmly ascribed to the aged tohunga Tarawera’s outburst, my friend became filled with an unconquerable desire to obtain a very old and valuable whakakai, or greenstone pendant, which was suspended to the venerable priest’s ear. I think only two Maoris were amongst the searchers at Wairoa, and these two pointed out where Tuhoto’s whare had been. Prodding through the debris and mud. the searcher was eleetdified to hear gruntings from underground, and immediately became alive to the fact that Tuhoto, though buried, was still amongst the living. Very little time sufficed to clear the hidden whare. in which Tuhoto was observed squatting, and eager hands soon had the old man in open air. His appearance and expression when rescued were most interesting. Gazing round, and unable to recognise in the altered surroundings any of the old landmarks, he somewhat fearfully scanned our countenances, and becoming assured

that he was still in the land of his birth, gutterally enquired, “Where am I? What portion of the earth is this?’* We had no time to enter into a narration with the old fellow, but we one and all carried and escorted him with great rejoicing to the ruins of Mcßae’s Hotel.

Fortunately, some enterprising souls had just arrived in one of Carter’s brakes, and to the popular Jehu, Mae, we consigned his seership for conveyance to the Sanatorium at Rotorua.

It was some days after, when having returned from the Rotomahana expedition, that I again saw Tuhoto. The Maoris had distinctly refused to have him amongst them, so Dr. Ginders, the Government medical officer, had made room for the old fellow in the hospital buildings. I should have mentioned that one of Tuhoto’s chief features was his hair. It was abundant, and stood in spikes six inches or more long, and as I am sure it had neither been washed nor dressed for a generation, one can easily imagine it was more than tapu. The genial doctor mirthfully told me through Tuhoto he had become unwittingly literally steeped in tapu, to such an extent that the Maoris had quitted coming to his dispensary for medicines. On the tohunga’s arrival at the Sanatorium, after a cursory examination, the doctor decided that Tuhoto must have his hair shorn and undergo washing with disinfecting fluid before he could be placed in a bed. In a twinkling, shorn the old fellow was, and to those acquainted with Maori lore it is unnecessary for me to say that the head of any person of rank, and particularly that of a tohunga, is essentially tapu. I found the rescued old man most comfortably cared for. The matron and attendants were assiduous in their attentions. All that could minister to the old man’s comfort was bestowed on him. But no, Maori visited him. and it seemed heartless that he, lying in foreign surroundings, had none of his tribe to tend and soothe his latest days. Daily I visited him, and kept his* pipe well supplied with torore (native tobacco), but in response to enquiries as to anything he liked or wanted, the ancient priest grunted a negative. A few weeks passed —day by day the old man had grown weaker and weaker —at last he refused food, and on my last visit I found him calmly, unconsciously, passing away to the spirit abode of his progenitors. On his demise word was sent to his tribe. They speedily returned answer that his rescue was due to the pakehas, and that if they chose to succour men steeped in witchcraft, they must expect the ills attending such to fall upon them; and now that the old man was dead, and his evil spirit hovering round his body, the pakehas must face the danger and bury him themselves. So the old man’s obsequies were a la pakeha. The Government authorities attended to his interment. In place of the ancient karakia. the beautiful Church of England service for the burial of the dead was recited over his remains, and without a solitary member of his race to mourn his death, poor old Tuhoto was interred in God’s acre at Rotorua.

So was rescued, and so died. Tuhoto, a high priest of his people —one to whom his tribe had paid homage, and ireverenced, —perhaps the greatest tohunga of his time.