n acre, a million of
acres at Napier for a penny three-farthings an acre, the whole of the
territory round Auckland for about fourpence an acre, and the whole
South Island below the Kaikouras for a mite an acre. They had
also--the bishop might have added--leased large tracts ultimately
turned into freeholds. Yet the impatience of the Taranaki settlers,
though mischievous, was natural. The Maoris made no use of a hundredth
part of their lands. Moreover, members of the Taranaki tribes who were
anxious to sell plots to the Whites were threatened, attacked, and
even assassinated by their fellow-tribesmen.

Never bullied, and not much interfered with by the Government, the
Maori tribes as a whole were prospering. They farmed, and drove a
brisk trade with the settlements, especially Auckland, where, in 1858,
no less than fifty-three coasting vessels were registered as belonging
to Native owners. Still, the growing numbers of the colonists alarmed
them. They saw their race becoming the weaker partner. Originating
in Taranaki, a league was formed by a number of the tribes against
further selling of land. To weld this league together, certain
powerful Waikato chiefs determined to have a king. Of them the most
celebrated was the son of Hongi's old antagonist, Te Waharoa. This
leader, Wiremu Tamihana, usually known as William Thompson, was an
educated Christian and a brown-skinned gentleman, far in advance of
his race in breadth of view, logical understanding, and persistence.
He honestly wanted to be at peace with us, but regarding contact with
our race as deadly to his own, desired to organize the Maori as a
community dwelling apart from the _Pakeha_ on ample and carefully
secured territories. Had the Maori race numbered 500,000 instead
of 50,000, and been capable of uniting under him for any purpose
whatever, he might conceivably have established a counterpart to
Basutoland. But the scanty dwindling tribes could not be welded
together. New Zealand was, as she is, the land of jealousies, local
and personal. It would seem as though every change of wind brought
fresh rivalry and division. The Waikato chiefs themselves were at
odds. After years of argument and speech-making they came to the point
of choosing their king. But they compromised on the old chief, Te
Whero Whero. The once famous warrior was now blind, broken, and
enfeebled. When, in 1860, he died, they made the still greater mistake
of choosing as successor his son Matu