DRESS AND ORNAMENTS OF THE NEW ZEALANDER — THE TATTOO OR THE MOKO — ITS FORMIDABLE CHARACTER — THE TATTOO A MARK OF FREEDOM — THE TATTOO OF THE FACE, AND ITS DIFFERENT PORTIONS — COST OF THE OPERATION — THE IMPLEMENTS, AND MODE OF USING THEM — TIME OCCUPIED IN COMPLETING IT — PAYMENT OF THE OPERATOR, AND THE TATTOO SONG — SOURCE WHENCE THE PIGMENT IS OBTAINED — SCARLET PAINT, AND MODE OF MAKING IT — THE NEW ZEALAND BELT — SYMBOLISM OF THE TATTOO — PRESERVING THE HEADS OF WARRIORS — THE TRAFFIC IN HEADS — A COOL BARGAINER.

We will now proceed to the appearance and dress of the natives of New Zealand, or Maories, as they term themselves. As the most conspicuous part of the New Zealander’s adornment is the tattooing with which the face and some other portions of the body are decorated, we will begin our account with a description of the moko, as it is called by the natives.

There are many parts of the world where the tattoo is employed, but in none is it of so formidable a description as among the New Zealanders. As the reader is probably aware, the tattoo consists of patterns made by introducing certain coloring matters under the skin; charcoal, variously prepared, being the usual material for the purpose. We have already seen among the Kaffirs examples of ornamenting the skin by cutting it deeply so as to form scars, and in Australia a similar but more cruel custom prevails. In neither of these countries, however, is there any attempt at producing an artistic effect, while in New Zealand beauty of design is the very object of the tattoo.

There is a distinction between the tattoo of the New Zealanders and the Polynesians; that of the latter people being formed by rows of little dots, and that of the former by lines cut completely through the skin. On account of this distinction, though a New Zealander and a Polynesian be covered from head to foot with tattoo marks, there is no possibility of mistaking the one for the other.

The moko of the New Zealander is a mark of rank, none but slaves being without a more or less complete tattooing of the face. In the present day, even the chiefs have begun to discontinue the ancient custom, chiefly owing to the exertions of the missionaries, who objected to the practice as a mark of heathendom. Consequently, several of the most powerful convert chiefs present a very curious, not to say ludicrous, aspect, which can hardly have a good effect in recommending Christianity to the people. Having been converted before the moko was completed, and being unwilling to continue the process and unable to obliterate those portions which were already drawn, they appear with one half of their faces tattooed and the other half plain, or perhaps with a solitary ring round one eye, and a couple of curves round one side of the mouth.

As, however, the present work treats only of the native customs, and not of modern civilization, the New Zealanders will be described as they were before they had learned to abandon the once-prized tattoo, to exchange the native mat for the English blanket, the picturesque war canoe for the commonplace whaling boat, and the spear and club for the rifle and bayonet.

The principal tattoo is that of the face and upper part of the head, which, when completed, leaves scarcely an untouched spot on which the finger can be placed. When finished, the whole face is covered with spiral scrolls, circles, and curved lines; and it is remarkable, that though a certain order is observed, and the position of the principal marks is the same in every case, no two persons are tattooed in precisely the same manner, the artists being able to produce an infinite variety with the few materials at his command.

For example, the first portion of the tattoo is always a series of curved lines, reaching from the corners of the nose to the chin, and passing round the mouth. This portion of the tattoo goes by the name of rerepi. Next comes a spiral scroll on the cheekbone; and below it is another spiral, reaching as low as the jaw-bone. These are called respectively kakoti and korohaha. Next come four lines on the middle of the forehead, called titi; and besides these there are several lines which run up the centre of the nose and cover its sides, some which spread over the forehead, others which occupy the chin; and even the lips, eyelids, and ears are adorned with this singular ornament.

Besides possessing these marks, a great chief is seldom content unless he can cover his hips with similar lines, each of which has, like those of the face, its proper name.

Although the moko was considered as a mark of rank, there were no sumptuary laws which forbade its use. Any one, provided he were not a slave, might be tattooed as much as he pleased; but the expense of the operation was so great, that none but men of position could afford a complete suit of moko. No man could tattoo himself, and the delicacy of touch and certainty of line was so difficult of attainment, that tattooing became an art or science, which was left in the hands of a few practitioners, who derived a good income from their business. Some of those who had attained much reputation for their skill used to command very high fees when called in to decorate a client, and their services could therefore only be secured by the men of high position. It is rather remarkable that some of the most celebrated operators were slaves, men who were forbidden to wear the tattoo on their own persons.

The mode of operation is as follows. The patient lies on his back, and places his head between the knees of the operator, who squats on the ground after the usual native fashion. The latter then takes a little of the black pigment, and draws on the face the line of the pattern which he intends to follow; and in some cases he slightly scratches them with a sharp instrument, so as to make a sketch or outline drawing. The object of this scratching is to prevent the pattern from being obliterated by the flowing blood and the black pigment which is rubbed into the wounds.

Next, he takes his instrument or chisel, which is usually made of teeth, or the bone of a bird, and with it follows the pattern, cutting completely through the skin. Sometimes, when engaged in tattooing the face, a careless operator has been known to cut completely through the cheek, so as to put a temporary check to smoking, the sufferer experiencing some difficulty in getting the smoke into his mouth at all, and then finding it escape through the holes in his cheek. On page 722 the reader may find an illustration which gives a good idea of the different forms of the tattooing chisel. As the operator proceeds, he continually dips the edge of his chisel in the black pigment, and, when he has cut a line of a few inches in length, he rubs more of the pigment into the wound, using a little bunch of fibre by way of a brush or sponge.

The cutting is not done as with a knife, but by placing the edge of the chisel on the skin, and driving it along the lines of the pattern by repeated blows with a small mallet. As may be imagined, the pain caused by this operation is excruciating. It is painful enough to have the skin cut at all, even with the keenest blade, as any one can testify who has been unfortunate enough to come under the surgeon’s knife. But when the instrument employed is a shark’s tooth, or a piece of bone, when it is driven slowly through the skin by repeated blows, and when the wound is at once filled with an irritating pigment, it may be imagined that the torture must be dreadful. It is, however, reckoned a point of honor to endure it without giving any signs of suffering.

Owing to the character of the tattoo, the destruction of the skin, and the consequent derangement of its functions, only a small portion can be executed at a time, a complete moko taking from two to three years, according to the constitution of the individual. Dreadful swellings are always caused by it, especially of the glands in the neighborhood of the wounds, and the effects are so severe that men have died when too large a portion has been executed at one time.

Every stroke of the chisel or uki leaving an indelible mark, it is of the greatest consequence that the operator should be a man of skill, and devote all his energies to tracing a clear, though elaborate pattern, in which the lines are set closely together, sweep in regular curves, and never interfere with each other.

While a man is being tattooed, his friends and those of the operator sing songs to him, in which he is encouraged to endure the pain bravely, and to bear in mind the lasting beauty which will be conferred upon him when the pattern is completed. The songs of the operator’s friends contain some very broad hints as to the scale of payment which is expected. Although, as has been stated, the best of tattooers are paid very highly, there is no definite fee, neither is any bargain made, the operator trusting to the liberality of his client. But, as a man would be contemned as a skulking fellow if he were to ask the services of a good operator and then pay him badly, the practical result is that a good tattooer always secures good pay.

Moreover, he has always the opportunity of avenging himself. As only a small portion of the moko can be executed at a time—say, for example, the spiral curve on one cheek—if the operator be badly paid for the first portion of his work, he will take care to let the chisel slip out of its course when he proceeds to the second part, or will cut his lines coarsely and irregularly, thus disfiguring the stingy man for life.

Mr. Taylor gives a translation of one of these tattooing songs:

The reader will see that the song is a very ingenious one, magnifying the skill of the operator, promising a handsome moko to the liberal man, and threatening to disfigure him if he be niggardly in his payments.

While the operation of tattooing is going on, all persons in the pah, or enclosure, are under the tabu, or tapu, lest any harm should happen to them; the work of tattooing being looked upon with a kind of superstitious reverence. The meaning of the word ‘tapu’ will be explained when we come to treat of the religious system of the New Zealander.

The effect of the moko on the face is well shown in illustration No. 2, on the next page, which represents a chief and his wife. The reader will probably observe that on the face of the woman there are marks which resemble the tattoo. They are, however, the scars left by mourning over the body of some relative, a ceremony in which the women cut themselves unmercifully. The dress worn by both persons will be presently described.

The pigment used in tattooing is made from the resin of the kauri pine, and the greater part of it is made at one spot, where the tree grows plentifully. There is a rocky precipice, and a little distance from its edge a deep and narrow pit is sunk. A channel is cut through the face of the cliff into the pit, and the apparatus is complete. When a native wishes to make a supply of tattooing pigment, he cuts a quantity of kauri wood, places it in the pit, and sets fire to it, thus causing the burnt resin to fall to the bottom of the pit, whence it is scraped out through the channel.

Scarlet paint is much employed by the natives, especially when they decorate themselves for battle. It is obtained from an ochreous substance which is deposited in many places where water has been allowed to become stagnant. Some spots are celebrated for the excellence of the ochre, and the natives come from great distances to procure it. When they wish to make their scarlet paint, they first carefully dry and then burn the ochre; the result of which operation is, that a really fine vermilion is obtained.

This paint is used for many purposes, and before being used it is mixed with oil obtained from the shark. The natives are fond of decorating their houses with it, and by means of the scarlet lines increase, according to their own ideas, the beauty of the carved work with which every available point is adorned. Even their household goods are painted after a similar manner, the fashionable mode being to paint all the hollows scarlet, and the projecting portions black. Their canoes and wooden ornaments are profusely adorned with red paint. But the most valued use of this pigment is the part which it plays in the decoration of a warrior when he goes to battle.

In such cases paint constitutes the whole of his costume, the mats in which he takes so great a pride in time of peace being laid aside, many warriors being perfectly naked, and with the others the only covering of any kind being a belt made of plaited leaves.

One of these belts in my collection is seven feet in length, and only three and a half inches wide in the broadest part; while at either end it diminishes to a mere plaited thong. It is folded fourfold, and on opening it the mode of construction is plainly seen; all the loose ends being tucked inside.

The material is phormium leaf cut into strips an inch in width, each alternate strip being dyed black. Each strip is then divided into eight little strips or thongs, and they are so plaited as to produce an artistic checkered pattern of black and white. The ingenuity in forming so elaborate a pattern with so simple a material is extreme; and, as if to add to the difficulty of his task, the dusky artist has entirely changed the pattern at either end of the belt, making it run at right angles to the rest of the fabric. The belt is also used in lieu of clothing when the men are engaged in paddling a canoe.

The paint, therefore, becomes the characteristic portion of the New Zealander’s war dress, and is applied for the purpose of making himself look as terrible as possible, and of striking terror into his enemies. It is, however, used in peace as well as in war, being regarded as a good preservative against the bites and stings of insects, especially the sandflies and mosquitoes. It is also used in mourning, being rubbed on the body as a sign of grief, precisely as ashes are used among some of the Oriental nations. Some travellers have thought that the continual use of this pigment gives to the New Zealanders the peculiar softness and sleekness of skin for which they are remarkable, and which distinguishes them from the Fijians, whose skin feels as if it had been roughened with a file. This theory, however, is scarcely tenable, the soft texture of the skin being evidently due to physical and not to external causes.

A warrior adorned in all the pride of the tattoo and scarlet paint is certainly a terrific object, and is well calculated to strike terror into those who have been accustomed to regard the Maori warriors with awe. When, however, the natives found that all the painting in the world had no effect upon the disciplined soldiers of the foreigner, they abandoned it, and contented themselves with the weapons that none are more able to wield than themselves.

Moreover, the paint and tattoo, however well it might look on a warrior armed after the primitive fashion, has rather a ludicrous effect when contrasted with the weapons of civilization. There is now before me a portrait of a Maori chief in full battle array. Except a bunch of feathers in his hair, and a checked handkerchief tied round his loins, evidently at the request of the photographer, he has no dress whatever. He is tall, splendidly made, stern, and soldierlike of aspect. But instead of the club, his proper weapon, he bears in his hand a Belgian rifle, with fixed bayonet, and has a cartouche-box fastened by a belt round his naked body.

His face is tattooed, and so are his hips, which are covered with a most elaborate pattern, that contrasts boldly with his really fair skin. Had he his club and chief’s staff in his hands, he would look magnificent; having a rifle and a cartouche-box, he looks absurd. Even a sword would become him better than a rifle, for we are so accustomed to associate a rifle with a private soldier, that it is difficult to understand that a powerful chief would carry such a weapon.

The curious mixture of native and European dress which the Maories are fond of wearing is well described by Mr. Angas. “Raupahara’s wife is an exceedingly stout woman, and wears her hair, which is very stiff and wiry, combed up into an erect mass upon her head about a foot in height, somewhat after the fashion of the Tonga islanders, which, when combined with her size, gives her a remarkable appearance.

“She was well dressed in a flax mat of native manufacture, thickly ornamented with tufts of cotton wool; and one of her nieces wore silk stockings and slippers of patent leather. This gay damsel was, moreover, a very pretty girl, and knew how to set off her charms to advantage; for over an European dress she had retained her native ornaments, and had wrapped herself coquettishly in a beautiful, ‘kaitaka,’ displaying her large hazel eyes above its silky folds.”

It has often been thought that the warrior regarded his moko, or tattoo, as his name, permanently inscribed on his face; and this notion was strengthened by two facts: the one, that in the earlier times of the colonists the natives signed documents by appending a copy of their moko; and the other, that each man knows every line of his tattoo, and sometimes carves a wooden bust on which he copies with admirable fidelity every line which appears on his own head or face. Such a work of art is greatly valued by the Maories, and a man who has carved one of them can scarcely be induced by any bribe to part with it.

Moreover, the moko of a warrior is often accepted as the conventional representation of himself. For example, on the pillars of a very celebrated house, which we shall presently describe, are numerous human figures which represent certain great chiefs, while men of lesser mark are indicated by their moko carved on the posts. Thus it will be seen that the moko of a chief is as well known to others as to himself, and that the practised eye of the native discerns among the various curves and spirals, which are common to all free men, the characteristic lines which denote a man’s individuality, and in producing which the tattooers’ skill is often sorely tried.

It has already been mentioned, that when a warrior falls in battle, and his body can be carried off by the enemy, the head is preserved, and fixed on the dwelling of the conqueror. No dishonor attaches itself to such an end; and, indeed, a Maori warrior would feel himself direfully insulted if he were told that in case of his death in the field his body would be allowed to remain untouched.

In fact, he regards his moko precisely in the same light that an American Indian looks upon his scalp-lock; and, indeed, there are many traits in the character of the Maori warrior in which he strangely resembles the best examples of North American savages.

In order to preserve the head of a slain warrior, some process of embalming must evidently be pursued, and that which is commonly followed is simple enough.

The head being cut off, the hair is removed, and so are the eyes; the places of which are filled up with pledgets of tow, over which the eyelids are sewed. Pieces of stick are then placed in the nostrils in order to keep them properly distended, and the head is hung in the smoke of the wood fire until it is thoroughly saturated with the pyroligneous acid. The result of this mode of preparation is, that the flesh shrinks up, and the features become much distorted; though, as the Maori warrior always distorts his countenance as much as possible before battle, this effect is rather realistic than otherwise.

It is often said that heads prepared in this fashion are proof against the attacks of insects. This is certainly not the case, as I have seen several specimens completely riddled by the ptilinus and similar creatures, and have been obliged to destroy the little pests by injecting a solution of corrosive sublimate. In spite of the shrivelling to which the flesh and skin are subject, the tattooing retains its form; and it is most curious to observe how the finest lines completely retain their relative position to each other.

Not only are the heads of enemies treated in this fashion, but those of friends are also preserved. The difference is easily perceptible by looking at the mouth, which, if the head be that of a friend, is closed, and if of an enemy, is widely opened.

Some years ago, a considerable number of these preserved heads were brought into Europe, having been purchased from the natives. Of late years, however, the trade in them has been strictly forbidden, and on very good grounds. In the first place, no man who was well tattooed was safe for an hour, unless he were a great chief, for he might at any time be watched until he was off his guard, and then knocked down, killed, and his head sold to the traders. Then, when the natives became too cautious to render head hunting a profitable trade, a new expedient was discovered.

It was found that a newly tattooed head looked as well when preserved as one which had been tattooed for years. The chiefs were not slow in taking advantage of this discovery, and immediately set to work at killing the least valuable of their slaves, tattooing their heads as though they had belonged to men of high rank, drying, and then selling them.

One of my friends lately gave me a curious illustration of the trade in heads. His father wanted to purchase one of the dried heads, but did not approve of any that were brought for sale, on the ground that the tattoo was poor, and was not a good example of the skill of the native artists. The chief allowed the force of the argument, and, pointing to a number of his people who had come on board, he turned to the intending purchaser, saying, “Choose which of these heads you like best, and when you come back I will take care to have it dried and ready for your acceptance.” As may be imagined, this speech put an abrupt end to all head purchasing, and gave an unexpected insight into the mysteries of trading as conducted by savage nations.