THE Maori was an enthusiastic and skilful warrior. Indeed for him fighting was the chief pastime, just as, perhaps, football is for us.

The causes of his wars were many: quarrels over women, disputes over land boundaries, a desire to revenge some insult, slight, curse, murder, or the like were each one of them sufficient to persuade chiefs and elders that the time had come to blow the war trumpet and call together the man-power of the tribe.

The war party assembled willingly. The warriors were naked except for their waist girdles, but principal warriors might also make a show of their precious dog-skin cloaks. Each subtribal chief cut a lock from the crown of his head and tossed it in the direction of the village shrine. The warriors were rendered tapu by being baptised in a near-by stream. Then they whipped up their courage and enthusiasm by dancing the defiant haka while priests secured supernatural blessings by uttering prayers and incantations.

A war party usually consisted of about 140 men. Its line of march was strewn with omens, and it was exceptionally good luck if man, woman, or child happened to cross the path of the marching warriors. Such a luckless individual was immediately slain and the fighters were delighted that the gods had been good to them.

Meanwhile the people to be attacked were probably aware that fighting was afoot. They re­tired to their fortified village bringing in with them supplies to withstand a siege, if necessary. Sentries were posted and all were alert for the arrival of the enemy.

The favoured time for the attack was just before dawn. When the pa was taken by assault or when one side fled from the field of battle, the prisoners were either slain outright or reserved for slaves. The flesh of warriors was tapu for women, so men only could eat of the flesh of those killed. The skin and bones of distinguished chiefs might be preserved for covering hoops or for fish-hooks or for spear-barbs—and no greater insult could be offered to any man or his relatives than that his flesh should stick to the teeth of his conquerors and his bones be turned to useful but mundane purposes.

Maori fighting in olden days, before the use of the white man’s gun turned sport to slaughter, was governed by a rigid code of gentlemen’s rules. Personal bravery and disregard of death were emphasized. How to die correctly was just as important to know as how to live correctly. And many a tale is told of a conquered warrior handing to his foemen a precious greenstone weapon with which his skull, a moment later, would be cleft.

The agile Maori warrior preferred a light, slender weapon with which to guard or strike. He was essentially a hand-to-hand fighter and thus his favourite weapon was a short thrusting club of wood, bone, or greenstone.

The Maori was also a military engineer of considerable genius. His fortified villages complete with stockades, ramparts, ditches, observation towers, enfilading platforms, and fighting stages were model defence works that many times defied armies both civilized and native.