How could
he? There he was, almost every afternoon, driving on the sands in all the
pride of peacock feathers. Not merely that, but he aired his sister
Topera, a woman of first-rate abilities, and of wide influence among the
Maoris.'
Meanwhile, an outbreak at Wanganui furnished Sir George with material for
his administrative wits. He was strolling up and down, deep in
meditation, on a sort of terrace at his residence in Auckland. Turning,
he noticed a Maori running towards him, and the next moment the Maori was
rubbing his nose against the Governor's, the native fashion of salute.
Sir George, himself, had raced one of the fleetest members of a Maori
tribe, throwing off his coat to do it, and proving the victor. 'I was
somewhere on the coast, with several of my officers and a number of Maori
chiefs, and there was a debate as to running. I ventured the statement
that I could, perhaps, beat the Maoris at a distance contest. They
selected their best man, a young chief, and I fancy it took me more than
half a mile to get away from him.'
Those civilities were very well in their place, but the Governor would
have dispensed with the nose rubbing of the native at his doorstep, so
anxious was he to learn the reason. There was news in the man's face, and
when he gathered words, it proved to be that of the Wanganui outbreak.
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