TAREHA. 
517 
time, Hongi’s friends arrived from the Bay of Islands, who, 
with the Hokianga natives, formed a large procession, when 
this savage warrior’s 'remains were carried to the wahi tajpvb 
— sacred place, amidst the mingled din of the maemae , or 
funeral dance, the dismal tangi, or wail for the dead, and 
peals of musketry, an apt termination for the life of one 
whose supreme delight was war, and to whose ear the dying 
groans of his enemies were the sweetest music.* 
Tareha was a great Nga-puhi Chief, residing at the Bay of 
Islands, and one of the largest specimens of the savage, being 
nearly seven feet high, and stout in proportion, his breasts 
stood out with fatness, more like those of a female than of a 
man ; his eyes also were remarkably prominent, and his voice 
extremely gruff ; he seldom wore any clothing above his loins, 
and when seated, appeared like a huge mass of flesh ; in his 
younger days he was celebrated for his courage, cruelty, and 
cannibal propensities ; yet through the influence of Hongi, 
he was always a friend and protector of the Missionaries, 
although he paid no attention to them as teachers, and lived 
and died a savage ; on one occasion, when he was going to 
put a female slave to death for something she had done, close 
to Mr. King’s house, he naturally remonstrated with him, 
and endeavoured to hinder him from perpetrating the murder, 
the savage could not silence his determined adversary, neither 
did he wish to injure him, but at last, losing all patience, he 
seized the poor Missionary, who was not a very large person, 
and putting him under his arm, walked off with him to the 
Mission-house, where he safely deposited him, shutting the 
door, and bidding Mrs. King take care, and not let him go 
out again, lest he should eat him also ;f on another occasion, 
one of his runaway slaves took refuge in the Mission -house, 
at the Kerikeri, there Tareha went, and, in apparent fury, 
threatened to kill him at once, the poor fellow thought his 
last moment was come, and trembled like an aspen leaf. 
* See Life of Rev. S. Leigh , p. 408. 
f His first salutation to the writer on his arrival was feeling his arm, and 
saying, in a gruff voice, you will not do yet. 
