Authors: Judy Corbalis
A Crooked Rib (17 page)
Hone and I went down to the Waikanae shore. On the sands were others from the tribe, collecting seaweed and shellfish, rolling nets, beaching fishing canoes. They hung back from us and waved but did not speak. We dug in the smaller sand-hills, not for food but for the pleasure of creating a cave under the crab grass. After some time, I became suddenly aware of a repetitive sound, something familiar yet not quite known.
Hone clutched at me. ‘Makareta, turn around! But slowly, carefully.’
I moved warily in a half-circle and saw, to my horror, a number of waka moving steadily across the ocean towards Waikanae — from Kapiti Island.
‘Waka taua?’ I whispered.
Hone shook his head. ‘No, they are too few. There are only seven, perhaps eight, of them. And they are not large enough for war canoes. But they are certainly not fishing canoes. Look at the leader.’
At the head of the flotilla rode a canoe with a most intricately carved prow, and in it stood a slight figure staring ahead or, so it seemed, directly at us.
I was transfixed with fear. ‘It must be Te Rau-paraha.’
‘A raiding party. Mr Hadfield is in Wellington and the chief may have seized his advantage.’
‘But what shall we do?’
‘I doubt Te Rau-paraha has identified us, and we cannot be seen to run or we will reveal ourselves. Let us turn very calmly and walk up from the sands back to the pa. We should be there before they land.’
As we turned, the steady harmony of the raised and lowered oars, dipping in and out of the water, became clearer and clearer, and now we could hear the song of the paddlers as they advanced.
Full of foreboding, we walked as much in our usual fashion as we could and gained the slightly raised ground. There, still in full view of the waka, we did not dare to move any faster. The distance from the shore to the pa seemed to have trebled, so it was with a sense of deliverance that we saw our mother striding towards us.
‘Come at once,’ she said. ‘That is Te Rau-paraha’s raiding canoe. We must hide.’
‘But, Mata, where can we go?’
‘We will conceal ourselves in Mr Hadfield’s hen whare.’
‘But … the stench … the birds …’
‘It is better than death,’ said our mother, ‘and in my lifetime, I have endured worse.’
The hens fussed and squawked around us as we crossed the yard and pressed ourselves into the tiny whare where, at night, they slept together on roosts. The rank, acrid reek of their droppings entirely filled our noses and we were so cramped we were unable to move. As if there had been some unspoken signal, the everyday noises of the pa had ceased now and everyone seemed to have melted away. All was still. Even the fleas were no longer jumping. Only the voices of the strangers carried to us in our hiding place.
We applied our eyes to the crack at the top of the doorway where, unseen, we were afforded a clear view of all who might go by. It was some time before anyone passed. I prayed desperately to the Maori gods, to Mr Hadfield’s Te Ariki, to the spirit of my unknown father, to protect us, to ensure that no one would stop and examine our hiding place, to save us from the demon, Te Rau-paraha.
Though the bare feet of the warriors made no sound on the earth, we caught the rattle of their flax kilts. Then, a group of figures flashed past the hen house, heads bent, topknots bobbing, as they stole about the hushed pa. We could not tell whether the other inhabitants had hidden or fled, but we knew very well that Te Rauparaha sought only us. He would not risk an attack on the powerful Te Rereta-whanga-whanga and Te Rangitake.
My mother nudged me as, through the crack, we spied a solitary figure walking towards us. I studied his face with its heavy moko,
the sloping forehead above the sharp hooked nose and jutting top lip. But most arresting were his eyes, small, deep-sunken and almost obscured by hooded, wrinkled eyelids. As I peered at him, unseen, he seemed to look back at me, raising those lids to reveal a pair of cold, penetrating eyes. I shuddered, knowing instantly why my mother did not trust him and why she had so often quoted to us what others said of him: ‘Ko te uri o Kapu manawa witi.’ ‘No one can know his thoughts, whether they are for good or evil.’
We heard other noises, distant voices murmuring greetings, the bustle of the life of the pa slowly resuming. The feathery dust of the hen whare was almost choking me, and I was terrified I might sneeze. It was stifling hot and my limbs were numb from standing crushed in that tiny space, but I dared not move. Voices drifted from outside and now we could hear quite clearly that the Kapiti men were questioning the Waikanae people.
‘No,’ we heard frequently. ‘Not today, at least.’ And another voice, ‘Never.’
I felt my mother stiffen. They are talking about
me
, I thought. They are saying they have never seen me. And I prayed that no one would mention my return from the world of the spirits.
Many times, the searchers passed the hen whare but without troubling to examine it. The hens had long ago resumed their scratching and squabbling in the yard. Finally, a long, long time later, we caught the sound of fading voices, then of paddles, and under cover of the night, we crept from our hiding-place to our hut.
‘But,’ said our mother, ‘Mr Hadfield is often sick now. I must think of a way to protect us so that we are safe even in his absence.’
‘Surely no one would dare to oppose Mr Hadfield’s wishes?’ said Hone.
‘When Mr Hadfield is not here, no one will dare to defy the will of Te Rau-paraha. And if he were to snatch us, you may be sure no one would have seen or heard anything. On Mr Hadfield’s return, he would be told we had left of our own free will and, even if he knew it to be a lie, what could he do then? It would be too late. The magic and power of the Maori is far greater than that of the Pakeha.’
‘But what of the power of Jesus, Te Ariki?’ asked Hone. ‘Mr Hadfield says Te Ariki made the earth and all things in it.’
Our mother shrugged. ‘Mr Hadfield is an honourable man but, here, he is in error. As every sorcerer and every tohunga knows, it is the Maori gods who created the universe. But in this world in which we are obliged to live, we must remember that while we honour the gods, the laws of the Pakeha are also powerful.’
‘Since I cannot take a Maori husband of my own rank,’ said our mother, Kahe, ‘I have decided to marry a Pakeha. Then we three shall be protected by not only the Christian church but also by the laws of the great Pakeha Queen.’
‘But who is this Pakeha husband?’ asked Hone.
Our mother looked triumphant. ‘It is Mr Nicoll, the inn-keeper at Otaki. He is a good man and he has asked me many times to marry him. Before, I would not consent, but now, with Mr Hadfield so often sick and away in Wellington, I must accept him.’
Mr Hadfield was delighted. ‘It has been my fervent wish to see the two races united. And Mr Nicoll is a devout Christian and an honourable man. You have chosen well, Kahe.’
My mother’s marriage took place in the church at Waikanae and, for a short while afterwards, we moved to Mr Nicoll’s inn at Otaki. But there, on Te Rau-paraha’s cousin’s mainland territory, my mother once more grew uneasy. When Mr Nicoll was away on business in Wellington, we were again without a protector. So, since there were only ten Pakeha miles between Otaki and Waikanae, we moved back to our old reed house next door to Mr Hadfield’s at the Waikanae pa, and every day Mr Nicoll rode to Otaki to the inn. But because Mr Nicoll did not like the noise and dirt of life at the pa, we spent time also in Otaki when we knew that Te Rau-paraha was not in residence. I had no recollection of my true Maori father and, as Mr Nicoll was kind and affectionate to Hone and to me, we lived happily together in this fashion for some time.
Several days after the Greys and Mr Godfrey had returned, I sought out the Governor. ‘I wonder if I may have a word with you, in private.’
‘Why, certainly, Miss Fanny. Come into my study.’ He looked momentarily anxious. ‘I hope Eliza is not unwell again. She seemed in better health in Wellington.’
‘No, it’s not that at all.’ I sat on the chair he indicated. ‘I have been with you now for a considerable time,’ I said, ‘and while I’ve greatly appreciated your hospitality, I—’
He rose. ‘I beg you, do not say you are about to leave us. The change you’ve brought about in my wife’s spirits has been noted by us all.’
‘I’m not in the least desirous of leaving but, Governor, if I am to stay on here, I must ask that you permit me to … how can I put this … contribute to my own keep.’
‘I assure you, in your attentions to Eliza you have more than recompensed us.’
‘You are very kind but I must insist. I have substantial means of my own, and were I to take on an establishment here in Auckland I should be obliged to meet the expenses of the running of a household.’ I looked directly at him. ‘I am most serious about this, sir. If you do not agree, I shall be forced to leave you.’
‘I should be deeply embarrassed by such an arrangement. You have already been more than generous to my mother-in-law and her younger children. I understand it was you who made it possible for them to return to Lyme and for the boys to be educated.’
‘Whatever I may have done for dear Aunt and my brothers should be regarded as the smallest recognition of the immense debt I owe them. Sir Richard and Lady Spencer took me in when I was orphaned, and I have ever been treated exactly as one of their own. I can think of no greater generosity than that. But it is in no way relevant to my
situation here. I have drawn a draft on my bank, Governor, and I implore you now to allow me my pride and to accept it.’
I laid the envelope on his desk. He was silent for some time.
‘Well,’ he said, finally, ‘I see that you are set on your course and we would be much poorer for the loss of your company. So, with the greatest of reluctance, I shall accept. I thank you.’
‘There is one other matter …’
‘And that is?’
‘Miss Pitt intends to sell her mount, Tsarina.’
‘A very fine horse.’
‘Yes, indeed. And I would very much like to purchase her. Would you permit me to house her here in your stables? I should be entirely responsible for her upkeep.’
‘With the greatest of pleasure.’
‘Thank you, Governor.’
As I rose to leave, he held out his hand to me. ‘You are an admirable lady, Miss Fanny, and your influence on Eliza has been immeasurable.’
‘Kia ora, my friend, Miss Thompson.’
‘Why, Te Toa. This is a surprise. I thought you had completed your urgent business with the Governor.’
‘Alas, no, Te Kawana refuses to become involved in this matter. I have returned to ask him to reconsider, but he says it is a local disputation and not of interest to the government. I am most disappointed by his decision.’
‘I’m sorry …’
‘It concerns part of the land of my grandmother’s tribe which is now the subject of a great dispute. A group of Pakeha claim they have bought this land from three Maori who sold it in exchange for muskets and ammunition, but the tribal elders say the land was never sold. So, since Te Kawana will not assist me, I am now on my way to consult Sir William Martin about the matter.’ He dismounted. ‘I have plenty of time. Shall we take tea, Miss Fanny?’
I noted the familiar use of my name and said quickly, ‘I’ll ask Johnson to prepare it for us. I regret that neither the Governor nor his lady is at home.’
‘I know this. That is why I have come. I wished to speak to you alone.’
‘To
me
? Why?’
‘I wish to inform you of important matters that perhaps you should know.’
‘I must tell you that I’m not able to help you. I have no influence with the Governor.’
‘I am not asking for your help, and I think no one has influence over Te Kawana, except his brother, Mr Thomas.’
‘I have no sway over Mr Thomas either, I assure you.’
‘I think you should listen to what I wish to tell you.’
I thought what an incongruous sight we must present, a muslin-clad Englishwoman in her bonnet pouring tea from a china pot for a tattooed native dressed in a motley of English and Maori garments.
Te Toa sipped delicately from his cup. ‘I am fond of the English tea, Miss Fanny.’ He paused. ‘And now, here is what you should know. Te Kawana has many enemies, more among Pakeha even than Maori. He has been most persecuting to many, and they will not forgive him for this. Do you know that he has written to the Missionary Society of the Church and to the government in England to complain of Mr Williams, the missionary?’
‘I am sure that is not so.’
‘It is very so. In his letters, he accuses Mr Williams of stealing land from the Maori to enrich his own situation, so the Church has instructed Mr Williams to give up all his property. Which he does not wish to do. And, in truth, much of that land was given freely to him by Ngapuhi in the Far North. And Pihopa Selwyn, who believes all that Te Kawana tells him, supports these government actions and has told Mr Williams and the other missionaries to obey. Now, if the lands were given back to us Maori, that is one thing, but those lands, says Te Kawana, must be returned to the Crown — that is, to the Pakeha government.’ He looked at me quizzically. ‘Is this “proper”, Miss Fanny?’
‘If what you say is true, it’s not at all just.’
‘I am always a rangatira, and very often a Christian. I do not speak falsely.’
‘Then I apologise, but I find it hard to comprehend what you tell me.’
‘Mr Williams will never release those lands, so now Te Kawana will do his best to destroy him.’
‘But why?’
‘Te Kawana does not want opposition to his power among the settlers or Maori, and Mr Williams has great influence with the tribes in the North.’
‘I see.’
‘And in Wellington, or so I am told by the mighty Waka Nene who has his ear placed to those cracks in the earth along which news travels, the settlers do not like Te Kawana. They wish to govern themselves and they do not like Mr Eyre, the little Pakeha chief Te Kawana has set in place to rule for him. And Te Kawana keeps Mr Eyre impoverished so he cannot mutiny, forcing him to dwell in a miserable whare with holes in the roof and almost no furniture. So, daily, Mr Eyre, too, becomes more rebellious.’
‘But Mr Eyre is the Governor’s lieutenant in Wellington.’
‘They are not friends, the Ngati Toa chiefs say, because in the beginning Mr Eyre did not send his government dispatches first to Te Kawana but directly to the officers of Mata Wikitoria in England. And in some of these dispatches he made great criticism of Te Kawana. But Mr Eyre also does not make the settlers love him. He walks about Wellington wearing his silver and gold uniform with his foolish feathered hat.’
‘That does seem imprudent. But I have no knowledge at all of these things and nor, I am certain, has Mrs Grey.’
‘And now Te Kawana has more problems to come between the Waikato tribes and the settlers in Taranaki. Te Rangitake, Wiremu Kingi, the great Ngatiawa chief, has left his lands at Waikanae …’
‘Where is Waikanae?’
‘It is a very large pa at the river mouth opposite Kapiti Island, about three or four hours’ ride from Wellington. Mr Hadfield has one of his Mission stations there and he says he fears there will be war. Kingi has taken more than six hundred of his people to Taranaki where Pakeha settlers are squatting on his tribe’s most fertile land. Kingi’s people intend to re-inhabit their land and plant crops there.
They have horses and cattle and muskets—’
‘Muskets!’
‘Of course. The settlers have muskets. Why should not Maori have them, too?’
‘I—’
‘Already there is violence there. Some of the settlers have persuaded our people to sell them land secretly, so now Kingi has said he will personally kill any Maori found guilty of doing so.’
‘Have you told the Governor of all this?’
‘Of course not. He will not listen even to Waka Nene. Why should he pay attention to me?’
‘I’m dismayed by what you tell me.’
‘I see I have frightened you. There will be no war here in Auckland. And I did not wish to upset you, merely to ask whether you know of someone who has influence over Te Kawana.’
‘As you said, only his brother.’
‘His brother will not be long here in Auckland. He wishes to be in Wellington with his old friend, Mr Petre, and his new friend, Mr Domett.’
‘I wonder,’ I said, ‘if perhaps, Sir William Martin …’
‘He is a good man. Upright and noble. But Te Kawana does not heed even his advice. And now, I think we have spoken enough of these matters. The teapot is empty and you are tired.’
‘I am not so much tired as anxious.’
‘I am sorry for this, but you understand why I have decided to speak to you freely?’
‘I think so.’ I paused, then I said, ‘Tell me truthfully, Te Toa, do you like the Governor?’
‘It is a question not of like or dislike. It is a matter of trust or distrust.’
‘Then, do you trust him?’
‘I do not trust
any
of Mata Wikitoria’s emissaries. Captain Wakefield from the New Zealand Company was a hawk that swooped down and snatched our young ones out of the nest. Now we have Te Kawana Kerei, a rat chewing at the bottom of the nest to undermine it so our little ones fall out. But I like
you
, Miss Fanny. You have an honourable character. And a most charming face. I wish to invite you to come again to ride with me.’
