Maori
Page 10
Carving decorated the walls and posts. That in itself was unusual since such decorations were normally restricted to the exterior of such a building. Glowering pagan faces glared back at him out of eyes of iridescent paua shell. The men seated inside studied him quietly. Among them was his friend Te Ohine.
“Tena koe,” he said. “Hello, my friends.”
“Tena koe, Makawe Rino.” Te Ohine was not smiling. He gestured toward an unoccupied flax mat.
Coffin seated himself. “What troubles my old friend? Is there something wrong with the treaty?”
“Not with the treaty, no. But the treaty will not be complete if a certain chief does not sign it. His name is Wapatki.”
“I thought everyone was agreed. Why is this one so important?”
“His tribe rules much of the land between your pa and the farms of the interior. If he does not sign then you will never be sure of safe passage from the sea to the land.”
Coffin considered. The others watched him solemnly. “This Wapatki sounds like a stubborn man.”
“He is.” Coffin turned to see Parson Methune bending to enter. Evidently the boy had been sent to fetch him as well. He took the mat next to Coffin’s.
“Why won’t he sign, Parson?”
“He has been going on all day to whomever will listen to him among the Maori. He believes the pakeha are all drunkards at heart, that their leader, our estimable Mr. FitzRoy, is a coward, and that,” he had to gather himself before he could exhume the last, “the God of the pakeha is an inebriate, a charlatan, and impotent to affect the lives of men.”
“Then he is worse than a stubborn man,” Coffin told the assembled chiefs. “He is also an ignorant one.”
Despite his assurances Coffin could sense that this Wapatki had several sympathizers. If something wasn’t done quickly the whole treaty signing might dissolve in a storm of Maori dissension.
One of the undecided chiefs didn’t make things any easier. “If all Wapatki says is not so, let Iron Hair prove him wrong.”
Coffin struggled to see which chief had spoken. Hunched over near the far end of the meeting house was a squat, unusually ugly Maori. He wore no decorated robe. His chest and belly were tattooed as elaborately as his face. There were two feathers in his hair. Other than the feathers and tattoos, the man was clad only in a simple skirt.
“I would gladly do so. How would the ariki Wapatki choose his proof?”
“From one among the pakeha who is not a drunkard, coward, or devoid of the assistance of his God. I am Wapatki, Iron Hair.”
Am I never to be allowed peace, Coffin wondered? Must I always have to prove myself in this land with my fists instead of my brain? In truth, it was little different from the streets of London.
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “I will give chief Wapatki his proof.”
The ariki’s eyes glittered expectantly as he rose. Coffin began unbuttoning his shirt.
“It distresses me to see violence mar this historic occasion,” Methune murmured.
“If I don’t win this fight there may not be any historic occasion to worry about, Parson. Don’t think of it as violence. This is just a friendly little Maori-type chat.”
“One of you could be killed while ‘chatting.’”
“Let’s pray not, Parson.”
One by one they exited the meeting house. Word of the fight drew curious Maori away from the signing ceremony. They were no different from the seamen who’d gathered outside the Crippled Raven, Coffin thought. He wondered if there was betting taking place and if so, what the line on him was.
Stripped to the waist, he turned to face his opponent. He was much taller than the Maori, though lighter. His greater reach did not make him overconfident. He’d seen “fat” Maori warriors move with incredible agility. He had no intention of underestimating this Wapatki.
“This is your fight. What will we argue with?”
“No guns.” Wapatki sniffed derisively. He took a magnificently carved greenstone club from a waiting tribesman, shook it threateningly at Coffin and stuck out his tongue in typical Maori challenge.
Coffin surveyed the crowd that had surrounded them. “If someone would provide me with an equivalent?” It was Te Ohine who stepped forward to hand over his personal war club. It was made of wood instead of jade but mat didn’t trouble Coffin. The Maori’s wooden clubs were solid as stone.
It began quietly, both men sucking in air and letting out little more than grunts, the crowd pressing close in silence. There was none of the boisterous shouting and shoving that such a battle would have generated in London.
Wapatki was as agile as Coffin suspected, but unlike most pakehas he was prepared for the chief’s speed. Coffin had more trouble with the unfamiliar club. He gripped it with both hands while Wapatki switched his easily from one to the other. Coffin had to struggle to parry the steady succession of blows. If the jade club connected solidly it could shatter bone.
Once he stumbled and Wapatki rushed in to splatter his brains across the ground. Rolling just in time, Coffin heard the boom as the club bounced off the earth where his head had lain only seconds earlier. Each time he blocked one of the chief’s blows a shiver ran up his arms. The Maori’s strength was prodigious. Still he contented himself with parrying and defending, learning as he protected himself, content to let Wapatki do most of the work. His patience was beginning to pay off. The chief wasn’t used to an opponent who dodged like a rooster. His face was now flushed and he was panting heavily, the sweat streaming off him.
Coffin managed a solid blow to his opponent’s stomach, but the club simply bounced off, leaving behind a red mark but no visible damage.
Wapatki grinned tiredly. “You fight well—for a pakeha.”
“Not all pakehas fight only with words, Wapatki.” Coffin spoke without taking his eyes off the Maori’s weaving club. “The men you see lying in the streets of Kororareka are not pakeha soldiers. They are a different breed of men than you have come to know.”
“You must be such a soldier.” He swung and Coffin jumped backward. The heavy greenstone cleft only air. The chief’s wild swings were slowing.
“I’m not a soldier; only a merchant.”
“Hard to believe, Iron Hair.” Whereupon Wapatki charged with a speed and enthusiasm that belied his apparent exhaustion.
Coffin had anticipated the attempt to lull him. He ducked beneath Wapatki’s swing and put his head into the Maori’s solar plexus. At the same time he swung not up as his opponent expected but down with his own weapon. Wapatki let out a yelp of pain, crumpled, and lay on the ground clutching his right foot.
Gasping, Coffin stood over him. To his astonishment he saw that the chief was not moaning in pain but instead was laughing uncontrollably even though his foot had to be broken. The flow of amused Maori came too rapidly for him to follow. He turned to Methune as the chief’s retainers rushed to assist him.
“What’s he on about, Parson?”
“I believe he is decrying his own stupidity for permitting you to strike such a blow, my son.” Methune listened intently to the tumbling vowels.
With the aid of his attendants Wapatki struggled to his feet. Using them for support he managed to hobble over to the sweaty, tired Coffin. The chief extended his right hand.
“I understand this how pakeha makes greeting.” Coffin hesitated, then relaxed as the chief smiled. He took the proffered hand warily, still holding onto his club. A wounded Maori could be as treacherous as a wounded tiger.
But there was no deception in the handshake. “I was wrong, Iron Hair.” Wapatki nodded toward Te Ohine. “He told me I was wrong. I did not believe him. Now I believe.”
“Then you’ll put your mark on the treaty?”
“Yes, I will sign. It is good that you struck my foot instead of my hand.” This time Coffin found himself laughing with the chief. When the joke was translated the rest of the Maoris joined in, and Pastor Methune was hard pressed to maintain his priestly demeanor.
> Wapatki became the thirty-fifth chief to set his name to the Treaty of Waitangi. When the last ariki had signed it was the turn of the pakehas. Led by FitzRoy they all proclaimed their devotion to the words they were committing to history. From this day forward Maori and pakeha would share the land and live together in peace and harmony for the sake of their children and their children’s children, to the benefit of all.
When it came Coffin’s turn to sign some mutters of disapproval could be heard from the more conservative citizens of Kororareka. Coffin looked down at his dirt-streaked self and smiled. Evidently they were unaware of his recent diplomatic exertions on their behalf. He signed boldly, as always.
At last it was done. The Maoris whooped and shouted and thrust their clubs and spears skyward while the pakehas cheered and let loose with musket and pistol. Coffin observed it all with a jaundiced eye as he wondered whether Maori or some member of the New Zealand Colonizing Company would be the first to test the paper words.
No matter for now. A temporary peace was better than none and who knew but that it might be the exception to the rule and last. He said as much to Te Ohine and his new friend Wapatki before climbing into his buggy for the long ride back home.
12
Holly was waiting for him with a kiss and warm embrace. “Everything went well, Robert? Are we to have peace?”
“For a while, it seems.” He discarded the top hat as if it was a dead animal. “Some of the chiefs had their doubts, but in the end everyone signed.” He was heading for the parlor as he shed his dress jacket.
“Robert, your face is cut!” Her hand gently touched his cheek, explored further. “And here’s one running down your neck. You’ve been in another fight. What’s this country done to you? In England you were no brawler.”
“New surroundings dictate new approaches, my dear.” He reassured her with another kiss before slumping into his chair. “It’s nothing to fret about. I’ve suffered worse wounds from thorn bushes. Now, I’m hungry as a Welsh boar and if you don’t watch out I’ll have you for an appetizer!”
She giggled and scampered clear of his clutching fingers. Her laughter was music. “I think it’s dessert you’re referring to and we’ll discuss that later. Oh, I nearly forgot.” She looked embarrassed. “There’s someone been waiting to speak with you and here I’ve gone and left him in the kitchen while we’ve been talking. I’ll tell him you’re back.” She vanished through a rear door.
Coffin frowned. Who could be waiting on him? All the prominent citizens of Kororareka had been at the treaty signing.
Not quite all, it seemed. He’d forgotten Angus McQuade. He rose at the other man’s entrance.
“Hello, Robert.”
“Angus.” They shook hands briefly. “You weren’t at the signing?”
McQuade smiled. “It seems I’m considered a bit too young yet to be setting me hand to so glorious a document.”
“The more fools they.” McQuade was as sharp as Ablemare or any of them, he knew. “What will you take? Rum? Sherry?”
“A little time, if I may. I’ve something to show you, Robert.”
“Then let me see it, man. I’m tired.”
“It’s not something that can be put in a saddlebag or box, mon. Kin you spare me a few days?”
“A few days?” Coffin eyed him in surprise. “I thought you meant an hour or so. I’ve business needs looking after, Angus, another trip to make to South Island, and a lot of drunken hands to seine from the depths of The Beach.”
“Let Markham attend to your crew and that fine Mr. Goldman to the rest. This is more important. I must have your opinion on this, Robert. Without your support I cannot convince any of the others. They’ll believe it if you’re there to back me.”
“Believe what?”
“What I’ve seen.”
“And what might that be?”
McQuade’s eyes glittered. “The future, Robert, the future.”
“So it’s time for highland riddles, is it?” But Coffin knew McQuade, a compulsive worker, wouldn’t have taken the time away from his own growing business were it not a serious matter. He was intrigued.
“Samuel!” he yelled toward the kitchen. “Pack some dried beef and mutton. I’ll be gone for a few days!”
That brought Holly out of the back of the house. She looked anxiously from her husband to their visitor. “Gone? But you’ve only just returned, Robert. Angus McQuade, what’s this all about?”
McQuade looked apologetic. “I canna tell you now, Mrs. Coffin, but Robert himself will explain everything when we return.”
Coffin tried not to grin. “You came here confident you could persuade me into joining this little expedition of yours, didn’t you? This had best be a sight worth a King’s time or you’ll pay for it, Angus. Where are we going?”
“South and west.”
His host nodded thoughtfully. “Yesterday I would not have attempted such a journey, but now the treaty gives us safe passage. It could still be dangerous. Almost as dangerous as trying to leave Holly here again.” He looked back at his wife. There was a twinkle in his eye.
She tried to glare at him, failed and found herself smiling as she shook her head despairingly. “I’ll see to your horse, Robert.”
Trees full of yellow blossoms, brilliant flowers by the wayside and strange creatures darting through the underbrush held the attention of the two young men as they rode steadily southwest. Never was there a country so devoid of dangerous animals, Coffin mused. The countryside was as safe as Regent’s Park, if one discounted the occasional homicidal Maori. Meanwhile the settlers of Sydney and Melbourne had to deal with snakes so venomous their bite could kill a man in minutes. Here there were no such serpents. Paradise before the casting out, he thought. The Maoris thought so too.
Even with Goldman in charge he found himself worrying about business. Time was precious and McQuade seemed determined to guide them all the way to the tip of North Island.
Actually it was only a matter of days before they topped the slight rise one morning and his guide was able to gesture at the panorama spread out before them. It wasn’t necessary for the young merchant to speak. The view explained itself.
Below lay the future.
From the hilltop they could see the Pacific behind them and the Tasman Sea in front. A town sited here could command a harbor on both sides of the narrow isthmus.
McQuade was gesturing toward the western inlet as he spoke. “I’ve done soundings there, Robert. Crude but serviceable. This harbor puts the anchorage at Kororareka to shame. See there, how the land bends to the south on the far side of the harbor? A ship sheltering there could ride out the worst of storms tied up close inshore.”
“You were right Angus. It’s a wonderful place. What about the local Maoris?”
“None camped hereabouts. A deep-water harbor means nothing to them. Manukau, they call the place. Several tribes do have pas in the area, but their claims overlap. We should be able to make a deal easily.”
“The others must be shown this place.” Coffin was still entranced by the sight. “Ablemare, Halworthy, all of them. How did you find it?”
McQuade shrugged. “A native friend told me of it one day. He has relatives here.”
“And spotted potential profit in the revelation, hmm? I’ve seen enough, Angus. Here we’ll build a town the whalers won’t control.” He started to wheel his horse around.
McQuade cut him off. “Nay, hold a moment, Robert. Why should we rush to inform competitors? Between the two of us could we not buy much of the best land here before extolling its virtues to the rest of the community?”
“You’re losing sight of long-term goals in favor of short-term profits, Angus. Your’ instinct is correct but you’ve not thought it through. Were we to do as you suggest we’d have a much harder time convincing the rest to move their business all the way across the island. We cannot found a new town by ourselves. Rest easy. There’ll be profit enough from this business for us both.”
“There’s no gain without customers. We’ll put together a consortium to purchase the land from the Maoris. Ablemare, Halworthy, Langston, Groan, Perkins and ourselves.”
“What of Tobias Hull?”
That gave Coffin pause. It was with extreme reluctance he finally nodded and said, “Aye, Hull must be included as well. If he’s left out he’ll make trouble among the craftsmen and farmers. Much as it pains me to admit it we’ll need his support. Perhaps we can arrange things so that his share consists mostly of marshland and rock.”
Both men chucked the reins of their mounts and turned for home. Before evening McQuade finally had gathered sufficient courage to ask the question that had been troubling him ever since his arrival in the colony.
“How came this enmity between you and Tobias Hull?”
Coffin took no umbrage at the inquiry. It was a question others had asked. “Hull’s a sour and soulless man by nature. At first I bore him no ill will, but he plays dirty and low and resents it when he’s thwarted. Then too our businesses bring us head to head in a fashion you’ve not experienced. And it pains me to see how he treats that innocent child of his. The others say nothing about it but I make my opinion known. That infuriates Hull.”
“I’ve heard about the girl,” McQuade murmured. “It’s said that after all these years Hull still pines for his dead wife.”
“True enough. He blames the girl for the tragedy of his own life, though she bears no responsibility for it. I fear the girl’s fate lies in the Lord’s hands alone. I wouldn’t bet a shilling Hull doesn’t kill her some day in the course of one of his drunken rages.”
“But that’s monstrous! Can nothing be done?”
“She’s his child. Legally he can’t be touched. And Hull’s capable of anything if he’s enough rum in him.” Coffin shifted in his saddle. “Enough of Tobias Hull. We’ve better things to talk of and much planning to do.