“Where’s he off to?” asked one of the men accompanying McQuade on a slow inspection of the ruins. “He shouldn’t be going off by himself. Might still be a heathen or two about.”
“He’ll be fine.” McQuade still couldn’t believe the evidence of his eyes. There was literally nothing left of what had once been a thriving, active community. It had been wiped from the face of the Earth. “Don’t worry about Robert Coffin. Worry instead about the men and women who were here when the natives attacked.”
“But how, how could they do something like this?” the younger man persisted. “They’re just.…”
“Just what?” said McQuade, cutting him off. “Just Maoris? Just natives? How long have you been in New Zealand colony, friend?”
The man sounded defensive. “Six months.”
McQuade just nodded. “Och, six months, is it? You won’t understand aboot the Maoris in six months, my friend. You won’t understand in six years. Just because many have turned to the church for salvation doesn’t mean they like us any the better for it. And finer fightin’ men you won’t find anywhere.”
“Come now, sir. A company of British regulars could pacify this whole island inside a year.”
“You think so, do you? Look what they’ve done here in a single night.”
The younger man wasn’t convinced. “Drunken sailors, barkeeps and whores hardly constitute a proper fighting force. Besides which it’s clear they were caught by surprise.”
“Aye, that much is true. Still you’d think they would have been able to put up more resistance.” McQuade shook his head sadly. “Come along. We’ve missed helping in the fight. If we’re lucky we’ll find some poor soul still clinging to life. Those are the ones who’ll need our help now.”
6
The half-cellar had been constructed of loosely mortared stone. It was intact, but the little house which had stood atop the rocks was completely gone, razed to the bottom timbers. Even the floor was missing, having collapsed into the cellar when its underlying trusses had burned through.
Coffin stared at the ruin for a long moment before dismounting. Purposefully he climbed the slight rise to enter from above, shoving his way past fragmented posts and beams. Some were still warm.
The first thing he looked for was the iron bed. When he couldn’t find it he assumed the Maoris had carted it away. But it was there, bent and blackened where it had fallen through to the cellar. There were no bodies, no signs of close-quarter combat. No blood staining the wood. It took but a few minutes to complete a thorough inspection. Satisfied, he remounted and rode shoreward.
A small group of men had gathered to watch a whaleboat as it pulled up to a pier. The sailors confirmed what the would-be rescuers had both suspected and prayed for: almost the entire population had been evacuated safely to waiting ships out in the bay. As for the Maoris, they’d completed their burning and looting and had vanished back into the hills, their victorious retreat observed by several Captains in possession of good spyglasses.
Coffin shaded his gaze against the rising sun as he stared out to sea. Only fifteen ships standing at anchor. Not long ago there would have been ten times as many sheltering the bay. The Maoris had done no more than accelerate a natural process. Kororareka had come into existence solely to serve the needs of whaling ships and men, and as the whaling industry declined it was inevitable the town should follow. In another decade it would have ceased to exist as a viable commercial enterprise.
He dismounted to join Brixton, McQuade and the others. The First Mate who stepped out of the boat to greet them was weary but unharmed. His oarsmen waited patiently on their rowing benches, chatting among themselves. Coffin knew such men well. Brave, but not foolhardy. Sailors and not soldiers.
The mate confirmed that the Maoris’ surprise had been complete. When it became clear the natives were attacking in force only sporadic attempts at resistance had been mounted. Most of the populace immediately ran for the safety of the piers and the boats arriving to take them off. A few brave souls sacrificed themselves to protect the women and children until armed sailors arrived.
The ships holding the refugees were already on their way to Auckland. The other whalers remained in the harbor because they didn’t know what else to do.
“You might as well all come ’round to Auckland,” Coffin suggested. “You’ll be able to get supplies there, though I’m afraid not the entertainments you’ve become accustomed to.”
He turned to study the ruins. Kororareka was memory now. The Pacific would never see its like again. Halworthy and a few others might entertain thoughts of rebuilding, but anyone could see such efforts would come to naught. There wasn’t anything to salvage. The only structures still intact were the pier they were standing on and the one next to it. The sailors sensed it too, though the sentiment went unvoiced. Already their thoughts were turning to visions of landfall in Sydney and Macau. No one would rebuild an entire community to service a dozen ships a month.
For a while Kororareka had been the wildest, most lawless place on Earth. Now it was ashes and history. Coffin smiled slightly. He knew what Father Methune’s opinion would be. This was God’s way of punishing his sinners, using the Maori to send Kororareka down the path taken by Sodom and Gomorrah.
“There’s nothing to do here,” the dispirited Brixton declared. His anticipated military glory was not to be. “Rode all the way from Auckland for nothing, we did.”
“Not for nothing.” Coffin was looking back toward the devastated town. “People will need to be told what happened.”
“There will be many who won’t believe, Robert,” said McQuade. “Neither that the town’s been burnt nor that the Maoris could’ve done it by themselves.”
“You and I know better, Angus, but you’re right. Anyone who refuses to believe can come and see for themselves. Some good will come of this if those who’ve been living in a fool’s paradise will now realize we need a regular army and police force. As she stands, not even Auckland’s safe.” He lowered his voice. “Time to make plans so this can never happen again.”
“I just had a bad thought.” All turned back to Brixton, who suddenly looked worried. “What if this was just a feint, a deliberate attempt to draw the city’s armed strength clear across the island away from Auckland? What if that’s the heathen’s real objective?”
It was enough to give Coffin pause and set his companions to muttering nervously. Now was not the time for panic. He took it upon himself to calm the others.
“I think not. I’ll wager the ariki who did this deed was not one of those who signed the treaty, nor is he among those who’ve been selling us land. I should think he and his warriors acted alone.”
“How can you be certain, Coffin?” Ainsworth pressed him. “How do we know the savages aren’t in league with each other throughout North Island?”
“Come now, William. You’ve lived here as long as I. You know the Maoris and their blood feuds. It’s unusual when two villages cooperate. Three would be extraordinary. More than that I cannot countenance.”
“That’s right. Coffin’s right,” said another man. He wasn’t the only one obviously relieved.
“Auckland’s better defended with all of us here than Kororareka ever was,” Coffin went on. “Though I wager all of us will feel safer once we’re back in our own homes.”
It was a sentiment shared by all, but it was absurd to think of turning right around and starting for the Gulf that morning. Men and horses alike were exhausted. The expeditionary force would have to spend at least a day recovering from the arduous all-night ride. With most of the important merchants in the colony present it wasn’t difficult to talk several of the Captains into providing supplies on the assurance they would be repaid in kind whenever they berthed at Auckland.
Given the temper of the moment, Coffin and the moderates among the group feared the frustrated riders might turn their fury on any native they happened to encounter. Guards were posted not to watch for a Maori attack as much as to keep the me
n in camp.
Despite what he’d said, Coffin worried about what it would mean for the colony’s future if any of the chiefs who had signed the treaty had participated in the attack. Surely his initial instincts were correct! This had to be the work of a few disgruntled local chiefs. If that proved to be the case then the peace would hold around the new farms and towns springing up throughout the colony. In another twenty years at the present rate of growth the colony would become too strong, too independent for the Maoris to threaten it seriously. But for now there was ample reason for concern.
Perhaps Te Ohine would have information about the identities of the attackers. And there were questions for the ship’s mate who’d come ashore to greet them and explain what had taken place. In particular Coffin needed to know if a large red-haired woman with two children had escaped with the other refugees. But he could hardly bring the matter up before his friends and colleagues.
It was vital to find out what the victorious war chief who’d sacked the town planned to do next. Certainly he would be emboldened by the scope of his triumph. Much mana, or prestige, would accrue to him because of his success.
Coffin was hopeful they could still isolate this ariki, whoever he was. Most of the chiefs wanted peace and trade, not war. Te Ohine had assured him of this on several occasions. It would be harder keeping a rein on the young bloods who’d want to kill any Maori they could find. Somehow that, too, would be managed. They were merchants and traders and shopkeepers. Once back among the comforts of Auckland their bloodlust would fade.
Keep them calm and sensible and we might still come out of this with minimal damage to future prospects, he thought rapidly. The one thing they could not afford to do, especially on the heels of this shocking disaster, was to antagonize any friendly chiefs. It wasn’t going to be easy. The citizens would want someone to hang. That made it imperative to find and bring to justice the ariki who’d perpetrated the outrage.
There was little that could be done and less worth salvaging. They had to drag the shrieking, wild-eyed John Halworthy out of the ruins of the Crippled Raven. He was broken both financially and in spirit. It grieved Coffin to see him reduced to such circumstances. Halworthy said not a word during the long ride back to Auckland the next morning, sitting forlornly astride his horse mumbling to himself, the final victim of the disaster of Kororareka.
7
The return to Auckland was not the triumph they had pictured when they set out. Having arrived well after the battle had been decided, few had been given the opportunity to fire a shot. They struggled to form a column, as they stumbled back into the city. The townsfolk who’d turned out to cheer the returning heroes soon drifted away as they saw the dejection on the faces of the tired riders. A few stayed to listen in disbelief to the story of the old whaling town’s destruction.
Not all were upset by the revelation, especially when it was learned that loss of life had been minimal. The more devout Jesuits and a few others believed a kind of rough justice had been dealt, though they were careful to couch such reactions in properly sympathetic tones. As far as they were concerned, the existence of Kororareka had always been a black mark against the growing colony.
Many had worked hard to ensure that Auckland would not travel the path taken by its wild, wide-open northern relative. To some extent they’d been successful. True, there were still a few hotels in town most of whose residents seemed to be unattached young women with a marked propensity for dating visiting sailors, but these were the exception instead of the norm. In any event, they were more decorously managed than their now ruined Kororareka equivalents. There were also establishments where a man could drink himself into a stupor if he so chose. Unlike in Kororareka, however, there were also public rooms with bars on the windows and doors where he could recover his sanity without inflicting himself on his more genteel neighbors.
Coffin rode into town surrounded by tired, filthy, sweating men. Limits, he mused. Always limits. On the number of whales in the sea, on the amount of arable land. On everything but the ambition of a determined man. Aware he was half dreaming he shook himself awake and sat straighter in the saddle, working to get his bearings.
Yes, he knew where he was now. Turn left and he’d soon be back home. A relieved Holly would be waiting at the door to greet him. Samuel would draw him a hot bath. He could spend the morning soaking before returning to matters of business.
If he kept riding straight he’d end up at the docks. Having received word of Kororareka’s destruction, many citizens were already heading that way. Some would be searching for word of friends or relatives, others would be going to help the refugees, and a few would go simply out of curiosity. Coffin thought he could help. The refugees from Kororareka would need all the assistance that could be provided.
He was saved the necessity of making a decision by the arrival of a young man on horseback. He was well turned out and clearly taken aback by the ragged appearance presented by the returning expeditionary force. Having located the leaders, he urged his mount in among them.
“Which of you is Robert Coffin?”
“I am,” Coffin replied tiredly.
The messenger looked dubious. Clearly he expected someone more impressive in appearance. He continued nonetheless.
“Robert Coffin, I am to escort you immediately to George Gray’s residence.”
Coffin’s gaze narrowed. “What does the Governor want with me? If it’s a report on our journey, that will be forthcoming from people better prepared than I.”
“The Governor already knows what happened at Kororareka. It’s you he wants to see.”
“Go on, Robert.” McQuade drew close. “Gray’s a good chap. He must know how worn out we all are. If he needs to see you now he must have a reason.”
“Go see what he has to say,” Brixton called out. “At least he’s a man of common sense. Not like FitzRoy.”
“We are in agreement on that. Why now?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the rider said regretfully. “I was only told to find you and convey the message.”
Coffin tried to find a comfortable position in his saddle and failed. Gray’s home was nearby. “Let’s go, then. Angus, after you’ve talked with your own family would you do me the kindness of sending someone to inform Holly that I’m all right, and where I’ve gone?”
“Certainly, Robert. And when you’ve finished meeting with Gray I’d verra much like to know what’s so important that he needs to see you now.”
Coffin nodded. McQuade didn’t have to ask. Of all his fellow entrepreneurs, McQuade was the nearest in temperament and outlook to Coffin himself, the closest thing he had to a friend among his competitors.
“Governor or no Governor, this had best be important,” he told the rider.
There were many among the settlers who considered George Gray a saint. Coffin knew better. Gray was simply a decent human being in a place and time where such men were in short supply.
The reaction of most officials upon learning of Kororareka’s destruction would be to order the construction of a protective palisade around all of Auckland, within which everyone from the countryside could be brought until the regular army managed to exterminate every Maori on North Island. Gray would realize yesterday’s outrage was likely the work of a few native extremists and would act accordingly. He had demonstrated patience in dealing with the Maori in the past. He could also be understanding.
Coffin knew how understanding the Governor would have to be if he was to deal properly with the events at Kororareka. The burning of some isolated sheep ranch was one thing, the destruction of an entire town something else again. Perhaps that was why he was so anxious to see Coffin: not to ask how to deal with the natives but to seek his opinion on how to handle the settlers. As soon as knowledge of the disaster became widespread, the citizenry would be howling for Maori blood.
The house was less impressive than Coffin’s own, though by no means inappropriate. He felt the eyes of his escort on his back as he
slipped from the saddle, and his pride kept his exhausted body erect as he marched purposefully if painfully into the building.
He was admitted by a servant who favored him with the same disbelieving stare as his young escort.
“Robert Coffin to see Governor Gray, and be quick about it, man, or I’ll fall asleep right here in your doorway. That’d do neither my reputation nor your job any good at all.”
The servant gaped at him a moment longer, then turned to lead Coffin down a hallway and into a small sitting room near the back of the house. It overlooked a well-tended garden. Books brought over at great expense from England and America lined the walls. There was a simple, straightforward desk, a cold fireplace and several large, comfortable chairs.
Gray was working at the desk when Coffin entered. He rose immediately to greet his visitor, and expressed no surprise at Coffin’s appearance as he shook his hand.
“I’ve been given a preliminary report. Terrible news. Sit down, Coffin.” He directed his visitor to a chair facing the desk, resumed his own seat. “Can I get you anything? Whiskey, brandy?”
Coffin surprised himself with his reply. “Tea. With sugar, if you have any.”
Gray nodded toward the silently waiting servant. “See to it, Thomas. I’ll have some as well.” The man vanished and Gray settled back in his chair. “I know what happened up the coast. There was nothing you could do?”
“We might as well have saved ourselves the effort and stayed here. The only Maoris we saw were already dead.”
“I’m told the whole town was destroyed.”
“Leveled. Burned to the ground. Every building. It would cost more to rebuild it than it would ever be worth.”
“My thoughts as well.” Gray was rolling a pen between his fingers of one hand as he spoke. “I would have asked your companions to come with you but did not wish to inconvenience more than one of you at this difficult time.”
Coffin repressed a smile. “I’m flattered by your confidence.”
Maori Page 15