Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Do not misunderstand me, Coffin. I’m sorry to have brought you here so quickly. But of all our leading citizens it’s rumored you know the Maori best. I don’t need to listen to raving war-mongers: I need sound, unemotional advice. You’re the man to provide that.”

  Coffin said nothing.

  “What do you think’s going to happen now?”

  “By this afternoon,” Coffin said thoughtfully, “you’ll be besieged by people wanting to organize an expedition to punish the Maoris for what they’ve done.”

  “I know.” Gray sighed, rubbed at his forehead. “I also know the tribes of the interior had nothing to do with this tragedy. It’s this Hone Heke fellow.”

  Coffin nodded. “And a few younger chiefs he’s managed to recruit.”

  “Ah, here’s our tea.”

  They waited silently while the servant poured tea from a silver pot into china cups from Canton. “Tell me something, Coffin,” Gray inquired as he stirred sugar into his cup, “even if directed against the right villains, what in your opinion would be the chances of successfully hunting down this Heke with a force composed of armed Aucklanders?”

  Coffin sipped. “The Maoris would know we were on our way before we left. A party of the sort you propose would be butchered to the last man. We’ve got to raise regular militia or import professional soldiers. You can’t fight Maoris with farmers.”

  “Eventually we’ll do exactly as you say. Right now we can’t afford it. We’re still too small. Furthermore, as you well know I can do nothing without concurrence from Sydney.” He shook his head in disgust. “One of these days we’ll be an independent colony, separate from New South Wales. Self-rule will allow us to raise the army we want.

  “I quite agree with you. It would be suicide to send volunteers after this Heke. While it displeases me, this is what I think we must do now.” He put his cup down as he leaned forward.

  “Insofar as we are able, we will pretend that the loss of Kororareka is not important. We’ll shrug it off, say it was dying anyway, and let the local Maoris know we hold none of them responsible. Meanwhile we’ll try to reach this Heke’s supporters with emissaries. Not his warriors, but the tribes most likely to supply him with food and shelter. We’ll promise them more if they agree not to support him in any way. I know the Maoris love to see a good fight but I think they love profit more.”

  “I see.” Coffin approved. “Take away his base of operations.”

  “Quite. Without local support he’ll find himself isolated despite his triumph. I hope his warriors will desert him, if only by ones and twos, until he no longer poses a threat. I know this is only a holding action, not a solution. When we have regular troops here we’ll be able to put a stop to such outrages.

  “I must first maintain the general peace. Then we’ll worry about punishing Heke. The Maoris who don’t take up arms alongside him will prosper. The others will see this and decide it’s not in their best interests to make war on the pakeha.”

  “Sounds like a good policy to me.” Coffin put his cup aside and moved as if to leave. Gray hastily put up a hand to forestall him.

  “Stay a moment longer, Coffin. I know you’re worn out, but there’s something more.” Gray rose and began pacing back and forth in front of the bookshelves behind his desk. “I’m going to try and establish a Crown monopoly on the sale of Maori land. What do you think?”

  The proposal came as a complete surprise. Nothing of the sort had ever been mentioned previously in government circles. It took Coffin a couple of minutes to consider. When he finally replied, the doubt was sharp in his voice.

  “I’m not sure that would work, sir. The Maoris know the value of an open market. They knew it before we arrived here and our trade with them these past years will have done nothing to discourage such thinking. What you’re saying is that prices for land will be set and Crown agents will oversee all sales.”

  “That’s right.” Gray was nodding enthusiastically.

  “The Maoris will never agree. They know they can get more for their land in a free market.”

  “That much is true, but a Crown monopoly will put an end to the fraud and misrepresentation in land sales that’s been angering the Maoris for years. It’s the principal bone of contention between native and settler. This could bring peace.”

  “The land dealers won’t like it,” Coffin warned him. “They’ve made a fortune selling and reselling the same plots to different people.”

  Gray was not always as even-tempered as people believed. Now he paused and raised his voice as he pounded on his desk with a fist, sending paper and pens flying.

  “It’s got to stop, Coffin! It’s got to stop or it’ll ruin the colony! That’s why I asked you here in the wake of what you’ve just seen. Not just to listen to me but to carry word of my decision to the Maori. Because, you see, I’ve decided to go ahead with this come what may.”

  “All right. But why choose me to carry the bad tidings? I’ve no tie to the government.”

  “No,” Gray said with a grunt, “but you’ve plenty of land and you’ve better ties to the Maori than any other merchant in the colony. I can’t think of a better emissary.”

  “For whom? Colonist, or Maori?”

  Gray smiled at that. “I can’t compel you. As you say, you’re not a member of the government. But I’m pleading with you to accept. Look here, Coffin: what is needed is an end to these exorbitant and unjustified profits these speculators are making. The Maoris need to know that if they sell so many acres they’ll receive so many pounds, that they’ll get an honest if not excessive price, and that it will be guaranteed by the government. Settlers and new colonists need to know they can come here and purchase a plot of land for a predetermined price without having to worry about being defrauded by unlicensed, unscrupulous traders. There will remain ample opportunity for profit, but not at the cost of stability.”

  “Put that strongly to the populace, sir, and if backed by the force of law, I suppose it’s possible—just possible, mind—that the Maoris might agree to abide by it.”

  “They have to agree! It’s in their own best interests to do so. Already there’s been too much fighting over land sales. I know this isn’t the perfect solution. There will always be individuals who will try to take advantage of native peoples.”

  “The Maoris are not easily taken advantage of.”

  “True enough, but they tend to respond to theft not with court briefs but with bullets and spears. That’s the sort of thing a Crown monopoly would prevent.”

  “Provided we can assure them their complaints will be listened to.”

  “We’ll make it work,” Gray promised him. “We must. We’ll get troops in here somehow if that’s what it’s going to take. We have to prove to the Maori they can trust us, trust the colonial government. Once we’ve done that, dissidents like this Hone Heke will find it impossible to recruit warriors for raiding.”

  Coffin found himself being persuaded by Gray. “It’s difficult to wage war when everyone’s making money. Plenty of Maoris are making fortunes off land sales as well as supplying the colony with food.”

  “That’s something else.” Gray resumed his seat and folded his hands atop the desk. “We can’t go on like this, depending on the Maoris not just for the food we consume but for much of what we export. We have to start growing more of our own. Running sheep and cattle isn’t enough. I think we can make a start by.…”

  Coffin tried to pay attention as Gray droned on, but he found his attention slipping. The monopoly ought to satisfy the sensible Maoris. While regretting the loss of the free market in which they’d made so much money they would at the same time welcome the injection of law and stability. The older chiefs would be particularly pleased; the younger rangatira, the new Christianized chiefs, would prove hardest to win over.

  He thought of how he would frame the Governor’s proposal, how he could best make the case, as he strolled through an unnamed landscape composed largely of gigantic ferns. Th
ey looked the sort of growths one might expect to find filling the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew, back in England. Orchids and other exquisite flowers grew in wild profusion while strange little flightless birds skittered through the undergrowth.

  So entranced was he that he failed to see the rock. He tripped, threw out his hands to break his fall. But the ground was so dense with moss and smallers ferns that it was like landing face down on a vast green pillow.

  Rolling over, he looked back only to find to his amazement that the rock he’d stumbled over was round and a pale cream color. He crawled back and tapped it with one hand. It didn’t sound like stone. Nor did it feel like one, having a smooth, almost greasy feel. When he lifted it he found it was heavy, but not as heavy as one might have expected.

  Then it slipped from his fingers to strike the ground with a crack. A thick, viscous fluid emerged from the break to stain the earth.

  Instinctively he started to back away, then hesitated, sniffing the air. The odor from the object was familiar. Moving closer once more he made out the yellow of the yolk pouring out. An egg, then, the size of a milk pail. What sort of creature could lay such an egg?

  When he’d first come to Aotearoa the old Maoris had told many stories of the birds their ancestors had hunted. None of the settlers had believed them, until they began to find the bones. Not fossils like those that had been unearthed in England and Germany, but real bones. Elephant birds, the Europeans called them.

  The bushes were rustling, off to his right. He rose warily, backing away from the broken egg. Then the bush itself appeared to rise on two immense splayed feet. From the top of the bush a neck extended that ended in an absurdly tiny skull. It towered over him, twice his height.

  The elephant bird blinked at the ruined egg. Then its tiny hot eyes returned to the man standing close by. It let out a screech and trundled towards him, its weight shaking the ground, each clawed foot capable of crushing a man to death.

  Coffin turned to run, but the ferns which had struck him as so fragile and delicate at first conspired to restrain him. Even so he forced his way past, flailing frantically at the branches, the whoom of immense feet and that antediluvian screeching close on his heels. He thought he could feel its rancid breath on his neck. Those claws would tear him to shreds.

  Suddenly he spotted another figure directly in front of him. Tall, but not nearly as tall as the pursuing elephant bird. It was the slim figure of an aged Maori, and it was beckoning to him.

  He called out the Maori’s name. The figure did not respond. Instead it continued to beckon, a sorrowful expression on the wrinkled, tattooed face. As the gesturing hand moved more slowly so did Coffin, vines and creepers and ferns twisting about his legs and holding him back. The screeching was near now.

  Then it had him, its beak digging painfully into his shoulder as it twisted him ’round to bring him within reach of one enormous raised foot. The claws glistened in the moist light of the ancient forest, each the size of a man’s fist …

  “Coffin! Coffin, wake up, man!”

  He started, blinking. The Governor was standing over him, his kindly face staring anxiously down at his own. One hand held him by the shoulder, shaking him. Coffin was surrounded by the sight and smell of lukewarm tea, leatherbound books, varnished wood.

  “I’m sorry, I.…”

  Gray released his shoulder, stepped back. “You dozed off. Not the first time I’ve done that to people. And I’ve kept you unforgiveably long, given how tired you must be. Will you do what I asked of you?”

  “What?” Coffin fought to regain control of his consciousness. The angry elephant bird, the shattered egg, the distant beckoning Maori were all receding rapidly from memory.

  “Convey my sentiments on this land business to the Maoris. Get their reaction and report personally back to me.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll do that for you, Governor. Later. First there’s my own family and business to attend to.”

  “Of course, naturally.” Gray returned to his desk and arranged pen, ink and paper. “I’ll have the necessary documents drawn up appointing you my official envoy. You must convince the chiefs that this way is best, Coffin. We’re in a period of crisis. If the Maoris’ grievances are not addressed they may be tempted to listen to this Hone Heke and his ilk. If by some miracle they were to unify their forces they could overrun all the small towns on the island and threaten Auckland itself. We must have stability! We must buy time.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, sir.”

  “Good! You attend to the Maori. I will undertake the more difficult task of persuading our leading citizens to restrain their desire for revenge, not to mention mollifying the land speculators. Now get you home.” Gray looked up from his work. “You’re certain you’re feeling all right?”

  Coffin saw the Governor through a dim haze as he rose. “Just tired, sir. That’s all. I’d far rather stand on the deck of a ship in storm than spend days in the saddle. Whoever said a horse rolls just like a ship was no seafaring man.”

  “Let me see you out.”

  Gray escorted his visitor to the front door, stood watching as Coffin’s horse was brought around and the man remounted to depart. A future Governor, perhaps. Someone to lift the burden of office from tired old men like himself. Possible, possible.

  Coffin had been mumbling in his sleep, strange things. He considered questioning Coffin about some of them but hesitated. There was much to do that needed doing immediately. Besides, a man’s dreams were his private business, be he merchant, beggar, or Governor.

  The hot-heads would have to be pacified. That came first. Then he and his legal advisors would have to attend to the precise wording of the proposed Crown monopoly for land sales. Sydney shouldn’t give him any trouble. As for the colonial office in London, by the time they learned of the monopoly’s establishment and returned any objections the system would already have been working and in place for more than a year. Operating so far from the motherland was not always a disadvantage, he reflected.

  He let his butler close the door and headed back toward his office. A peculiar speciman, this Robert Coffin. Resourceful certainly. Intelligent enough though unschooled. A rough sailor come to money. He could be useful to the colony or dangerous to it. For that matter he could easily harm himself if he didn’t take care. With success he’d gained enemies in the city’s business community.

  Well, Robert Coffin would have to take care of himself, and Gray didn’t doubt for an instant he could do exactly that.

  As he sat back down at his desk he wondered if he was obligated to tell Coffin what he’d been mumbling in his sleep. He shrugged. A physician’s task, not a politician’s. He knew that Coffin had spent time among the natives. But he had never heard of a colonist dreaming aloud in Maori.

  8

  He really ought to go home, Coffin knew, in his daze of exhaustion. Tell Holly what had happened and reassure Christopher. Of course, she probably knew all the details already. Auckland wasn’t that big. News traveled rapidly from house to house, mouth to mouth. No doubt she also knew he’d been called to see the Governor.

  All he wanted now was to fall into a familiar bed to catch up on two days of shortened sleep. He needed rest even as he feared it, feared the nightmares that might rise to haunt him. The episode in the Governor’s home had frightened him more than he cared to admit. Bad enough to toss and moan in one’s sleep without having to worry about the nightmares extending their grip into his waking hours, and his dream seemed more than a simple product of exhaustion.

  It was all fuzzy around the edges now, fading from his memory. But he’d seen an elephant bird. There were no elephant birds. Only their bones, all that the first Maoris had left to tease their descendants. Yet it had seemed so real to him. He shrugged. He’d seen the bones and an active mind had raised them up and dressed them in exotic plumage. The coloring was all in his head. Surely that didn’t indicate he was unbalanced!

  It meant nothing. The elephant bird, the old
Maori beckoning from a distance were components of an illusion. Not so surprising for Tuhoto to appear in a dream. The old tohunga had made a lasting impression on the young Coffin.

  What was important was not to dwell on the incident. How could he control an ever-expanding business empire if he couldn’t keep control of himself? Now there was this additional matter of convincing the Maori to go along with Gray’s proposed Crown monopoly on land sales. Given so many things to account for it was hardly surprising he should suffer an occasional bizarre daydream.

  Nothing prevented him from surrendering some of his business responsibilities. Elias could run the paper part of Coffin House better than anyone, though he was no leader of men. Coffin had wealth. Respect would soon follow. How better to gain that than by acting as the Governor’s personal representative? There was more than one reason for accepting Gray’s appointment.

  He’d done a full day’s work already, but he felt too restless to go home yet. He urged his mount through the center of town, past the reasonably decorous taverns of Auckland—so different from ruined Kororareka. As he turned a corner he heard Father Methune hail him.

  “You look worn out, Robert. You should be at home.” His expression turned very serious. “I heard you were called to see the Governor.”

  “There are no secrets in this city. Yes, it’s true. Gray wants to establish a Crown monopoly on land sales. He asked me to put the proposal to the rangatira, the council of chiefs.”

  Methune’s eyebrows rose. “There will be trouble over that.”

  “He knows, but in the end I think everyone will go along with him.” Coffin squinted as he looked toward the harbor. “Myself, I’ll be sorry when Gray leaves his post here. We’ll never find another Governor as understanding of the situation, much less the native point of view.”

  He was unaware Methune was staring at him appraisingly. “We might have a local person appointed to the position.”

  Coffin looked down at him, surprised. “I didn’t think you paid much attention to secular politics, Father.”