Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  The death of Rui would not cure the disease of Kingism, but it would make life much easier for the farmers and ranchers of the central highlands. They would go to their beds knowing that the most murderous of the Kingites had met his end.

  Some still spoke of capturing him. Hull thought this an unlikely eventuality. There were too many men who would take pleasure from personally putting an end to Alexander Rui’s life. Still, Hull and many others argued for taking him alive so he could be carried back to Auckland where, after a fair trial, he would be hung by the harborfront as an object lesson to would-be rebels. It was going to be difficult to restrain anyone from putting a bullet through Rui’s head.

  No one spoke of failure. Similar pas had been assaulted with heavy loss of life and eventual retreat the result. Everyone was confident the outcome would be different this time. Philip Marker commanded them, an officer more interested in victory than in looking good on a reviewing stand. He paid less attention to how his troops wore their uniforms than to how they fought.

  Hull didn’t mind taking orders from Marker, who was younger and much poorer than himself, because he recognized Marker’s military genius. Unlike some of his fellow colonials, Tobias Hull did not fancy himself a great general. He was comfortable with mere competency in command, preferring to take orders from someone more knowledgeable than himself. These he could pass on to his own subordinates, subsequently taking credit for any successful maneuver.

  They would have to make do without artillery, as Colonel Gold kept the big guns for his own use. That would make this particular pa doubly difficult to take. The stockade was high and reinforced by supporting logs. Furthermore, the rocky ground on which the village stood prevented Marker’s engineers from digging a sap. They were not going to be able to mine the wall and blow it up.

  Alexander Rui’s pa was going to have to be taken by frontal assault. Or so it appeared. Hull and the other officers waited for their orders in confidence, knowing young Marker had set his brilliant military mind to work on a solution.

  In the meantime they surrounded the village and settled in for a long siege. By now there were no complaints, no questions. Everyone knew his job, including the colonials. Pickets were stationed well out of range of Maori sharpshooters. Meanwhile army snipers tried to find protected positions from which to fire at the village. This constant sniping by both sides was important. It let the enemy know he was being watched and that his opponent was on his guard.

  Still, there was little fighting, beyond exchanges of curses and obscene gestures by men on both sides. The Maoris waited for the pakehas to attack, and the pakehas waited for Captain Marker to invent something unexpected.

  They’d already tried a night attack on the northern curve of the pa. It had been driven off by the Maoris, but not before the militiamen who’d carried out the assault had inflicted substantial casualties. The Maori, Hull mused as he readied himself for the upcoming meeting in Marker’s tent, weren’t the only ones who could utilize hit-and-run tactics. The British regulars felt such maneuvers were beneath them. That didn’t stop the colonials from learning to use the rebels’ own strategems against them. Unfortunately it was the sort of thing that could only be used once. From now on the pa’s defenders would be alert for any future nighttime attacks.

  Hull buckled on his saber and then picked up his umbrella, wondering as he walked out into the rain what was happening to Hull House and in particular to its newly opened facilities in Christchurch. He should be there to oversee, to supervise and make decisions. Instead he was stuck on the eastern side of North Island, far from Auckland or Wellington and real civilization.

  He knew he was obligated to this tour of duty. It was a responsibility he couldn’t avoid. Somehow his innumerable commercial concerns succeeded in muddling along without him. Hull House wasn’t growing and dominating the way it ought to, but neither was he losing any important commercial ground. From time to time he would unbend enough to write grudging letters of approval to his immediate subordinates and managers. By rights he should have suffered failure and setback. It just proved that with the right kind of discipline you could accomplish anything.

  His subordinates knew that he could return at any moment to pass judgement on their decisions, that they could be dismissed with a casual wave of the great man’s hand. So they worked hard and overachieved. It was a good thing to rule through fear, Hull believed. A man would work longer hours to keep his job than to gain a bonus. For those who performed well, the rare compliment and reward was thus thrice valued.

  Keep them anxious, keep them hungry: that was Hull’s motto. It had worked well for many years. If they could put an end to Rui this time he could return home a military hero. That would be good for business, even though everyone knew full well Rui’s death would not put an end to the Kingites. The war would most likely go on, though in a more civilized fashion with Rui out of the picture.

  As he collapsed his umbrella and entered he murmured greetings to those officers already assembled in Marker’s tent. It was raining harder than ever now, violent droplets which assailed the roof and pounded the earth outside like massed drumming. The officers chatted fitfully among themselves, anxious to hear what Marker had to say so they could return to their own sanctuaries.

  As it developed, those individual islands of warmth and comfort were not to be enjoyed for some time yet.

  Marker’s soft voice bade them all turn. “Gentlemen, ready your troops. We will make a full-scale attack on the pa within the hour.”

  Stunned silence greeted this pronouncement. “Within the hour?” one of the regular officers finally exclaimed.

  “Sir,” another lieutenant hastened to point out, “some of the men have just settled in for the night. Soon it’ll be pitch dark out. Even if there was a moon, you won’t be able to see your hand in front of your face in this rain.”

  “Precisely, Lieutenant Kneally. Consider: as the war has progressed the Maoris have become expert riflemen. We cannot mine their stockade and I will not have my men advancing over open ground towards a wall as well-built and as heavily defended as this one. Therefore we must find some other way of negating Rui’s advantageous defensive position.

  “He has chosen to make his stand here because he is unassailable from behind. But since he cannot retreat, we are spared the necessity of attacking on several fronts simultaneously. Because they cannot retreat, the Maoris will fight more determinedly than ever.

  “In the dark, however, they will not be able to aim.”

  “Neither will we,” someone else pointed out unnecessarily.

  “True enough. But once we gain the wall the advantage will be ours. We shall attack in three columns several minutes apart. With luck the Maoris may assume all our forces are concentrated in the initial assault. They will respond by unbalancing their defense accordingly. Under the cover of rain and darkness, one or both of the other columns may be able to scale the stockade and get inside the village before the enemy realizes what is happening.

  “I want every man to carry a waterproof container of hot coals with which to set the Maori buildings on fire. That will spread confusion and panic among the villagers while providing us with light to shoot by.”

  “Nothing will burn for long in this rain,” Hull observed.

  “Long burns will not be necessary. Our objective is to destroy Rui’s fighters, not burn his houses. In any event, we’re not interested in a lengthy battle, are we, gentlemen?”

  A chorus of “nos” resounded through the tent.

  “Everyone must take care to move quietly. Instruct the men to wrap their weapons so their powder will be dry when finally they have targets to aim at. The initial assault will be made with sabers and swords only.” He smiled thinly. “The Maoris will not expect the silence. In the past we’ve always attacked with all guns blazing. In the panic that will hopefully ensue their natural reaction will be to utilize their own weapons, with the result that they will become well soaked by the rain while ou
rs remain ready and dry.”

  “I don’t know, begging your pardon, Captain, that it’s possible to panic Maoris,” Hull said thoughtfully.

  The young Captain didn’t back down. “There is always a first time, Mr. Hull. The Maoris are tough fighters, but they are still human.”

  “Well then, sir, that aside, I think it’s a good plan.” A quick survey indicated his fellow militia leaders were in agreement. “Anything new’s worth a try.”

  “It’s not proper strategy,” Lieutenant Kneally protested.

  “I’m aware of that, Lieutenant.” Marker was unruffled. “And this isn’t Sandringham. The only thing that concerns me is winning this battle with as few casualties as possible.”

  There was silence in the tent. A couple of the junior officers eyed one another uneasily, but no one else spoke. Marker waited patiently, giving them a last chance. When no one took it, he gave the order.

  “Let’s go, then. We’ll attack as soon as every unit is ready, and for Heaven’s Sake caution them to keep their grumbling down. I know it will be impossible, under these conditions, to shut them up entirely.” A couple of the more senior lieutenants chuckled at that.

  “The Maoris have had ample time to observe us settling in for the evening. It was to preserve that illusion I kept my intentions secret from you all until now. Hopefully our enemy is also relaxing. Our surprise could be complete, though I am not counting on it.”

  “The militia will be ready, Captain. They’ll gripe more than most, but they’ll be ready.” The more he thought about the plan the more excited Hull became. Marker was right. If they could divert most of the defenders and get another column over the wall and into the pa proper, it would be the beginning of the end for Rui’s warriors. Once they got inside there was no way on Earth the Kingites were going to drive them out.

  On the other hand, if they didn’t achieve at least partial surprise, if the Maoris were waiting for them as they attacked, the Kingites would slaughter the men trying to scale the stockade, picking them off with ease since those behind would not be able to provide any covering fire in the pouring rain. Everything depended on surprise and speed, qualities the British army was not noted for. But Marker had enough experienced men to give the attack a good chance of success, men who no longer cared about following rules or looking impressive on the battlefield. Men who would do what was necessary to win.

  He squinted at the sky as he left the tent, unfolding his umbrella as he hurried to give the news to his own troops.

  6

  The full moon was masked by the clouded sky. If the storm broke, the Maoris would surely detect the three columns of pakehas advancing toward them. That would put paid to Marker’s plan. Dangerous it was, Hull knew. Dangerous and daring. He supported it as strongly now as he had when the Captain had proposed it. Those unwilling to take risks inevitably failed, whether in commerce or in war.

  Initial worries faded as the men silently struggled up the slight slope toward the fortified pa. If anything, the storm intensified and the sky grew darker. It was incongruous to see hardened troops smiling as the weather became steadily more miserable, but on this night everyone new the rain and darkness were their allies.

  It was a most methodical storm, the water falling straight down. There was no wind. The raindrops pounding the earth helped to muffle the noise of the advance. Hull saw grizzled, scarred veterans trying to tiptoe through ankle-deep mud. Fortunately, the same underlying rock that made the digging of saps impossible restricted the mud to a depth of a couple of inches. It did not slow them down.

  Regulars and militia alike clutched their muskets and pistols close to their bodies. Every gun had been wrapped with whatever material was at hand: dirty socks, shirts, extra coats, even nightwear. Anything to protect powder from the downpour. The Maoris would not be able to prepare. They would respond instinctively and their weapons would quickly become waterlogged.

  Hull tried and failed to make out the tall rampart of the stockade. He had to rely on the movement of the men ahead of him. Behind him someone bumped someone else with the end of a scaling ladder. The brief exchange of curses was hastily shushed by other men. Still there was no response from within the pa. Soldiers breathed sighs of relief and continued their advance.

  They trudged upward for what seemed like hours. Hull began to wonder if his column had wandered completely off course. That could be dangerous in itself, with a sheer cliff plunging into the sea not far away. He listened but couldn’t hear the booming of surf against stone.

  Then one of his lieutenants appeared, to whisper they were barely a ladder’s length from the wall. Ten feet and still you couldn’t see the stockade logs. Only the sound of the rain and the shuffling of anxious feet proved he hadn’t wandered off the face of the planet.

  The men began to spread out to the left and right, noncoms whispering orders to the regulars, officers moving nervously back and forth among them. Ladders were placed against the walls. Their tops had been padded with coats and strips of linen. They made no noise as they were positioned. Hull tried to check his pocket watch but couldn’t make out the numerals in the dark and rain. He put the watch away and stared to his left. His group was part of the righthand column. Marker had taken the middle for himself.

  It was important that all three columns commence scaling the wall at the predetermined times. Hull could only hope his people weren’t early. They certainly were not late because it was silent as the grave on the other side of the stockade. Where were the Maori defenders? Around him men began to show signs of excitement as they started up the ladders unopposed, following close on the heels of the regulars who were leading the way. Marker’s plan was working better than anyone dared hope.

  Then Hull heard a startled oath in Maori, followed by the sound of a pistol being fired. Someone inside the pa had made contact with Marker’s column. Hull went up the nearest ladder fast, shoving another man out of the way. Erratically at first, then with rapidly increasing frequency other shouts and yells sounded from inside the pa as the startled Maoris awoke to the realization they were being attacked.

  Hull dropped to the ground on the other side of the pa, his knees protesting at the impact. He took two steps forward and nearly tripped over the body of a Maori sentry lying on the sodden ground with his skull split wide. A shape materialized out of the rain and he readied his saber, then lowered it as he recognized one of Marker’s scouts. His breath was coming in short gasps and the sounds of rising battle had begun to fill the night air. Sharp echoes of steel on greenstone, of musketry and pistols, overwhelmed the noise of falling rain. Brief flashes of light momentarily illuminated the darkness, then vanished.

  The scout slowed, glanced backward as Hull moved toward him.

  “How goes it, man?” Hull pressed him.

  The man was wheezing. “At least half the regiment’s already inside the wall, sir. Don’t know about Lieutenant Schale’s column yet. Seems your people are almost all in. I was sent to check on that.” He was already backing away. “Excuse me, sir. Got to get back to my unit.”

  Hull watched him go, eagerly led his own men forward. The rain was subsiding slightly, the clouds parting to let a suggestion of moonlight through. He saw a dozen Maoris running to his left, tried to direct the men following him in their direction. The Kingites were naked and lightly armed, still stunned by the unexpected attack.

  Marker had achieved all the surprise he’d hoped for, but the battle’s outcome was far from preordained. Hull knew that when the Kingites began fighting in earnest they would fight grimly and until they dropped. He bellowed orders, hoping some might be heard above the noise and confusion. Officers tried to keep control of the fighting, but with men from all three columns mixing in the darkness that quickly proved impossible.

  The Maoris were fully awake and alerted now, pouring from their houses. The initial success achieved by surprise was muted by the ferocity of a desperate counterattack. In hand-to-hand combat the Kingites could more than hold
their own, but now the invading pakehas brought out their dry muskets and pistols. When the Maoris tried to respond in kind they found their drenched weapons useful only as clubs.

  Something massive and shadowy flashed past in the darkness. Hull ducked to his left and the enormous greenstone war club smashed into the mud nearby. He slashed sideways with his saber. Blood mixed with rain as the stocky form that held the club slumped to the ground. He moved forward, feeling the comforting press of his men around him, using his saber whenever there seemed something to strike at while holding his pistol secure and dry in case he needed it later.

  Screams and shouts, curses and war cries in both English and Maori mixed with the falling rain as the battle continued. The Maoris had sacrificed too much already. They were falling back under the relentless if undisciplined pakeha assault. By the time they managed to mount an organized defense, their numbers had been severely reduced.

  The battle degenerated into the sort of massacre Marker and his officers had feared. In the rain there was no controlling the troops, much less the militia. The officers did their best to save women and children, with only partial success. These were Alexander Rui’s supporters, and there was no sympathy to be found for them among the colonials.

  The Maori resistance collapsed, broke up into isolated pockets of warriors. Some tried to escape, only to be cut down in front of their own still securely fastened gate.

  The largest group still resisting had been forced to the very back of the village. They’d formed a defensive semicircle where the men could hear the surf booming against the rocks far below them. A few had managed to dry their muskets sufficiently to load and fire at their attackers. Others had heaped up sacks of grain and a few loose logs to create a crude barricade.

  The invaders slowed, content with picking off those Kingites who exposed themselves. It was only a matter of time now. So Hull thought until a tiny older colonial came rushing up to him. The man couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but he gripped his sword as tightly as any corporal.