Collision

by Joanna Orwin

  ‘Fi, fi, gentlemen,’ he said when they finished. ‘It’s to be expected that those people reacted badly to the tying-up of one of their chiefs: these things you’re telling me are nothing more than I predicted would happen as a result of such a foolhardy action.’ He paused to admire a particularly daring boy spin high up the pole before he added, ‘You two, on the other hand, seem to have conducted yourselves well—indeed, perhaps averted further bitterness amongst those particular Zealanders.’

  ‘You don’t consider, sir, that we should be worried about the growing number of armed savages?’ André ignored the compliment and the activity on the river bank.

  ‘I see no reason to be concerned, Monsieur Tallec,’ the expedition leader replied. ‘No reason at all. This morning, a chief came to the ship to return the axe and the musket stolen from the hauling site. He was extremely apologetic. I reassured him with several gifts, and we parted on the most amicable of terms. This afternoon, as you can see, I’m enjoying my usual entertainment with these delightful children.’ He smiled as a small girl came to squat at his feet and patted her on the head. He then sent the two ensigns back to the ship.

  That evening, Monsieur Marion assigned André and Jean to the guard-post at the hospital camp as the officer in charge there had become ill. ‘Our excellent relationships with the people on the island should allay any further concerns on your part, gentlemen.’

  As the two ensigns packed their gear to go ashore, Jean grumbled, ‘Pardieu, cousin, he’s treating us exactly like he treats those children.’ He was not pleased to have their concerns so easily dismissed.

  ‘Perhaps Monsieur Marion’s right,’ André tried to argue. ‘Perhaps we’re not in a position to see the wider picture, not travelling around the district the way he does.’

  Jean shrugged impatiently. ‘You can’t seriously believe that! He’s constantly being fêted by chiefs and fawned on by children. Our captain doesn’t see what’s actually going on beyond that, in the same way the King in his luxurious court isn’t aware of the plight of impoverished peasants.’

  André thought his cousin was mistaken. Surely someone as astute as Monsieur Marion, someone so skilled at managing the disparate mix of people crowded together in the confines of the ships for months at a time, would not have his judgement clouded so easily by the attentions of unsophisticated Naturals? But he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to set Jean off on one of his political diatribes.

  Ashore at the hospital camp, Monsieur Thirion was pleased to see them. ‘I’ve missed your company, young man,’ he said to André. ‘Or, if I’m honest, I’ve missed the services of that friend of yours, Ta-capaye. With you away at the masting camp, he’s not been once to visit me.’

  André realized it was several days since he himself had seen Te Kape. His friend had not joined him at all on this last tour of duty at the masting camp. Somewhat troubled, he left the surgeon to his patients and went off to join his cousin at the guard-post in the neighbouring cove.

  Jean was also preoccupied. ‘Would you believe our people have become so complacent that no one has even bothered to set up this guard-post properly?’ He took André and showed him where the six blunderbusses brought ashore lay just above the tide line, still unmounted and half-covered in sand. ‘Criminal foolishness,’ he said. ‘There’re only four soldiers stationed here. With you and me, and Monsieur Thirion—who’s really too old to be of any use—that means just seven able-bodied men to guard the sick in the hospital tent and the forge, with all that tempting iron lying about.’

  ‘And half the ship’s rigging, the rudders and other equipment’s still stored in those abandoned huts.’ André stared at his cousin, his misgivings growing. ‘You have a point, cousin. We wouldn’t stand a chance if the savages really wanted to plunder us.’

  ‘D’accord,’ said Jean. ‘It’s about time you came to your senses! So let’s get this so-called guard-post set up properly.’

  The soldiers took umbrage at their criticism, protesting that they had taken sufficient precautions. ‘Assurément, this last week, a few of the savages from the village have been snooping around at night in the hope of stealing anything lying around,’ one of them admitted. ‘But they soon scarper when they see us alert and armed, gentlemen.’

  That was enough for Jean. Without wasting any more time, he sent the sullen soldiers to drag the blunderbusses up to the guard-post. André supervised while they cleaned the bronze guns and put them in working order. In the meantime, Jean had their three-legged wooden stands assembled and placed in a square around the tent, leaving two to guard the entrance to the hospital tent. Only when the blunderbusses were each loaded with two handfuls of musket balls and the guard-post was in ship-shape order would he let the soldiers eat a delayed supper.

  Leaving an armed soldier on sentry duty at the hospital tent and another outside the guard-post tent, Jean and André at last retired for the night. But at eleven o’clock, the sentry came to report that five or six Zealanders were prowling around outside. As soon as the ensigns hastened out, these people ran off up the hill. When they did not return, the ensigns left the sentry on the alert and went back to bed, dog-tired. It had been a long day. Much to their relief, they were not disturbed again that night.

  Next morning, Monsieur Marion arrived in his yawl on one of his regular visits to the hospital camp to assure the sixty or so men still lying sick that they were not forgotten. After finishing his consultation with the surgeon, he came over to see how the two ensigns had fared during the night.

  ‘I see you’ve set up the blunderbusses, gentlemen,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘What’s happened that’s so out of the ordinary for you to reinforce security?’ His tone indulgent, he obviously thought they were still over-reacting to the events at the masting camp.

  Gritting his teeth, Jean explained. Monsieur Marion listened patiently, then shrugged. ‘In my opinion, Monsieur Roux, the Zealanders are merely trying to steal what they so dearly covet. Such behaviour’s understandable, surely? In comparison to them, we have untold riches. I’ve said before that stealing would become a problem once these people lost their fear of us.’

  So much for Jean’s theory about our captain being unaware of social inequality, thought André ruefully, as Monsieur Marion continued. He was saying firmly, ‘All you need to do is remain vigilant at night to prevent them doing so.’

  Behind them, one of the soldiers was smirking. Jean glared at him. Seeing the expression on his senior ensign’s face, Monsieur Marion hastened to add, ‘Nevertheless, gentlemen, maybe you’re right to be taking extra precautions. We’ve much valuable equipment stored here that we cannot afford to lose.’ He then told them that he had heard from the masting camp that morning. ‘Just as you experienced here, some Zealanders again appeared during the night, obviously intent on stealing what they could.’ He had sent some soldiers to reinforce the guard around the masts.

  ‘Does this not in any way undermine your trust in these people, sir?’ André asked. ‘Don’t you consider it at all possible they may be plotting against us—exactly because of their growing desire to seize our equipment?’

  ‘As long as we do them no harm, I’m quite confident they in turn will not harm us,’ the expedition leader replied. He looked at Jean, who was finding it hard to hide his scepticism, then said quietly, ‘Perhaps you forget my many dealings with such primitive peoples, both with the Malagasy slaves at my estates on the Île-de-France and with black traders along the African and Indian coasts. I’ve seen nothing in our six weeks here to change my long-held opinion that treating the darker races with consistent, gentle kindness wins the best results.’

  Seeing he was in a discursive mood and therefore perhaps unlikely to lose his temper, André risked expressing further doubts. ‘I quite take your point, sir. But these Zealanders seem of higher intelligence and more sophisticated in their customs and industries than the type of savage you speak of.’

  Jean added, ‘We’ve already seen instances of
their daring and courage, sir. It’s clear they’re now in a state of readiness for war. All we’re suggesting is that we’re seeing signs that they’re more than capable of using those tendencies against us.’

  Monsieur Marion sighed. ‘Gentlemen, be assured my understanding of these people is not tinted by the rather naïve philosophies expounded by Monsieur Rousseau’s followers in the salons of Paris and so eloquently argued after supper by our good surgeon. I’m not blind to their venal nature, their tendency towards aggression, or their avarice when it comes to the wealth we represent. But I have good grounds for believing my approach applies as successfully to them as it does to the more brutish races.’ He then explained that a few days previously two chiefs had come on board to take him ashore. ‘You were present when we left, I think?’

  When they nodded assent, he went on to tell them that these chiefs took him and his party onto a high hill overlooking Te Kuri’s village. Several more chiefs and a great crowd of people were waiting there for him. The chiefs accompanying him sat him and his officers down on several luxurious mats and cloaks spread out on the ground. After the usual solemn greetings, they draped a cloak around his shoulders and placed a crown of feathers on his head. With considerable ceremony, accompanied by songs in which he clearly heard his name mentioned many times, they then took him by the hand and led him from one side of the hilltop to the other, gesturing at the expanse of country that spread beyond. ‘I was made to understand in this way that they recognized me as their King, gentlemen. I was treated with the greatest of respect, and all the chiefs made their obeisance to me.’

  Monsieur Marion’s voice became so affected in recalling his gratification at this reception, he had to pause. He dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief, then continued his account. The chiefs had come up to him one by one to present him with many gifts, including parcels of his favourite fish and a stone handsomely carved with the figure of some sort of deity. Once this grand occasion had drawn to its conclusion, the chiefs and the whole crowd had conducted him back to the shore. There, they followed his boat out to the Mascarin in a flotilla of canoes. ‘I gave them many presents and they departed, still singing. So you see, gentlemen, you cannot expect me to have a poor opinion of people who show me so much friendship.’ He then repeated what he had said earlier. ‘Since I do them nothing but good, surely they’ll not do me any harm?’

  The two ensigns could find nothing to say. Soon afterwards, the expedition leader left them, confirming his orders that regardless of any provocation they were to continue to treat the Naturals with gentleness.

  Once he had gone, Jean shrugged. ‘Mort-diable—there’ll be no convincing Monsieur Marion that any savage might have dire intentions,’ he said gloomily. ‘Not now they’ve made him King, no less. He must’ve thought all his dreams had come true!’

  Extract from the Te Kape manuscript, 1841

  It came to pass that some of the chiefs were unhappy with Te Kuri’s procrastination. Seizing a chance to provoke him, they made pretence of changing their allegiance to Mariou himself. Accordingly, in full view of Te Kuri’s stronghold, they gathered their people, and, they entertained the leader of those strangers with great ceremony, giving him the white feathers of chiefdom to indicate their respect. Regardless of their motives, Te Kuri had no choice but to react, for their action put Mariou himself in a position of political strength from which he could threaten Te Kuri’s influence in Tokerau. That this was Mariou’s purpose could no longer be doubted, for why else would the strangers from the sea carry out so many acts of physical and spiritual aggression against people who had done them no harm?

  And so it was decided. The inflammatory presence of te iwi o Mariou in Tokerau could no longer be tolerated. Accordingly, those chiefs allied to Te Kuri divided their warriors into three war parties, one at Manawa-ora, one on Moturua, and one at Orokawa where the ships were anchored. After ascertaining the strength of each of Mariou’s strongholds, those war parties waited for an opportunity to carry out a three-pronged surprise attack that would satisfy the now urgent need for revenge.

  Chapter 11

  11–12 June 1772

  Port Marion 35° 15 ′ S

  No sooner had Monsieur Marion left than the chief Te Kotahi arrived at the hospital camp from Maru’s fortified village on the island. This particular chief had not visited their camp before. He brought the customary gifts of fish for the officers at the guard-post, and sent his companions with baskets of food on to the other cove to trade with the surgeon and the blacksmith. His quick eyes soon spotted the blunderbusses set up on their stands around the tent. Gesturing at them, he asked André what they were.

  ‘Ta-pou,’ the ensign replied, using the word the Zealanders gave to the muskets.

  When Te Kotahi shook his head in disbelief, Jean went into the tent and returned with a handful of balls. ‘Let’s make things a bit clearer,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be a bad thing if this chief understands exactly what these guns are capable of.’

  He loaded one of the blunderbusses, showing the chief each ball as he did so, then swivelled the gun on its stand, aiming its long barrel out to sea, up the hill, and then directly at the chief himself. ‘Bam! Bam!’ he shouted, enjoying himself.

  The startled Te Kotahi backed away, the whites of his eyes wide with alarm.

  ‘I think you’ve made your point,’ said André dryly.

  The chief drew his mat across his body and took up a defensive pose. He waved the muzzle of the gun away, making it obvious he not only understood but also thought this type of weapon highly dangerous.

  Jean nodded vigorously. ‘And don’t you forget it!’ Satisfied with the result of his demonstration, he left the blunderbuss loaded, but tilted its barrel down at the ground out of harm’s way.

  Despite the fright he had been given, Te Kotahi lingered around the camp for several hours. Keeping a safe distance from the blunderbusses, he nevertheless examined everything else with great interest. He peered into the tent, taking notice of the four cots set up inside, then indicated that he wanted to go to the other cove.

  ‘Go with him, André,’ said Jean. ‘Keep a close eye on what he does. Prenez garde—I’m suspicious of such intense curiosity. He’s up to something.’

  ‘Fort bien,’ said André. ‘He does seem to be taking stock, but let’s retain some perspective: we’ve explored his village with equal curiosity, including examining their magazine of arms. It is the first time he’s visited us.’

  ‘Oui, oui,’ Jean spread his hands. ‘I’m probably over-reacting. But it would do no harm to be alert.’

  At the hospital tent, the chief asked to go inside, where he wrinkled his nose in distaste at the fetid smell of the sick men, but stayed long enough both to count them and satisfy himself that they were incapable of rising from their beds. André, watching him, now thought his cousin might have the truth of it. None of the other Zealanders had ever shown any inclination to go near the hospital tent. They had continued to show fear at the sight of the leaden complexions and distorted limbs of the men still suffering from scurvy. Monsieur Thirion was of the opinion that they thought some demon or other was responsible for this affliction, as he had observed they always left a small parcel of fish at some distance from the tent and muttered incantations over it before approaching him with the baskets of food they wished to trade. At the beginning, the Naturals would not even take gift items in exchange, and it had taken him some time to convince them that he expected to pay some token for what they brought him.

  So when Te Kotahi then made his way across the stream to where the blacksmith and the cooper were working at their trades with their offsiders, André followed hard on his heels. Although the chief jumped involuntarily at each blow of the hammers, flinched at the clangour of beaten iron and was obviously uncomfortable in the intense heat emitted by the forge, he again examined everything closely. Before he left, he once more counted all the men present and seemed impressed by their brawn and strength as they wiel
ded the heavy tools of their trade.

  André escorted him and his companions, who had waited patiently for their chief on the outskirts of the camp, to the start of the track back to their village, then went to report to Jean at the guard-post. ‘Needless to say, I didn’t tell him everyone he was counting so carefully at the forge returns to the ship at the end of each day.’

  The senior ensign clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Dieu soit loué, cousin! I’m glad you at last have your wits about you. He’s gone away thinking we have more than double the actual number of able-bodied men stationed here.’

  That afternoon, the two ensigns went hunting in the direction of the village. ‘I’ve a mind to see whether anything unusual’s going on there,’ explained Jean. ‘We can drop in, casually, as we pass by.’

  ‘Do our own counting, you mean?’ André was in favour.

  Somewhat to their surprise, they were made welcome when they arrived at the entrance to the village. The Zealanders greeted them as enthusiastically as usual, with a couple of the young men coming down the steep path to help them over the worst sections. Jean had fully expected they might be turned away. Instead, Maru and Te Kotahi accepted the brace of quail they offered and sat down with them as though they had not a care in the world. In the face of such friendliness, even Jean was forced to revise his suspicions. ‘Maybe Monsieur Marion’s right after all,’ he muttered to André as gifts were brought for them. ‘Maybe we’re too quick to think the worst.’