Amber

by Deborah Challinor

  The morning of 10 January was again fine and warm, so Rian decided to go across to Kororareka and pick up a few supplies. Pierre also wanted to inspect the stores there: he didn’t know when they would be leaving the Bay of Islands, but he wanted the galley to be provisioned when they did.

  However, when the crew, plus Haunui and Tahi, arrived at Paihia, it was obvious that they weren’t all going to fit into the Katipo’s rowboat, so they borrowed one of Pukera’s waka. There was much hilarity as they set off, the waka changing direction with every stroke of the oars until Haunui, counting the cadence and laughing his head off, managed to synchronise Mick, Rian, Pierre, Daniel and Hawk as they rowed. Kitty—minus her bonnet, as she knew from past experience that the brisk winds of the bay would have it off her head in minutes—and Tahi sat in the prow with Ropata, who was thoroughly enjoying watching his crewmates making idiots of themselves. They stopped off at the Katipo, anchored in the bay among six or seven other ships, to collect Gideon, who had been keeping watch on the schooner, then set off again for the sweeping curve of Kororareka’s beach.

  They were all damp with sea spray and in high spirits when they arrived, Kitty looking forward to fossicking in the stores, and the others to a pint or two in one of the grog-shops. The town looked picturesque in the bright sunshine, with rows of ships’ boats and waka pulled up on the shingled beach before two small palisaded pa, and the street of one- and two-storey weatherboard buildings that paralleled the shore. Behind them, the tall-windowed Anglican church squatted solidly next to its graveyard, houses and gardens sat on the lower slopes of the hills, and the American flag was flying from consul James Clendon’s house. At the southern end of the beach were clustered Bishop Pompallier’s chapel, houses, workshops and printery. The tranquil scene belied the settlement’s reputation as ‘a perfect picture of depravity’—a sobriquet that was, by most accounts, nevertheless thoroughly deserved.

  Behind the town lay a large swamp, and behind that a series of rugged hills, their seaward-facing slopes peppered with coarse fern and dwarf cypress. At the northern end of the bay rose Maiki Hill, topped by the now-infamous flagstaff flying the Union Jack. On closer inspection, Kitty saw that Governor FitzRoy’s economic sanctions had not been kind to the town: it might have grown, but it seemed even more dilapidated than it had been during her only other visit, back in 1839. She had been with Wai, then. And Amy.

  Walking up the potholed main street she eyed the shabby trading stores, private dwellings, boarding houses and grogshops, and the sailors and other rough-looking individuals openly eyeing her, and was glad she was with a party of eight men. And one little boy, even though she wasn’t entirely convinced that this was the sort of place Tahi should be visiting. But he was strolling along beside Haunui, his hands in his pockets, calmly taking in the sights. When a pair of gaudily-dressed young women sitting outside a small house and showing rather a lot of stockinged calf called out, he waved to them cheerily.

  One of the women stood up and struck a pose, her hands smoothing the cheap, shiny fabric of her dress over her hips. Kitty stopped and stared, wondering if they were the same whores she, Wai and Amy had encountered five years before, but after a moment decided they couldn’t be.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ the woman on her feet called out invitingly. Belatedly noticing Kitty, she added unenthusiastically, ‘Oh, and lady. Are yis looking for a little bit o’ comfort? Because yis’ve come to the right place if yis are.’

  Pierre looked her up and down and shook his head disdainfully. The woman made a rude gesture at him. Daniel went pink. Hawk, Ropata and Gideon ignored her, and Mick looked as though he was having a terrible time deciding between the sort of comfort the woman was offering and the sort that could be purchased over a bar.

  ‘What about you, little man?’ the woman called, pointing at Tahi, and both she and her companion burst into ribald giggles.

  Mick bent down and said to Tahi, ‘Now’s your chance, so it is.’

  Kitty gave Mick a stern look, which only made him grin.

  ‘Pardon?’ Tahi said, his big eyes turned up to Mick.

  ‘Never mind, love,’ Kitty told him. ‘Mick’s only being silly.’

  Nevertheless, Haunui manoeuvred Tahi protectively between himself and Gideon.

  ‘They won’t bite,’ Mick teased.

  Haunui made a face. ‘They bloody might.’

  Pierre spotted a likely-looking trading store, gave a grunt of satisfaction and veered off towards it.

  ‘Hey!’ Ropata shouted, and when Pierre turned Ropata raised his elbow in a drinking gesture. ‘Are you not coming?’

  ‘Oui,’ Pierre replied. ‘But first I buy the food, then I drink.’

  Ropata shrugged and followed the others across the street to a rather seedy-looking establishment that was clearly a grogshop. Noting the envious expression on Haunui’s face, Kitty took Tahi’s hand and steered him towards the trading store.

  ‘But I want to go with Koro,’ Tahi complained, dragging his feet.

  ‘Well, you can’t,’ Kitty said. ‘Little boys don’t go into places like that.’

  ‘But Koro said I am allowed,’ Tahi insisted.

  ‘I did not!’ Haunui called from the verandah of the grogshop. ‘Go on, boy, go with Kitty.’

  Tahi’s bottom lip came out, but he reluctantly allowed himself to be led across the street.

  The light inside the trading store was dim, but when Kitty’s eyes adjusted she saw that the interior was entirely lined with shelves reaching from the bare, uneven floorboards to the ceiling. There were lower shelves in the middle of the floor and a solid counter ran across the back of the store, presumably blocking off access to the smaller, more expensive items on display behind it. The aproned storekeeper, leaning on the counter and concentrating on lighting his pipe, ignored them. The whole place smelled of chaff, leather, wet wood, and some strange, dusty sort of spice.

  The shelves, which weren’t overstocked by any means, held rolls of coarse cloth suitable for men’s work clothes, and sturdy shirts and moleskin trousers, woollen undergarments and socks that looked as though they would be horribly itchy to wear, hobnail boots, broad-brimmed hats, leather belts, lengths of canvas, plain tableware, cutlery, iron griddles, hooks, cheap pots and pans, rope of all sizes, lamps and lanterns with fresh white wicks, buckets and basins, jars, sacks—in short, everything a person might need for a basic life. Behind the counter were tobacco, pipes, razors and strops, soap, sharp gleaming knives, alcohol, laudanum, and various other bits and pieces.

  Pierre had headed straight for the shelves containing edible provisions. Kitty went after him, the heels of her boots clacking on the wooden floor, Tahi padding silently beside her.

  ‘Do they have what you want?’ she asked Pierre, who was peering into a bin of flour.

  He took up a pinch between his fingers, looked at it closely, then sniffed it. ‘Pah! There have been the weevils in this flour!’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ the storekeeper exclaimed from behind his counter, puffing clouds of rank-smelling smoke towards the stained ceiling.

  ‘Your flour, she is spoiled!’ Pierre declared, theatrically rubbing his fingers together to clean them.

  ‘That is perfectly good flour,’ the storekeeper replied.

  ‘It has had the weevils,’ Pierre insisted.

  The storekeeper looked sceptical. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I smell them. I smell where the little feet have been. She is inferior! I will not pay you for that.’

  ‘Don’t then,’ the storekeeper said, shrugging.

  Pierre moved on to a bin of dried peas, sniffed a handful and discarded those as well. ‘Stale,’ he announced disgustedly.

  He had a little luck eventually, though, selecting three bottles of white vinegar, several packets of spices and a small cask of salt. He paid the surly shopkeeper for them, plus six pieces of butterscotch in a paper twist for Tahi, and arranged to collect the goods later. As they left the store, Ki
tty was sure she heard the storekeeper mutter, ‘Cheeky bloody Frog.’

  Outside, she asked, ‘Were there really weevils in the flour?’

  Pierre shook his head. ‘But you can get a better price sometimes that way, eh?’ Then, casually, he inclined his head towards Tahi.

  Kitty followed his gaze: there was a large piece of butter-scotch making a lump in the boy’s cheek and he was clutching his penis through his trousers.

  ‘Do you need a mimi?’ she asked.

  Tahi nodded.

  Kitty looked up and down the street. ‘Oh dear. I wonder if there’s a privy anywhere?’ she said to Pierre.

  ‘He don’t need a privy when there is a wall.’

  ‘Well, you take him then,’ Kitty urged, ‘I’ll wait here.’

  She turned her back while Pierre took Tahi around the side of the store: she couldn’t see them, but she was certainly still within earshot because, after a long silence, she heard Pierre say, ‘Don’t he want to come now?’

  Another silence, shorter this time. Then Pierre saying, ‘I have one too, then we be two men together, eh?’

  A few seconds later came the sound of a stream of liquid hitting the wall, followed by Pierre’s voice: ‘See Monsieur Spider there? Let’s drown him.’

  Tahi giggled, then exclaimed, ‘Haere ra, pungawerewere!’

  Kitty was still grinning when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed three men crossing the street towards her. She stopped smiling and quickly glanced over her shoulder to see where Pierre was.

  One of the men doffed his hat and drawled, ‘Morning, little lady. Lost, are you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Kitty replied quickly, alarmed to see that the trio were very rough-looking. And drunk.

  ‘Ye def’ny look lost to me,’ another said. ‘Come with us, we’ll look after ye.’

  At that all three of them guffawed. The first man stepped up and took her arm in a firm grip, his expression turning mean. ‘Come on, girlie, I got a surprise for you.’

  Kitty wrenched her arm out of his grasp, then saw something that allowed her to relax somewhat: Pierre had appeared from around the other side of the trading store and was standing behind the trio with his pistol drawn. Despite his lack of height, he cut an intimidating figure, with his wiry, muscled body, his scowling face, pointed beard, and long, exotic plait—and his pair of fighting knives in full view at his belt.

  ‘Leave the lady alone,’ he growled. ‘She not be interested. Go! Cassez-vous!’

  They turned around, but took a hasty step back when they saw the pistol. They stared at him for a moment, then one slowly raised his hands, palms out. ‘Sorry, didn’t realise she was taken.’

  Pierre steadied his pistol, cocked it and aimed it at the man’s chest. The man backed away, then turned and hurried off with as much dignity as he could muster, followed quickly by his companions.

  Kitty blew out a great sigh of relief, her heart thudding wildly. Pierre whistled and Tahi appeared from his hiding place behind the building.

  ‘Shall I get Koro?’ he asked breathlessly, gazing up at Pierre.

  Pierre shook his head. ‘Non, mon fils, they be gone now.’ He holstered his pistol and spat in the dirt.

  ‘Thank you, Pierre,’ Kitty said.

  Pierre bowed theatrically. ‘At your service, Madame.’ But when he straightened, he added so that Tahi wouldn’t hear, ‘It is not safe here. We will go to the others.’

  ‘The others’ were already well away in the grog-shop, which was quite crowded even at this early hour. Mick had procured a mandolin from somewhere and, accompanied by a morose-looking man on a bodhrán, was giving a rendition of his favourite song. Kitty also liked it, so she leaned against the doorway with Pierre, ignoring the stares of the men inside, and listened as Mick sang in his rough but rather sensual voice:

  I’m a bold Irish hero, who never yet was daunted,

  In the courting of a pretty girl I very seldom wanted,

  In the courting of a pretty girl I own it was my folly,

  I’d venture my whole life for you, my very pretty Molly.

  Then he winked at Kitty and launched into the chorus, the words of which he knew she thought were nothing more than made-up nonsense.

  Mush a ring fal a do fal a da,

  Whack fol a daddy-o,

  Whack fol a daddy-o,

  There’s whiskey in the jar-o.

  As I was walking over old Kilgary Mountain,

  I met with Captain Powers, his money he was counting,

  I pulled out my sword, and likewise then my rapier,

  Saying, stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver.

  It’s when I got the money it was a pretty penny,

  I put it in my pocket and I took it home to Molly,

  She said, my dearest lover, I never will deceive you,

  But the devil’s in the women, they never can be easy.

  But Mick didn’t get to finish the song because, just as he started on the third chorus, Kitty was shoved rudely out of the doorway by a man who was breathless and red in the face from running.

  ‘He’s done it again!’ he shouted as he barged in. ‘The bugger’s attacked the flagstaff again!’

  For a moment there was no sound at all. Then Rian started to laugh.

  The general consensus seemed to be that Hone Heke had lost his mind. After the flagstaff attack, he had threatened to destroy the gaol, the police and customs houses, and the post office at Kororareka, although all this, fortunately, was thwarted by two hundred Nga Puhi men led by the formidable chief Kawiti, and a contingent of armed locals. FitzRoy offered a £100 reward to anyone who apprehended the renegade chief, payable on his delivery either to Thomas Beckham, the police magistrate at Kororareka, or the magistrate at Auckland. He also declared that anyone found assisting, harbouring or concealing Heke would be charged. Heke promptly offered his own £100 reward for the capture of the governor.

  As Rian had predicted, FitzRoy sent a garrison of thirty soldiers of the 96th to Kororareka and requested even more military assistance from New South Wales: two companies of the 58th Regiment were despatched to New Zealand immediately. The flagstaff on Maiki Hill was replaced and its lower section heavily reinforced with iron, but Heke managed to fell it a third time on 18 January, only eight days after his second attack. Tamati Waka Nene, now openly supporting the government, had been guarding the flagstaff at the time, but such was Hone Heke’s mana that no one made a move to stop him.

  Rian was chopping wood for Sarah—a chore for which he seemed to be in high demand by Kitty’s relatives—when Win Purcell came by to relay word of FitzRoy’s latest measures.

  Rian rested his axe against the chopping block and wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his shirtsleeve. ‘So what do you think? Will it be war?’

  ‘I hope not,’ Win said, his red face shining even though he had done nothing more than walk a few hundred yards up the beach. ‘But ordering blockhouses to be built across the bay doesn’t look good, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Rian replied, gesturing for Win to sit on a bench in the shade of a nearby tree.

  Win did so gratefully, while Rian sat on the chopping block and got out his pipe. ‘And I don’t like the sound of more troops coming from Sydney, either,’ he added. ‘The last lot that arrived are still in Auckland, aren’t they?’

  Win nodded, withdrawing his own smoking accoutrements from a deep pocket.

  ‘And that makes four hundred men, plus the fifty special constables you say Beckham has just sworn in at Kororareka?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Rian frowned. ‘And if FitzRoy has said there’ll be no protection for settlers anywhere else, that means that Paihia won’t be defended, I assume?’

  Win concurred gloomily. ‘Nor Waimate, nor Kerikeri.’

  Rian used a twig to scrape the last of the old ash out of his pipe, then tapped the bowl against the chopping block before he tamped in fresh tobacco. ‘So what will you do if there is war?’

 
; ‘Well, we’re hoping of course that it won’t come to that. We’re not strictly pacifists, but we are servants of the Lord. We don’t condone violence.’

  ‘And you won’t be taking part in any?’

  Win lit his pipe. ‘No, we won’t.’ He puffed vigorously until the tobacco caught. ‘What about yourself?’

  A good minute went past before Rian finally said, ‘I’ll tell you what I told my wife. And that is, if it comes to war, I won’t fight for one side or the other.’

  Win looked at him shrewdly. ‘You say you won’t fight, but will you assist in any other way? Say on the side of the Maoris, perchance?’

  Rian returned the look. ‘Did Reverend Williams send you down here? Or was it that long-winded bigot, Dow?’

  ‘Neither. Augustus Dow may be long-winded at times, and I concede that he hasn’t yet been in New Zealand long enough to appreciate the many intricacies of the Maori race, but he does have a good Christian heart.’

  ‘Well, I’ll take your word for that,’ Rian said. ‘And you’ve certainly had worse than him here, haven’t you?’

  Win’s face darkened. ‘Indeed.’ He stared at his boots for a long moment. ‘Look, Captain, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but these are trying times. There may be war, and that in my experience means loss of lives. There are children here, and women.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of that.’

  Win went on as though Rian hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll be blunt, Captain. I need to know if your cargo on this trip included arms.’

  ‘No, it did not,’ Rian answered immediately. Not this time. ‘You saw what we unloaded after we arrived, and that was everything we shipped. The Katipo is sitting well above her waterline at the moment.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good thing to hear,’ Win said.

  He looked so pathetically relieved that Rian felt sorry for him. ‘I’ve made no secret of my views of colonisation, whether it be by missionaries or thieving land-grabbers like the New Zealand Company. And, to be as blunt as you were, I’m sometimes hard put to see a difference between the two. But I fear it may already be too late for this country, for these people. I also believe that war is inevitable, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.’ Rian suddenly grinned. ‘Who the hell am I, anyway? A scruffy sea trader with an even scruffier crew. Although I do have a very beautiful and charming wife.’