I have bought this bay from Te Rauparaha, Jacky said.
I felt something in me grow cold. From Te Rauparaha? But he is a murderer.
He knows a good bargain when he sees it, Jacky said, and laughed. I did not like what I heard. He said: I have paid him with a large cask of tobacco worth one hundred pounds, five bolts of cloth, ten oxen, eight iron pots and twenty blankets.
That is a great sum, I said, still doubtful.
Better than that, he will leave us in peace, for we have struck a deal.
So he is our friend now?
That’s about it, Jacky said.
I got over it after awhile, because what else could I do. Jacky had sold Te Awaiti to a couple of whalers called Dicky Barrett and Jack Love, from Port Nick, so now we were free of the place and the dark deeds that had taken place there. John and Louisa were doing well, though Louisa had been born with the same difficulty and pain that accompanied John’s arrival. A settlement quickly began to appear; there were more ships calling in and it all felt more sociable. Te Rauparaha’s brother Nohoroa, who was a more kindly and open man, lived in the bay and was our neigh bour.
The year before last, 1833, started out then as a good year.
But things can turn bad very fast. Friends of ours on board the Dragon were attacked by Maoris while bringing in a whale and killed. Killing, cooking, feasting, that was the order of the day again.
And so many battles had been fought between Te Rauparaha’s warriors, and Ngai Tahu in the south, so much treachery committed, that the tribes would not let things rest. A war party led by Taiaroa from the far south came up, seeking revenge for those who had died at Akaroa and Kaiapoi. Only now we were not just in the path of returning war parties, we were in the direct line of fighting. Te Rauparaha must have known this when he sold us the bay. Why would he need to own a battleground, when a white man would pay him so handsomely for taking it off his hands? And perhaps be eaten, instead of him.
The warriors got closer and Te Rauparaha ever more treacherous, to his own people as well as to his sworn enemies.
‘It’s surprising that his people continued to support him,’ says Adie. The night has drawn in around them. Outside there is the mutter of night things. Moths flatten themselves against the windowpanes, drawn by the lamp’s glow.
‘Well, I think he would have turned on them too had they not.’
‘They hate him and yet they long to have him amongst them. They cannot do without him. It reminds me of Alcibiades.’
‘And who might he be?’
‘A statesman of Athens, a soldier turned killer. There was a saying, Better not bring up a lion inside your city, but if you must, then humour all his moods.’
‘You and your Greeks. But you’re right. That’s how it is with Te Rauparaha. And humour him is what Jacky did. Te Rauparaha had become our protector, when it suited him. But with that came the full fury of his enemies.’ You might wonder what all these battles had to do with our shipwreck and what became of us, but what had gone before was all of a piece. It’s late, but I’ll tell you how we came to be shipwrecked. Who knows, we might go our separate ways tomorrow, and I may never see you again. You’ve been very kind. I see that things aren’t good for you and that my being here is not helping you.
In September, a ship called the Sarah was forced to put in to Port Underwood. The ship had left Sydney, heading towards England, via Valparaiso, but it had developed a leak that couldn’t be contained by the pumps. The captain was a surly man who simply wanted to patch it up and keep going. There were four ships at anchor in the bay when the Sarah limped in. All the masters came and inspected the ship and told this captain that it was not safe to go on. On board the ship were a Mr and Mrs Kentish, Robert and Ivy, and their children.
I see from your expression that you know them. And yes, it is Mrs Kentish who very kindly organised a collection of money for our family.
It would be uncharitable of me to say anything but the best of them. They are well-connected people who came to Australia as free settlers, like you and Mr Malcolm, but not cut out for farming. It can happen. My grandfather wasn’t a free man when he came, but he got to take up land, and look what came of it: we ended up in the Rocks with naught. The Kentishes are of the same cut, for all their airs, though lately Mr Kentish has turned his hand to shopkeeping, and I hear that they’re prospering.
The captain of the Sarah was not impressed with the idea of caulking the topsides of the vessel and returning to Sydney. He swore to keep on towards Valparaiso.
My advice to you, Jacky said to the Kentishes, is to stay here and wait for another ship to take you back to Sydney. My own ship, the Waterloo, is on its way from Sydney, and when it has dropped off some supplies, it will head back there. I wouldn’t take my children on that leaky tub if I was you.
So that was settled and the Kentishes moved in with us, and I can tell you I was glad we had a more spacious house, for Ivy Kentish was not an easy guest. You might have noticed, despite that porcelain skin and those dolly curls of hers, she can be fretful. At the time it was made worse by her nursing her baby, as I was Louisa. Her milk wouldn’t come in whenever she was upset, which was most of the time. Or perhaps it was because of the shape of her nipples, like flat raspberry stains on her chest, that the baby couldn’t get a hold on. She didn’t want to stay with us, and she didn’t want to go on the Sarah but she had no choice but to settle down until the Waterloo arrived. Which it never did.
Where had it gone? Well you might ask.
Our ship had gone aground on the rocks near Kapiti, and although the crew were spared, the ship was stripped of all its stores by Te Rauparaha. It was late in the year before we discovered this, when the crew managed to make their way to Kakapo Bay. By now the bay was deserted, and of course, back in Sydney, Campbell and Company, who are, or I should say, were Jacky’s business partners, did not know what had happened to the ship, nor of the need to send more supplies.
Soon we ran out of salted meat and sugar and tea and all those things we depended on, and what we had left were potatoes and fish, which is not a bad diet, though Ivy Kentish swore she couldn’t look at another crayfish if it killed her, which I thought sad because they are a great delicacy. We were running out of potatoes, and had got down to eating cabbage tree hearts. Nohoroa had predicted to Jacky that Taiaroa and his troops would attack when the potatoes began to ripen.
We were now under siege. Jacky issued muskets and six rounds of ammunition to all the men, and they took it in turns to sit up at night. Mr Kentish didn’t seem to know what to do with his musket at first. Perhaps he thought he was supposed to cut the wood with it, I don’t know. Well, you couldn’t tell with those two, they were altogether useless at almost everything. No wonder they were going back to England. But once he understood that the Maoris might really invade us, he sat up all and every night with a sabre at his side and a loaded musket on the table. I kept out of his way and didn’t come out to the kitchen until it was morning, lest he made a false move. He slept most of the day, waking only to fret over his wife not getting enough to eat.
I said to him, Mr Kentish, we are doing the best we can. I know it’s not the best hospitality in the world, but it’s all we have to offer.
It cannot be helped, he said, attempting a brave face, but my Ivy is used to the finer things in life. I doubt you would understand.
Well, I said, I may not have seen the Elgin Marbles and I only know of the Acropolis from afar, but I have heard of the world beyond.
At that he looked very surprised, and I thought then of you, Adie, and was grateful. Mr Kentish made the common mistake of believing that people from the Rocks are simpletons. He didn’t understand that, although we were short of food, Jacky could buy him twice over. Oh well, that is not entirely true, for by that stage of course we knew that the Waterloo had gone, and this ship was vital to us. I was thankful we still had our interest in the Harriet.
A ship came at last and delivered provisions to tide
us over. Charley was on board, on the lookout for a job again. By now fresh stories arrived every day that Taiaroa was about to attack Cloudy Bay. The men wanted to get away, and the season being all but over, there was no reason to hold them back. And it was decided that, when the ship left, our family should leave with the Kentishes. I could tell Jacky didn’t want to go but neither did he want us to sail alone. I was in two minds about it. It’s one thing to stay and keep a brave face when you just have yourself to look after, but now I had two babies it seemed reckless to stay. I might have insisted on staying if Ivy Kentish hadn’t got me so worked up. She screamed at every little thing and had hysterics from top to bottom when a friendly canoe pulled up on the beach one afternoon. I’d become jumpy too, not sleeping well at nights.
I think we should go, Betty, Jacky said to me the night before the ship was due to sail.
What of Te Rauparaha? I thought he would protect us?
He is more on the run than not these days. He’ll look after his self first. And who is to know who did for the Waterloo? He said this with a deep and bitter anger as if he could taste arsenic in his mouth.
So much for our friend, Te Rauparaha, I said to myself.
We should have Louisa baptised, Jacky said, it will be a good chance to have that done. I was pleased to hear him say that, for though she was thriving, you cannot be sure how long a soul can survive, can you, Adie, and it would grieve me to think of my little girl waking up in the afterlife and the gates of heaven not open to her.
If we went, it meant leaving our belongings, for there was no room on the ship and not enough time to pack before it must leave. Then Charley told Jacky that he would stay and watch over things while we went to Sydney, and another seaman agreed that he would stay too, and we were grateful.
I was to see Charley again sooner than expected. Within days of our leaving, Taiaroa did attack, and Charley and the other man were taken captive. The Maoris at the settlement were killed. For some reason the two pakea were spared — perhaps they were saving them for last — but a schooner arrived in the bay and they were rescued.
We had made it in safety to Sydney, and the Kentishes bade us farewell without so much as a backward glance. A week or so later, Charley appeared at the Rocks, and I learned that our house had been burnt again.
Also, that Hine was among the dead.
You may think it strange that I was willing to return. Yet so much of our lives had become tied up with Kakapo Bay that when Jacky said let us go back, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The whaling season was almost upon us again, and if we were to go back, the time was right. Jacky arranged to take the Harriet back to New Zealand, with Richard Hall on board. Captain Hall would sail her back to Australia with a load of flax and timber. And we would take up as we had before, if somewhat the poorer.
Charley did have news about the fighting that gave us hope. Taiaroa had declared himself tired of battle. He and his warriors were going back south to settle in for winter. Perhaps they felt that they had taught Te Rauparaha a lesson.
Charley was coming back with us. He and Jacky seemed at ease with one another, as if something between them was settled.
And David was finally coming to live with us. When I knew it was decided, and nobody was looking, I put my arms around him and said, Don’t be afraid, you will like it well, living with us. He was half a head taller than me, and he went red in the face. Don’t be silly he said, pushing me away.
I said, Cross my fingers and make a wish and hope to die if it don’t come true. Which we did when we were children.
All right, he said.
What did you wish for?
I’m not telling you.
Did you wish to have a girl? There are girls in New Zealand who would like you.
Don’t, he said, as if he was going to cry.
I felt unkind then. Besides, I hadn’t worked out a wish for myself. My heart was still sore over Hine, but nothing could bring her back, and now with David coming over to us, I had got most of the wishes I had asked for in the past.
Part 6
Separations
Chapter 24
So we were off to New Zealand again.
Jacky rounded up a whaling gang while I gathered warm clothes. It would be winter. I bought long flannel underpants for Jacky and David at Spyer and Cohen’s. I noticed their stocks were low.
We’ll have you back any day, Mr Spyer said. You brought a smile to people’s faces.
I’ll teach you to smile, I said, which was one of our favourite jokes, for he had a solemn little face. People often behaved around him as if they were at a religious ceremony. Smile please, Mr Spyer, I’d say to him, as if he was having his portrait painted.
It is you who is the oil painting, he would say.
But though I felt concerned for him, whereas once I would have added a little extra to the bill, I knew now I must be careful with our money. That was another of our games: I would give him extra and he would give me a little refund when Mr Cohen wasn’t looking, so the rubber was more or less squared, but usually in my favour. This time I settled the account down to the last penny; it was all business.
We left in late April. I dressed in a blue dress of heavy cotton for I knew that we would be in warmer weather for a day or so, but I had a plaid dress in my cabin portmanteau for when we sailed further south.
The Harriet had now done several voyages across the Tasman and a number to South America. Going aboard her was like stepping in a carriage with sturdy horses and a safe driver. All told, there was thirty-two of us aboard, no other women. Charley and David were there, but apart from them, the men were a rough lot, those who hadn’t been able to find work. Jacky didn’t have much to choose from, as the season was almost upon us, and most of the ships had their crews signed up well beforehand.
Nothing went amiss for the first few days at sea.
David was seasick for the first day or two. He had never been on board a boat before except the rowboat when our father drowned. After he recovered I had to tell him to keep out of the sun. He was inclined to sit towards the bow of the ship with his face raised to the breeze, a dreamy expression in his eyes. It was difficult to describe to him how different New Zealand was from Australia, though I did try. I told him about the Maori people who lived there, and also that there were certain ways he must behave, if we were stay on good terms with them.
Will they eat me, he asked in mock horror. That they might do so was beyond his understanding. I think about David now, and wonder if he really was slower than other children, if that was why life was so hard for him. But it was more that he had a different way of seeing some things. He had trouble learning to read and write at the orphanage. When he looked at words he seemed to see them backwards from the way I did. And yet he had an amazing memory, and he knew every street and lane in Sydney, as if he was a navigator.
On that last day of our journey he said, We are nearing land now.
I saw gulls wheeling above us, and knew I should have seen them first. He had only my description of a voyage to go by, but he had remembered that we would see the birds first, before we saw land.
It was a beautiful day. Later, as the sun dropped, the sea looked like it was fire. As night fell, we began the run down the Taranaki coastline, heading south for home. In the morning we would be there. The word home tripped off my tongue so easily now. I felt the old familiar excitement that I always did when returning to New Zealand, even though I knew I would find only the ruins of our house. I regretted, in particular, the loss of my beautiful green-and-white meat-dish that I’d bought when we were in the money. Funny the things you hanker after.
But the bay would be the same, and the islands that lay in the harbour mouth. I had come to love the country as if I had been born to it. As dark closed in we saw the green-black bush pressing towards the shore, and here and there the glow of a fire and smoke on the horizon. On our right were the Sugar Loaf Islands, their shape as the name suggests, though the M
aori name for them is Moturoa. On their black crags stood the remains of a small whaling station. A pakea man by the name of John Oliver lived there. Jacky knew him. We saw, too, the peak of Taranaki. It is a most beautiful mountain that rises gradually and evenly to a spire above a wide surrounding plain of land. This is the area from where Te Rauparaha had been driven years before.
But then, as we seemed to be gliding through the dusk, there was a sudden shift in the weather. A south-westerly came out of nowhere, a smudge of fog across the ocean, and then the wind hit us, catching us full on, and we were driven towards shore. The ship turned about, and we headed back to sea, for it is a rocky and uninviting stretch of land that would have holed us in a trice. Before the fog closed in, I had glimpsed the high faraway firelight of two great pa that stand on sentinel sites at the lower reaches of the Taranaki. A small beach of gravelly sand lies beneath high cliffs; deep ravines run between the two sites. I always looked out for them when we were passing, trying to imagine what it must be like to live so high up there, and see so far out to sea.
But now the shroud of mist had fallen, and there was nothing there, just the air like damp flannel against our cheeks, and the cold turned biting and cruel.
Get below and make the children secure, Jacky said, as if I needed to be told. There was such a pitching and rolling in our cabin, I could scarcely stand, let alone hold on to the children. I called out for David, who had followed me below, and between us we got John into a bunk. I crawled into mine and held onto Louisa.
This weather will pass I said to David, who was a nasty green. Go on, get yourself out of here. I did not want him being sick in the cabin, I had enough on my hands with the children.
And the weather did die down, though the ship heeled in the water several times, as if we might roll over, but I told myself, this ship had seen worse weather than this. Gradually the sea settled, and whoever was at the wheel must have been lulled into thinking it would be all plain sailing ahead.
Captive Wife, The Page 17