Rich Man's Coffin

by K Martin Gardner

  On the way home from hunting one day, Black Jack and his men passed another canoe. Black Jack recognized some of the men as Robulla’s warriors, and he waved. They acknowledged him briefly, and continued rowing. Onboard the canoe were various other Maori men, women, and children in strangely marked clothes. He asked his warriors what this was about. They replied that the people were slaves, captured in battle and bound for a prison camp at Kapiti. Black Jack’s blood ran cold. He could not believe that the practice of human slavery was being carried out in this beautiful land, and not by the white man. Maori slaves for Maori, he thought. Don’t that beat all. It struck a deeper nerve than the cannibalism in his soul. The killing, the eating, and the slavery. It’s all gotta end, he thought. The best way to convince his people, he reckoned, was to tell them about the evils of slavery back home.

  Black Jack would arm himself with these words as weapons, along with the evidence that Robulla was still active down south, and return to his people for his final argument. The solution still posed a dilemma: If solving the problem meant killing Robulla, Black Jack thought, then that would constitute murderous revenge; and that would completely nullify all of Black Jack’s beautiful arguments. He would then be a tyrannical hypocrite in the eyes of his people, he thought. No, he realized, it was justice he was after, not revenge. If he was lucky, he might even convince Robulla as to the evil of his own ways. But even with the backing of my people, how will I get Robulla’s attention? He wondered.

  Back home at Pukatea, Black Jack went on a long walk by himself. He looked for a special place to carry out his plan. He walked to the shore and looked up and down, north and south. The coastline directly south of Pukatea had a blind in both directions, created by two small coves. Black Jack began a military strategy.

  South of the crescent bay of Pukatea lay a long, flat, beach. One could see on a clear day for miles to a long cape that stuck out into the ocean. At the north end of the beach, closest to Pukatea, the mountains abruptly shot into the sea forming a rocky face toward the long beach. The rocky cliff came to a point at the tide line in the water. When the tide was out, one could scamper through shallow surf around the point to the other side. A small cove lay there.

  The cove rose slightly onto a small beach forming a hollow column rimmed by high rock wall all the way around. Far up the wall face was a bushy ridge above. On the north side of this inlet was another high, sharp point that also jutted into the water. Black Jack walked from the long beach, to the cove, and around the jetty, to the second cove almost identical to the first. Black Jack thanked God and his good fortune for finding such an ideal hiding place for him and his army.

  Running between the two coves, near the back, was a small cave. The cave was tunnel-shaped, just large enough for Black Jack to walk through slightly stooped over. It amazed him the nearly perfect size and location of the hole through the cliff. His plan of attack practically devised itself. Black Jack strolled around, beaming and admiring the place. The plan became clear in his mind. It all made perfect sense to Black Jack as he sat there daydreaming in the isolated cove. Convincing my people, he thought, will be another story.

  VI

  Cool mist hovered in the dim air. It hung in Black Jack’s nose and tickled his throat. The vapor sprung from the frothy foam awash on the shallow tide in the cave. It was very different from the dry little cave he had called home in his humble beginnings here. He celebrated the differences. Foremost, he liked the moisture and the way it stimulated him. The cave had a mystical quality, a spiritual power which Black Jack sensed as he lay peacefully inside near its entrance. He lay comfortably, owing to the gentle slope of the cave floor. The walls were moist and the air was humid, but it was not cold or clammy. Strangely, the tepid, wetness gave the place energy. The water within the cave mixed with the air to form vitality, he thought. He liked it.

  The small pool near the other entrance of the cave formed from a small stream running in between the rock face and the sandy beach in the little cove outside. With the rising and falling of the tide, the pool fluctuated from a few feet deep to simply a sandy, wet floor. The pool also undulated with the waves, with the sound of the surf ever present throughout the cave. Instead of muffling the surge, the cave focused the sound so that near the opposite end, it seemed that the shifting water was always closing in. Truthfully, the cave was more than one-hundred feet long. Still, the cave had a sharp bend where the tidal pool formed, giving the effect of an eerie light glowing upon the pool without a direct view through the entire cave to the outside. The crooked feature could be an advantage or a dilemma, thought Black Jack. He lay there, meditating on his plan and enjoying his unusual surroundings, until a warrior summoned him outside to the midday meal.

  Enjoying his food, Black Jack looked around the canyon walls of the main cove. High above him in a clump of dense bush he could make out the distant form of the Lookout atop the rocky ledge. The man was the only pair of eyes that could see beyond the cliff and down south along the long shore, while hundreds of other eyes remained locked within the blinders of the beach bowl.

  If Black Jack looked north, he faced the small cave. He knew that on the far side, on the other end of the cave, lay hundreds more of his warriors also enjoying their meal in a cove that was a mirror image to this one. A small miracle, marveled Black Jack. These two beaches being blind to each other will be perfect.

  After eating, he played like a child. He ran back and forth between the two beaches through the cave. He ordered that he be the only one allowed in the cave. It was not a selfish whim, but a practical part of his plan. Black Jack ran through the cave, mulling his plan over and over, while amusing himself thinking of the finer parts of the scheme. As he sat sweating in the afternoon sun, a shadow fell across his third helping of food.

  The Lookout’s dark form eclipsed the sun and his voice filled the cove. He yelled, “The big canoe! Coming fast!”

  Hundreds of men jumped to their feet simultaneously. They looked to Black Jack, who gave them all a confident nod. He bolted into the cool cave and came out the other side a moment later. The other group of warriors immediately sensed his urgency, and they began to prepare according to plan. He left them to their assigned tasks. On his way back, Black Jack noticed that his feet splashed through shallow water in the pool. Low tide, he thought. Excellent. Perfect timing, you old coot.

  Back on the south beach, Black Jack positioned himself behind his lines of warriors and watched the Lookout for the signal that the bow of the approaching boat was about to appear crossing the far right rocks. The tension became electric, and everyone froze. The tip of the ship broke the edge of the south face. Black Jack withdrew his harmonica and began to play long, slow notes. The warriors began their haka dance, and displayed the same ferocity that had straightened Black Jack’s back hair that fateful day long ago. They yelled their chant and flexed their muscles, moving methodically down the beach to the water’s edge.

  From his war canoe, the figure seemed surprised to see a full Maori war party dancing in a small cove that he rarely passed and never visited. Poised on the bow in a Napoleonic pose, he pointed for his men to land. He looked ready to fight.

  The boat made a hard landing, the dance ended, and men charged from sea and sand. The second army from the north beached pounded through the surf. Black Jack’s two forces converged on the outnumbered landing party. The stunned war party never had time to react. It was such an unexpected move by a subordinate tribe, that old chief was overwhelmed. All the muskets in his boat were snatched as he watched. The ambushed warriors sat bewildered as their large sea canoe was plundered.

  Black Jack came running up with the wave of men and seized their leader with an arm around his neck. He so overpowered the small chief that he was able to easily drag him up the beach and into the cave. He shouted at the heavily-tattooed man as they went, “You’re not so big without your guns, eh Chief? Answer me!” The man could only manage muffled gurgles as he struggled to remain on his feet. B
lack Jack dragged him into the cave and down to the pool. As he grabbed the chief’s mere from his hand, he flung him loose from his grip on it.

  The old chief fell to his knees, breathless, and looked up at Black Jack. He said, gasping, “My son, are you going to kill your good friend Te Rauparaha after all?”

  Black Jack said, “Perhaps.” It would have been no problem for him to finish the old chief with one, clean chop of the Patu Pounamu, the big, flat, green blade of ground glass.

  The old man was stunned. Honor and duty were telling him to submit to his conqueror, as was Maori tradition; but the speed of the ambush had left him without the will to die. It’s been a good run, he thought. Perhaps this is the time to go. The thought of his end sank in slowly. “Then let it be. You are a worthy successor. Be merciful and kill me swiftly with my own dear Papu-tahi.” He remembered fondly the labor he had poured into making his greenstone battle axe.

  Incensed by his empty words, Black Jack, replied, “I do not want to kill you, Robulla. And I don’t want any part of your kingdom of blood. I will not answer evil with evil, but you have forced me to answer you with force merely to capture your attention. For that alone, I want you to pay.”

  Robulla’s eyes widened as he looked up at Black Jack’s angry face. The old chief was kneeling in the center of the tidal pool that had risen to his waist, swirling and surging now with the incoming waves. The cold water slapped the chief’s wet belly.

  Black Jack wielded the chief’s mere over his head and stared down into his eyes. He said, “No, death would be too good for you. You know that living in shame and dishonor would be far worse, don’t you? What would they say? Ha! ‘The mighty old chief, bested by his little black boy apprentice. Schooled by a white man’s slave!’ I know you. You would sooner kill yourself than sit and listen to that. A lifetime of glory and your remaining days spent fretting, as if none of it ever took place or mattered. But no, you will live. And if you give me what I want, I will spare you the misery and pain of losing your reputation. You will walk from this cave with your head held high, and you will tell your men that you and I are friends, that we still rule this great land together. Years will pass, and they will be amazed at how gentle their great chief has become. How kind, how he eats the flesh of his fellow man no more, without killing innocent men, women, and children. Doesn’t that sound wonderful, Chief? Can you imagine that, old man, glory without bloodshed?” Black Jack raised his voice louder and louder with his tirade.

  Robulla’s eyes reflected a new fear. He thought Black Jack was going mad, and he did not know what to expect next from his captor. The water had risen his chest, and he was afraid of the tide more now than Black Jack’s sharp words. He asked, “What is it? Is there something that I can do to keep my honor? By all means, let me help us both.”

  Black Jack replied, “In good time, Chief. I want to make certain that you fully understand me. Hear me now: No more killing and eating! Not only for sanity’s sake, but for the sake of your people! Look at you: You used the death of your people from the white man’s sickness to take advantage. How cowardly was that? Your people dying, and what was your answer? Kill more, and rule and enslave the remaining few. Ha! Do I need to tell you how barbaric that makes you look? The white man writes things down. Your people, on the other hand, only talk about their past. What do you think the white man’s books will say about you when there are no more of your people to tell the story: ‘A great Maori Chief whose services to eliminate his own people were bought for a few muskets and some tobacco’. Is that how you want to be remembered for all time? If it is, tell me now, and I will help make your exit from this cave all the more swiftly.” Black Jack raised the mere as if to strike.

  Robulla’s eyes widened with terror. He stammered, “No, no! Spare me. I understand what it is you say. But look at me, son! Who is it that you think you are dealing with?” The tidewater was brimming over his shoulders as he looked up at Black Jack. He continued, “I am the child of highest Maori royalty. My parents ruled this land long before Captain Cook ever set his blue eyes upon it. I was raised to be a great chief from the time I was in my mother’s arms. I do not do the things I do out of malice toward my people. It is my duty as a good Maori, my destiny as a chief; and it is tradition. My people expect it, because that is the way it has always been done.”

  Black Jack’s arched his brows. He said, “Ah, there it is: ‘Tradition’. The way things have always been done somehow makes them right. Well, I only have to say, that if doing things as they have always been done leaves you with no people to do them, then that makes the things you do rather pointless, wouldn’t you agree?” Robulla nodded, mouth gaping and eyes bulging like a choking fish. Black Jack added, “Besides, ‘always’ is a long time. For your people, ‘always’ has not been that long. Who do you think the first person was that suggested eating other people? Do you think he was very popular?” Robulla shook his head. Black Jack said, “No! I didn’t think so. So how did it become so popular, you ask? Because stupid people went along with it until it was ‘tradition’, that’s how! So don’t tell me that rubbish, or you’ll only make me madder!” Black Jack sprayed spit in Robulla’s face as he yelled. He waved the raised green axe wildly.

  Robulla asked meekly, “What do you want?”

  Black Jack shouted, “I’m getting to that! Now, just be quiet. I want you to understand me perfectly, that’s what I want. I want you to know that I am doing this for your own good, for the good of all Maori. I want you to understand that when you leave this cave, that you are the man who is going to change this country. Not me, you! You got that?”

  Robulla said quietly, “Yes.” The water was starting up his neck.

  Black Jack started again. “All right, from the beginning: You are going to resume your rule of the Maori in your domain as a peaceful and kind chief. You are going to stop fighting other Maori not under your control, and work toward peace and unity with them. You need to preserve and strengthen the remaining Maori. You need to prepare yourselves for the coming white men.”

  Robulla asked, “What do you mean?”

  “There are many, many more white men in the world than Maori. Believe me, I know. They will come and try to take everything you have. Trust me, I have seen them do it to my people and other people many times. More importantly, the Pakeha do not fight amongst themselves as the Maori do. They do not kill for the sake of killing, and they do not eat one another. They are a hoard coming to this land. You will need all your strength and numbers to stand up to them. Do you understand?”

  Robulla seemed more concerned about the rising water, but he nodded nonetheless. “I truly do. You have shown me the light, young man. My heart is opened. What else do you want?”

  “There is a Maori woman. She was my soul mate before you came and destroyed what we had. I want to find her. Tell me where she is.”

  “Tell me who it is you speak of, Black Jack. There have been so many that I have sent away.”

  “Kumari!”

  “The daughter of Ruaoneone? Does she know you?”

  “Know me? We were married, you fool! We were in love as much as the sky loves the sea. You destroyed that. Where is she?”

  “She is alive, my son, take heart. I hear she is inland, just south of here at a small Rangitane tribal pa. You can reach her in a day or two. I will tell you where. But...” The water had reached his chin.

  “But what?”

  “But I marked that tribe for death not too long ago. The order has been issued, and the surrounding tribes will not know of my change. I cannot turn around what I have set in motion with a wave of my hand. You yourself will be in danger if you go see the Rangitane.”

  “Leave it to me. I will not make us look soft. Weakness is no friend of peace. Come along, I will let you go now.” Black Jack reached out as if to help the chief up, but at the last minute, he plunged his head into the frigid water and briefly held it under.

  Robulla popped up, gasping. He sputtered, “Oh, thank y
ou. I will not forget what you have told me. From now on, I owe you my life. You have taught me well, my son. Please, carry my Papu-tahi in good faith and may it keep you safe always.”

  Black Jack held the green gift proudly in his right hand as he embraced the chief. They emerged from the cave walking shoulder to shoulder, laughing as men who have fought and then bonded. They hailed the awaiting warriors.

  Black Jack gave his signal; and Robulla gave his. All the warriors abandoned their standoff. For the rest of the afternoon the two troops ate and played the Maori version of rugby. The two chiefs ate to discomfort while they finalized their plan for lasting peace. To Black Jack, it seemed like another chance for true happiness.

  Chapter 16

  Virgin green valleys lay before him in vast, velvet vistas, spreading between steep hills and sharp peaks as they beckoned him to venture inland. The lonely sun squirmed in a clear, blue sky, hot and longing for humidity. Freshly perfumed, the cool air sauntered among the trees, occasionally stealing a ride on a passing steed called the breeze that rustled the leaves as it ran. The wind sang for Kumari.

  Black Jack, for the first time in New Zealand, saw no sea, nor any sign of man for as far as he could see. Robulla’s directions had been simple. But so had Jeff’s instructions for escaping the farm. Black Jack needed only to travel down the great straight coast toward the cape. At the mouth of the great river, he was to turn toward the interior and follow the water until he began to reach the mountains. At a certain point, a very high, single peak should appear on his left. If he headed straight for the one mountain away from the river, he would meet directly with his old tribe near the base. It was a beautiful place to relocate, thought Black Jack, as he looked around the nearby mountain ranges.