by Sarah Lark
“Perhaps we can just buy a bed for Franz,” Ida suggested, hesitant to accept such generosity.
But Lange shook his head. “We have no money to spare, Ida,” he said sternly. “I’ll build a bed myself, or Ottfried can do it. Then at least the money will stay in the family.”
As he had with the man on the street, Lange thanked the Partridges in a loud voice, and they smiled at him kindly. The Partridges were very friendly and seemed to enjoy having guests, but they didn’t speak a word of German. However, that didn’t stop Mrs. Partridge from constantly chatting to Franz, whom she had placed next to her son, Paul, for the midday meal. While Jakob Lange reluctantly poked at a strange dish called Yorkshire pudding that Mrs. Partridge had served with meat smothered in gravy, the boy giggled and learned new words in English.
“Pea!” Paul said, and tossed a few at Franz.
“Roast beef,” Mrs. Partridge said, indicating the meat that looked quite underdone to Ida.
When Paul asked Franz’s name, Mrs. Partridge introduced him as Francis, and the child laughed with pleasure at the sound of his new name.
Ida pointed timidly at herself and said “Ida,” using the English pronunciation. The Partridges applauded her enthusiastically.
“Can I have a new name too?” Elsbeth asked enviously. She was immediately renamed Elizabeth.
“Or would you prefer Elsie or Betty?” Mrs. Partridge asked with a smile, and tugged one of Elsbeth’s blonde braids. “You are such a pretty little girl, but you need a bath!”
Actually, all of the Langes needed a bath, and Ida and Anton spent the entire afternoon carrying water to fill the Partridges’ tub. Their friendly hostess brought fresh clothes for all of them from the shop. Elsbeth insisted that her father buy the garments.
“It will take much too long until we’re able to sew our own!” she explained, and spun around in a blue dress with red trim that Mrs. Partridge had picked out for her. “We can’t walk around in the old ones anymore; they’re completely stained and ruined. Look how pretty the dresses are, Father! I’ve never had one with lace on it before!”
Jakob Lange wasn’t pleased about his younger daughter’s dress—such clothing wasn’t appropriate for a cottager’s daughter, and didn’t fit the Lutheran worldview. Women of the community must dress simply and practically.
Elsbeth’s new outfit didn’t even include a proper bonnet, and Mrs. Partridge hadn’t braided her freshly washed hair but had just brushed it, pulling two strands away from either side of her face and binding them together at the back of her head with a blue ribbon. It was doubtlessly pretty, but Jakob Lange wasn’t impressed.
Ida, who had expected such a reaction, was wearing a simple brown dress with yellow trim around the bodice and sleeves. But even that was made of better material than anything she had ever owned before, and it hadn’t been very expensive—at least not as far as she could tell. They didn’t use pfennigs or thalers here, but English pounds.
For dinner they had bread and sliced meat, and since Mrs. Partridge had spoken only a short grace at the midday meal, this time Jakob Lange prayed at great length. He thanked God for the gifts, the generous reception of their hosts, and once more for the safe arrival in the new land. The Partridges listened patiently, and only Paul stared covetously over his folded hands at the food in front of him.
“Thank you, Jakob,” Mortimer Partridge replied after Lange had finally boomed an “amen.” “But you must learn English. God might understand you, but the rest of us . . .”
Ida slept extremely well on her own in her clean, freshly made bed, and when she met the Partridges the next morning, she greeted them in English. Elsbeth repeated the greeting, and once more, Mrs. Partridge reacted joyfully. Ida would surely learn fast, she said, and Betty too. She offered to take the girls under her wing, and immediately showed them how to make an English breakfast. Ida made the porridge, and Elsbeth the coffee.
Jakob Lange went to the magistrate directly after breakfast to collect their passports and hear the latest news, and above all to speak with the other Mecklenburg emigrants. When he returned, he was accompanied by Peter and Ottfried Brandmann. They found the Lange children busy with various tasks. Mrs. Partridge had hired Anton as a handyman in the store, had named him Tony, and was showing him how to stack sacks and arrange the contents of packages on the shelves. Franz and Paul were tossing around an egg-shaped leather ball that Paul called a football, and the voices of the girls were issuing from Mrs. Partridge’s kitchen, singing an English song and imitating animal sounds.
“And on his farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O!”
Elsbeth greeted the men enthusiastically. “Did you hear, Father? Kuh is ‘cow,’ and Schwein is ‘pig.’ And my name is Betty now!”
Jakob Lange looked at his daughter with displeasure, and then gave the Brandmanns a meaningful glance. “You see what I mean,” Ida heard him say as the three men were leaving. “We have to get away from here as soon as possible. They’re affecting the children.”
Chapter 13
Jane Beit was bored again. It hadn’t taken long to explore the townhouse that the New Zealand Company had provided for her family. She sat sullenly in her luxurious bedroom. Perhaps other women would have been inspired to arrange doilies and silver candlesticks on the heavy English furniture, but not Jane. And it was tedious to watch the maid, Margaret Hansen, as she unpacked the trunks.
So Jane rambled through the lower story of the house and toyed with the idea of going to the kitchen and asking for some kind of treat. The cook was supposedly already at work. But then she found her father in the study, and he seemed to be pleased to see her.
“Oh, Jane, are you free at the moment? There are some invoices to write . . .”
Jane bent over the desk and recognized the settlers’ documents. Her father would have to prepare an itemization for the successful “delivery” of the Sankt Pauli’s passengers and present it to the New Zealand Company. Only then could he get paid.
“I’d be happy to do that for you,” Jane said. “Are there forms? Or shall I just write the bill on the stationery with your letterhead? Has that been unpacked yet?”
Beit stood up, relieved.
“It has to be here somewhere,” he replied disinterestedly. “You’ll handle all this? I should go to the magistrate. Wakefield is preparing an expedition to the Maori in the Wairau Valley. I’ll see if I can send a few men from the Sankt Pauli—that should keep them busy.”
Jane nodded. She had heard about the planned expedition. The insubordinate natives should be punished.
“Of course I’ll take care of it,” she said, and contentedly took a seat on the heavy, leather-upholstered chair. “Don’t worry about it.”
She smiled at her father encouragingly. Beit left immediately, and Jane was relieved to finally occupy herself with a task that wasn’t mind-numbingly boring. Writing invoices wasn’t especially challenging, but in comparison to unpacking, it was almost heaven.
Jane oriented herself with the help of Captain Schacht’s lists, and then began to look for her father’s stationery. She had ordered it in Hamburg herself, and methodically searched for the printer’s logo amid the files spread over Beit’s desk.
GOVERNMENT REQUEST FOR LAND PURCHASE AND SETTLEMENT OF IMMIGRANTS IN TASMAN BAY, NELSON
Jane paused, then reached for the folder. The author was William Spain, land claims commissioner, an official delegate of the governor in Auckland. Jane knew that her father probably wouldn’t approve of her interest, but she began to read it anyway. After all, this concerned the settlers from Mecklenburg too.
Commissioner Spain began his letter with a few polite platitudes, but then came rather quickly to the point. A complaint had been made against the New Zealand Company’s methods of obtaining the land on which Nelson and the surrounding settlements had been built. Jane gasped in surprise. The complaint had been made by Te Rauparaha, the chieftain of the Ngati Toa tribe. Te Rauparaha contended that Captain Wakefield had taken adva
ntage of the tribe when he had purchased the land. The price that Spain mentioned seemed ridiculously small to Jane, especially for the substantial tracts of land that were at stake. Of course it was the usual practice to trick the Maori into giving away land for pennies and then to sell it for much more to settlers. But in this case, the company had even gone beyond that, Te Rauparaha argued, distributing land to settlers who had not been included in the agreement between Wakefield and the tribe. Spain noted that he was including maps that supported the chieftain’s statements.
It was bad luck for Arthur Wakefield that Te Rauparaha already understood the habits of his white fellow citizens well enough not to approach them with a troop of insufficiently armed warriors. In a completely civilized manner, the chieftain had gone to the governor on the North Island to make a formal complaint.
Jane sorted through the accompanying documents, her eyes wide. There was absolutely no question that the chieftain was telling the truth. Captain Wakefield had openly violated his contract. The Maori were on the right side of the law.
In his letter, William Spain then threatened to expose the matter. Jane could easily imagine what the results of that would be. If the land claims commissioner demanded strict adherence to the contract, then the English settlers would lose their land. And others, like the Germans from the Sankt Pauli, couldn’t expect any land at all. They would doubtlessly demand their money back . . . Jane bit her lip. What she was holding in her hands possibly meant the end of the New Zealand Company!
Now, Spain was saying that certain steps could be taken to resolve the conflict . . . An icy shiver went through Jane. Perhaps her father didn’t even know it yet, but this letter was probably the reason for Police Magistrate Thompson and Captain Wakefield’s planned expedition. But instead of the negotiations that Spain was urging, the two colonizers were planning an aggressive approach. Jane suspected the self-confident chieftain wouldn’t let himself be intimidated, which meant bloodshed. No, there must be another solution!
With fiery determination, Jane set about trying to find one. She pulled the files of the New Zealand Company from her father’s cabinet and quickly scanned through the receipts and expenditures. The sums on the credit side were impressive, which eased the young woman’s mind. Even if more payments to the Maori were necessary, the company could absorb them without great danger. At least, as long as they weren’t too high. Jane considered various strategies to satisfy the Maori, preferably without involving William Spain, who, fortunately, lived on the North Island.
Jane drafted a conciliatory letter to the land claims commissioner. She thought that perhaps her father could be present during the negotiations with the Maori. He didn’t speak the language, but he could be very persuasive when it served his purpose. After all, Beit had been able to persuade an entire shipload of stubborn Mecklenburg cottagers and farmers to follow him into the unknown. He would surely be able to talk Te Rauparaha into giving the settlers the land that had already been promised to them for a reasonable price.
However, Jane thought Thompson and Wakefield’s planned intervention in the Wairau Valley was a mistake. The company’s files included information about Te Rauparaha, and the more she read about him, the more certain she was that Wakefield’s aggressive approach wouldn’t work. By no means should this important dignitary be strong-armed, or perhaps even arrested. In the worst case it would start a war, which would be much more expensive for the company than any supplementary payment to the Maori.
As far as that payment was concerned, Jane also worked out the details of where the necessary funds could be saved. Of course, the company’s profits and also those for Wakefield and Beit would be much less than they had planned. Their new homes probably wouldn’t be as palatial, and their investments in road construction and public buildings might also have to be limited. But the citizens would understand—that is, if the idea was sold to them properly. A little less development or a war: the choice was easy! Jane gave herself permission to make notes for a fitting speech. Her father, or even better, Wakefield, would simply have to present it to the settlers.
After a few hours of diligent work, during which Jane felt happy and not a single praline found its way into her mouth, a multilateral list of potential measures as well as drafts for letters and speeches lay ready on her father’s desk. She proudly looked forward to his return. He would have to recognize her accomplishments and efficiency, and would also have to deal with the corresponding consequences. Police Magistrate Thompson’s recruitment of “soldiers” had to be stopped! And John Nicholas Beit would have to speak to Wakefield again immediately.
Beit returned in quite a cheerful mood. Wakefield had obviously served him whiskey. That might be an advantage for Jane—alcohol made her father more genial.
“Why are you still here?” he asked in amazement. “Aren’t you finished with the invoices yet?”
Jane bit her lip. “I completely forgot,” she admitted. “But here, Father, I found this. You have to read it.” She anxiously handed him the letter from the land claims commissioner. “This is from Mr. Spain in Auckland. I found it while I was—”
“You’ve been reading my letters?”
Beit’s voice sounded threatening, but before he began to scold her, he was drawn in by the government official’s letter. Jane was right: so far, Beit hadn’t heard anything about Te Rauparaha’s complaint. Now he quickly scanned the letter and then threw it on the desk.
“Unpleasant, but the problem is Wakefield’s. How strange that he didn’t say anything about it. But how is this your business, Jane? It’s outrageous that you read my mail when I trustingly leave you in my office! I—”
Jane interrupted Beit’s tirade with a sweep of her hand. “Father, the letter was just lying here; I didn’t open the envelope. But that’s not important right now. The question is how we should respond to it. The government clearly supports the chieftain’s complaints. We have to do something, and not by letting the weapons speak. You can’t possibly believe that Wakefield’s expedition will change anything for the better!”
Beit wanted to say something, but Jane wouldn’t let him. She passionately explained her plans to him in detail, fully expecting some kind of praise. But then he broke into ringing laughter, and her dream disintegrated.
“Unbelievable! My little Jane wants to save the company, after she was the only one to have detected the impending disaster! Jane, my girl, is this a joke? What has driven you to such absurdity?”
Jane looked at her father uncomprehendingly. “But the governor can destroy your business if he wants to. If we don’t negotiate and he backs the Maori, the settlers’ compensation claims would be astronomical! And, Father, this also affects part of Nelson! Part of the town! Someone must urgently negotiate with the Maori—”
“Silence!” Beit said vehemently, and now Jane saw mistrust and worry in his previously amused countenance. “And don’t even think about breathing a word of this to anyone! You would make us the laughingstock of the town—”
“Or perhaps convince others who have more influence than I do?” Jane inquired impudently. She knew that she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t stop herself. “What would Mr. Tuckett, the head surveyor, have to say about this? You’ve already had trouble with him, haven’t you? Father, if we don’t finally mollify everyone involved, including the Maori and the government, and people like Tuckett who are involved with the decision-making about the settlers, then the New Zealand Company won’t exist for very much longer!”
Jane reeled in shock when her father raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Until that moment, he had never struck his children. The slap was a surprise—and a warning. Her father fully understood how explosive the letter from the land claims commissioner was. But he drew different conclusions than she.
“You have to do something, Father!” she said, still trying to sway him. “It doesn’t do any good to punish me. I’m, well, I’m just the messenger. But I can help you solve the problem. Read my
suggestions, Father, please! And put a stop to the punitive measures against Te Rauparaha!”
Beit snorted. “I will certainly put a stop to something, Jane,” he replied angrily. “In particular, you will no longer concern yourself with things that are none of your business, things you don’t understand in the slightest. The church is right. It’s against God’s will for a woman to be involved with business affairs. Your mother has been reproaching me for some time, but I was too lenient. It was a mistake, I admit that now. Concentrate on completing your trousseau. As soon as I find a halfway suitable man for you, you’ll be married.”
Chapter 14
“You will come and be a part of this,” Peter Brandmann commanded his son in a tone that left no room for argument. “I want you to pay attention to what’s going on around us.”
“But I won’t understand a single word,” Ottfried said worriedly.
Ottfried had mixed feelings about participating in the expedition to subdue the savages. On one hand, he was itching to get away from his family, especially his overbearing father. So far, Ottfried hadn’t even managed to get to the local drinking establishment, called a pub. He would have liked to have a beer with Anton Lange and the other young settlers in honor of their safe arrival. However, Peter Brandmann thought such an excursion reprehensible and dangerous. The Brandmanns were living with a Scottish couple in a rather small house, and once again, Ottfried’s mother was mistrustful of everything. She gathered the children around her and rudely ignored Mrs. McDuff’s friendly attempts at interaction.