Eventually, she was induced to leave with her husband and brother-in-law and for the following two days I took to my bed, rising on the third day restored to health again. The weather being fine, I sent a message by Ingrams to Lady Martin, accepting her invitation to tea that afternoon.
On my return I was set down at the gates of Government House by the Martins’ groom. It had begun to rain a little and, as I made my way to the veranda, I saw that a black stallion was grazing in the horse paddock. Wearing her usual grim expression, Johnson opened the door to me almost immediately; I had the notion she had been standing there waiting for my return.
‘Ma’am,’ she said, ‘I must beg you to come directly to the reception room. There is a … gen … a man … a person … insisting he won’t leave until he’s seen His Excellency.’
‘Have you told him the Governor isn’t at home?’
‘Several times, Ma’am, but to no purpose. He refuses to go. And, excepting yourself, there’s no one but the servants here.’
‘Then I daresay I must see to him.’
In the reception room, a fire burned in the grate but the gas lamps had not yet been lit. Beyond the windows, the rain had begun to fall with its usual Auckland ferocity, darkening the room so completely that I did not at first discern the man standing beside the Governor’s bookcases. He turned towards me and, with a shock, I saw that he was a native, with a heavily tattooed face. He smiled, showing a flash of white within the purple of his skin, and instinctively I stepped back.
‘Kia ora,’ he said, then, seeing my incomprehension, ‘it is our “Good day”. You must excuse me. Te Kawana Kerei speaks to me usually in Maori.’
‘Te Kawana Kerei?’
‘Governor Grey.’
‘The Governor is not at home. He and his lady sailed for Wellington three days ago.’
‘It is most important I speak with him. I have urgent matters that cannot wait. When will he return?’
‘Not for some time.’
I discreetly studied the man before me. Tall and strongly built, he wore the usual native flax kilt, his legs and feet bare beneath it, and, above it, an Englishman’s shirt, jacket and waistcoat, without necktie or cravat. I was accustomed by now to the sight of such bizarre combinations of clothing among the natives.
‘I don’t believe we have met,’ I said. ‘I’m Miss Thompson, Mrs Grey’s sister.’
‘I know it,’ he said. ‘Because it was I who carried you here from the Domain when you became ill.’
‘Then I’m pleased to have the chance to thank you in person. It was most kind.’
He bowed again, and the jade ornament encircling his neck swung forward and briefly caught the low firelight. Carved in the form of a manikin, its twisted arms and legs encircled its body; the huge iridescent eyes in its angled head sought mine, seeming to stare at me pitilessly. I stepped back, recollecting just such a remorseless gaze but unable to fathom … then …
‘Rio,’ I said aloud.
Puzzled, the man looked directly at me, so that I was uncomfortably aware of the twists and swirls of the whorls incised into his face. I willed myself not to show my nervousness at being alone with him. ‘I … I’ll ring for tea. Please to sit down.’
Within the savage mutilation of his face, his eyes, I saw, were kind. ‘I believe it is you who should sit down, Miss Thompson.’ And he drew up a chair for me before the fire and another opposite for himself.
‘I’m sorry that the Governor isn’t here,’ I said, ‘but I’m quite powerless to help you, and I must tell you … please not to be offended but … it isn’t quite proper that I should … that you and I should … that we are alone together unchaperoned.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, you Pakeha, with your respectability and your correctness. Tell me, do you think it is proper to steal? It is in the Bible, is it not, Thou shalt not steal?’
I nodded.
‘And, Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour’s?’
In my astonishment, I forgot myself. ‘You have studied the Bible?’
‘Most certainly. I often attend the church at Waimate where Te Pihopa, the Bishop, preaches. I am very well acquainted with the Bible. It is true, is it not, as Pihopa Selwyn says, that we must keep the Ten Commandments?’
‘Yes, it is true.’
‘So tell me then, Miss Thompson, why has that great chief, Mata Wikitoria, allowed the Pakeha to come here and covet our land?’ He drew a paper from his jacket. ‘Here I have a letter for Te Kawana that I must without delay deliver to him. Once again the New Zealand Company seeks to take our lands in the North and on the West Coast. I wish to tell Te Kawana we will fight with all our strength to prevent this.’
I shrank a little.
‘Do not be afraid, Miss Thompson. We will not fight you.’
A terrible thought occurred to me. I breathed in deeply. ‘Are you … is your name … John Heke?’
He laughed again. ‘I? Hone Heke? That is a most excellent joke, Miss Thompson. It is possible that at this moment Heke is planning once again to cut down the British flagpole at Kororareka, though I think not. But that is not a concern of mine.’ He narrowed his eyes a little, and the carvings on his face reassembled themselves into a ferocious scowl. ‘Now, if you were Maori and not Pakeha, I should not have been so entertained. To be mistaken for Heke by a Maori would be a deadly insult, but as you know nothing of Maori affairs I have chosen to be amused.’
‘If I’ve offended …’
‘I will tell you. Heke is a little chief who has discovered a clever way to insult the British and increase his own reputation but, while he is in combat with flagpoles, behind his back more and more British are creeping in at the south and west of our land and snatching for themselves what they can.’
‘But some of the land has been legally bought.’
‘A little, true, but who has sold it? A Maori who says it is his land and that he may sell it in return for a few blankets and a musket? No single man owns our land. It belongs to the tribe, so only the tribe may agree to sell it. And the tribes do not wish to sell their lands. Only rarely, such as to the missionaries, and by common consent, will we do this.’
Suddenly, the grandfather clock chimed. It was only six o’clock, but it was now completely dark in the reception room.
‘I’m very sorry,’ I said, ‘but in what manner do you think the Governor can help you?’
‘I have brought this letter I have written to Mata Wikitoria. It is in Maori, for the greater honour and respect to her, but I am sure Te Kawana will translate it and send it to her in both English and Maori. I do not believe your Queen understands our language.’
‘I think not.’
‘But if she is a great and good ruler, as Te Kawana and Pihopa tell us, and if she believes in the justice of the Bible, she will help us.’
I did not know what to say, how to answer him. ‘I’ll ring for tea now,’ I said, ‘and ask Johnson to light the lamps. As soon as the Governor comes home, I shall tell him you wish to speak with him urgently. When will you return?’
‘I will not return,’ he said simply, ‘because I am not going. I will remain here until he comes back.’
‘Here? At Government House?’
‘I have stayed here many times before, and with Te Kawana FitzRoy also.’
‘But I … we are alone … I …’
He looked at me keenly. ‘Miss Thompson, you need not be afraid of me. I am a paramount chief. We rangatira do not dishonour the houses of our hosts. We are not savages. You are safe. I shall not eat you.’ He smiled, this time showing perfect white teeth. ‘Not tonight.’
I rose next morning unsure whether the events of the night before had been some kind of hallucination. From my window, I saw the black stallion still cropping grass in the horse paddock.
I took breakfast in my room and, as soon as I might, paid a
n uninvited call on Lady Martin.
‘There’s a native chief at present at Government House. He seems to have taken up residence and says he’ll leave only after he’s seen the Governor.’
‘Is he uncommonly tall?’
‘Yes.’
‘With a fine black stallion?’
‘At present in the horse paddock.’
‘Then it’s certain to be Te Toa. He’s from the North, near Waimate. Has he told you what it is he wants?’
‘He says it’s a dispute about land that only the Governor can resolve.’
‘Is he troubling you in any way?’
‘Not at all, though he speaks very good English and seems surprisingly deft in his arguments.’
Lady Martin smiled. ‘Then there’s no doubt it’s Te Toa. My husband says that were he to study the law, he’d make a splendid advocate at the English bar. He learnt our language from Governor FitzRoy and he is almost completely fluent in it. They were great friends and spent a lot of time together in the North. So, you see how truly I spoke when I told you that the Maoris are a most interesting race?’
‘Is it true they are still cannibals?’
‘Many of them, but we’re slowly turning them towards Christianity and leading them to a better life. I’m sure you won’t be shocked if I tell you that the chiefs and some high-born men generally have several wives.’
‘I believe it was the same with our local Aborigines in Albany.’
‘I daresay it’s their way. And the Maori young people, too, are much more lax in their morals than we might wish. But many have begun to adopt some of our habits and customs. As the Bishop says, we can but pray for the rest to follow, though I fear the temptation of the native girls has been a little too much for a number of our young English settlers. Several of them now quite openly co-habit with Maori women.’
‘And don’t marry them?’
‘Sometimes they marry. Which is, perhaps, a preferable state of affairs.’
‘And if an English woman were to marry a native?’
Lady Martin shuddered. ‘Now, that does not bear thinking about.’
Since Te Toa was now in residence, it seemed polite that we should dine together. Uncertain of what food a native might eat, I ordered cutlets, and sat down at table determined to mask my awkwardness. Te Toa sat opposite me and I was relieved to see that he held his knife and fork in the manner of a civilised Englishman.
‘The weather remains bad,’ he said, indicating the still-falling rain, ‘though it is good for our kumara crops. Last year, it was so dry we had a very poor yield.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
There was a silence.
‘I fear Te Kawana will be delayed. I am told there are storms along the coast. So I shall be here for a little longer, Miss Thompson. Perhaps, if the weather improves, you would come with me to ride in the Domain.’
I did not wish to offend him but I could not possibly accept such an offer. ‘I … I …’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I see perhaps you do not consider it proper?’
Embarrassed, I nodded.
‘You are very concerned with what is proper, Miss Thompson.’
‘Naturally.’
‘But what is this “proper”?’
‘Why, standards of good behaviour … conduct becoming … the honourable values upheld by Englishmen throughout the Empire.’
‘But not by savages?’
I flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I had no wish to affront you.’
‘Often I am angered, sometimes puzzled, by Englishmen and their doings, but I am never affronted. Now, Miss Thompson, since we must spend time in each other’s company, I shall tell you a story and we will look together at these honourable values of Englishmen throughout their British Empire. You permit me this?’
‘Pray continue.’
‘You know that in the North of New Zealand there has been a war between the tribes and the British?’
‘I have heard so.’
‘At two of the battles my people were victorious, but in the third, the British soldiers defeated the Maori. Now, British soldiers may be considered very proper men, do you not agree?’
‘I … I imagine so.’
‘Of course they are proper. They belong to the army of Mata Wikitoria, the great paramount chief in England.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Te Kawana is a brave soldier of the army, sent by Mata Wikitoria to Aotearoa … New Zealand. And we know that Te Kawana is a very proper man and a noble commander.’
My head began to swim. I nodded again.
‘When we Maori go to fight in battle, each man must obey the orders of his chief and observe the rules of warfare. Now, in this battle I tell you of, the defeated men of the tribe were, naturally, taken prisoner, so that the women and children were left defenceless. If this combat had been fought between tribe and tribe, they would have been taken as slaves or for ransom, but this the British soldiers did not do. Instead, those men entered the huts, and even the sacred meeting house, where they found the women huddled together, and there they violated every one of them, young and old, then left them, dishonoured forever. Is this “proper” English behaviour, Miss Thompson?’
I did not meet his eye.
He laid down his knife and fork. ‘So tell me,’ he said, his voice suddenly harsh, ‘who is the savage here?’
For the next two days, I did not see Te Toa. The rain became ferocious; hailstones hammered on the iron roof and, through the deluge, I discerned that the stallion no longer pawed in the paddock. Since it was too wet to contemplate going out, I remained confined until, on the third day, in the fashion of Auckland weather, the sun burst forth and within hours the sky was cloudless. The ground had turned to mud; the trees and bushes swelled and quivered in the warmth like birds shaking themselves after a water bath. As I stepped out onto the veranda, I saw that the black horse had returned and, minutes later, Te Toa appeared beside me.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘for my conversation of the other evening. It was not correct that I should suffer you to hear my complaints. Te Kawana knows already the feelings of the chiefs on the matter. It is not your affair.’
‘Nevertheless, I was very shocked to hear of it.’
‘That is gracious of you, Miss Thompson. If you have forgiven me, perhaps you will ride with me to the Domain?’
I was about to explain again that it would be unseemly for me to ride unchaperoned when I recalled Lady Martin’s comments about Te Toa, and the chief ’s own remarks.
‘Why, that is a very kind offer. It’s such a beautiful morning and I’ve been obliged to keep to the house for so long, a ride would be very welcome.’
‘I believe you will enjoy it. And a little beyond the Domain is a deserted Maori settlement which it may interest you to see.’
‘Thank you. I should like that very much.’ And as I said it, I realised it was true.
AOTEAROA
Since the day Mr Hadfield brought us from the shore, we had lived in a raupo hut beside his own house, in the very centre of the pa, safe only because of his great mana. All the tribes on the coast were eager to have a missionary of their own; they wished to learn the Pakeha reading and writing, and Te Rangitake, son of the mighty chief Te Rereta-whanga-whanga, at Waikanae, was proud that he had persuaded Mr Hadfield to live among his people. These Ngatiawa Maori were no friends of Te Rau-paraha, nor of his cousin, Te Whatanui, the Ngati-rau-kawa rangatira at Otaki, and because we had been persecuted by Te Rau-paraha and taken in by Mr Hadfield, they accepted us. Mr Hadfield was also the missionary at Otaki where he sometimes dwelt in a little tent in the pa. Te Whatanui was bound by ties of blood to Te Rau-paraha, he would do nothing to anger his missionary, so we were protected as long as Mr Hadfield remained there.
But as I grew older, my mother, Kahe, became increasingly uneasy. ‘Even here, we cannot be sure we are safe,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘Who is it we have to fear?’
‘Te R
au-paraha. Sooner or later he will seek vengeance for your father’s betrayal, so I am not safe, your brother Hone is not safe, and you are the least safe of all.’
‘I! What have I done to the great chief?’
‘You have dishonoured him twice. First, because you are your father’s daughter. And second because, at your birth, you were promised to the grandson of his ally, the great Ngapuhi rangatira, Tamati Waka Nene. That would have been indeed a powerful union. But now …’
‘I have never even seen Te Rau-paraha,’ I cried. ‘I am only a young girl. Surely he will not seek to avenge himself on me?’
‘Be certain,’ said my mother, ‘that, in time, Te Rau-paraha will try to take his revenge. He will have utu on us all.’
Fearing that to preserve Te Rau-paraha’s honour, I might be snatched from the shore by a raiding party, she begged from Mr Hadfield a dead cockerel. This she sewed inside a flax kete before carrying it to the edge of the Christian burial grounds where, with great lamentations, she dug out a small grave and there laid the body, wailing to all, ‘I have lost my only daughter.’ During my funeral rites, I played happily with my brother inside the little hut lent to us by Mr Hadfield, as noble a man as any Maori warrior.
Over the cockerel’s grave, my mother asked Mr Hadfield to erect a small cross and write upon it the Christian name he had given me when he baptised us all, Rahira, for Rachel of the Pakeha Bible.
My mother, Kahe, said that when she first inhabited Mr Hadfield’s small rush house she could not comprehend that the same white sink, raised on a stand, was for the washing of everything — the vegetables, the clothing, the body … How noa is the Pakeha, she thought, that he washes himself and his food in the same receptacle. And Mr Hadfield is a missionary …
‘At all times you must be humble and helpful to Mr Hadfield,’ she said. ‘As you know, our safety depends on the grace of his kindness and the shelter of the cloak of his mana.’
A Crooked Rib Page 17