Authors: Judy Corbalis
A Crooked Rib (19 page)
I had heard much of Te Kawana Kerei before I ever saw him. My mother said that, for a Pakeha, he had fine chiefly bearing. And, as a paramount chief of their Kuini Wikitoria, he had great mana. ‘Since he arrived in Aotearoa,’ said my mother, ‘he has often sought advice from Mr Hadfield on Maori affairs. He has learned to speak our language and he has great affection for our people. This shows us that he is a good man. And he is coming tonight to this house to speak with Mr Hadfield again. I have asked to be present, but you children must take yourselves out of sight and hearing of this meeting.’
So Hone and I waited until they had exchanged their greetings, then stole under the small high window and pressed ourselves into the shadow of the wall. We heard the voice of the unseen Te Kawana speaking in our own language: ‘Te Rau-paraha is too powerful among the chiefs and these murderous attacks cannot be allowed to continue. The time has come when I must humble him. I have no choice.’
‘True,’ said Mr Hadfield, ‘but first you must catch him.’
‘I know it,’ said Te Kawana, ‘but how am I to succeed? He is wily and well guarded.’
‘We must think very carefully,’ Mr Hadfield said. ‘You will have only one such chance, Governor. If you fail, he will be forever on his guard against you.’
There was a long silence. Hone stirred beside me and I prodded him with my finger.
‘If you look out from Peka-peka beach at Waikanae to his stronghold, Kapiti Island,’ said Mr Hadfield, ‘it appears deserted. Of the pa, the palisades, the kumara grounds, even the whaling station at its southernmost tip, there is not a trace. It is only when unwary
voyagers land on its more hospitable eastern shore they discover, to their misfortune, that it is, indeed, the impregnable stronghold of the Napoleon of the South. You cannot take Te Rau-paraha on Kapiti.’
We heard our mother’s voice. ‘Harawira is right. And since you will never take him on Kapiti, you must outwit him and capture him by trickery and stealth. I know the workings of the mind of that butcher, and I have a plan whereby Te Kawana may entrap him.’
Two days after we returned from our visit to Waimate, a letter arrived from the Governor.
‘He says that Mr Hadfield’s health is much better, but the situation in Wellington is grave, so he must remain in the south for some time,’ said Lucy.
‘I’m relieved to hear that Mr Hadfield is well again,’ said Lady Martin, who had called on us. ‘There’s no other man in New Zealand who better understands the Maoris and their ways. If anyone can avert war, he can. The natives are devoted to him. Even Te Rauparaha’s nephew, Te Rangi-hae-ata, who’s bitterly opposed to all Englishmen and is an even more ferocious warrior than his uncle, called on Mr Hadfield when he was convalescing at the St Hills’ in Wellington last month.’
‘If I were Mrs St Hill, I should have been very afraid at his presence in my house,’ I said.
‘She was terrified, but she said he stood quietly by the doorway, waiting for her husband to invite him inside. He’s a most magnificent specimen of a man, over six and a half feet tall, with long black hair swept into the topknot and eyes like a hawk’s. Mrs St Hill said he looked neither right nor left and did not greet either her or her husband but merely swept into the room where Mr Hadfield lay on his couch, and bent and pressed noses with him, speaking to him urgently in Maori. The St Hills don’t speak the native tongue, but Mr Hadfield explained that Te Rangi-hae-ata had brought his tohunga with him to assist Mr Hadfield’s recovery and asked if they would mind allowing the Maori priest to enter and perform his ceremonies.
‘Mr St Hill was inclined to feel that he should remain to guard Mr Hadfield, but the missionary said he was quite confident of Te Rangi-hae-ata’s good intentions. So the St Hills left the three of
them alone and, although it is probably merely a coincidence, Mrs St Hill claims that the very next day Mr Hadfield’s strength began to return. She says that, for another three days, Te Rangi-hae-ata and his tohunga, mounted on their horses, sat at a distance from the St Hills’ homestead, keeping watch over Mr Hadfield’s spirit … or so Mr Hadfield told them.’
‘What an extraordinary story.’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Lady Martin. ‘I told you the Maoris are an extraordinary race.’
In the Governor’s absence, Lucy spent long periods of time closeted with Mr Godfrey over preparations for the ball. It had become her principal topic of conversation so, when she came running to find me in the garden, I assumed they had devised some new form of entertainment. She was quite breathless. ‘Sit down, Fanny. The most
wonderful
news! You’ll never guess.’
‘You’ve thought of a novel amusement for the ball?’
‘No, no. Much more exciting than that.’ She took a breath and caught my hand. ‘George has been honoured with a knighthood. He sent me word this very morning.’
‘As you observe, Miss Fanny, I have come to see you.’
‘Good morning, Te Toa. Are you well?’
‘I am most well. I have come to ask you an important question, if you are happy to answer me.’
‘I’ll do my best. Would you like tea?’
‘Thank you, no, but perhaps we may sit on that seat there, below the pohutukawa?’
We settled ourselves on the bench beneath the great spreading canopy.
‘So, what is this important question?’
Te Toa seemed to be thinking. Finally, ‘Is Te Kawana a son or nephew of Mata Wikitoria?’ he asked.
‘Neither. He has no kinship ties to her,’
‘Then why has she given this honour to him?’
‘Well, he has served his country and his Queen …’
‘Are you sure of this? I am told that many of the dispatches that Te Kawana sends to London are not true.’
‘If her Majesty didn’t think the Governor was a worthy man, she wouldn’t honour him.’
‘Naturally. The question is not what Mata Wikitoria
thinks
. The question is whether Te Kawana is,
in fact
, a worthy man.’
I decided to change the subject. ‘Since you are a paramount chief, will you attend the investiture?’
‘It seems so. There is a government vessel reserved to bring all the Northern chiefs, and another to carry the chiefs from the south.’
‘But if there will be chiefs from many regions attending, what if fighting should break out among them?’
Te Toa was deeply affronted. ‘Miss Thompson, you have heard me speak often of our Maori ways. No chief would ever dishonour such a ceremony. We are not engaged to fight one another and we will not.’ And he rose and strode away.
Without thinking, I ran after him and caught his arm.
‘I’m sorry, Te Toa. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was concerned not only for the Governor’s safety but for yours.’
As I said it, I knew it to be true but, if I could have, I would have recalled my words instantly.
He stopped. ‘Thank you for this concern but I am a warrior. I have no need of women to protect me.’
I stared at him. His face had taken on a sinister aspect.
No matter that he speaks so courteously, that he is deft and clever in his arguments, he remains a savage, I thought. And those who meddle with fire risk a burning.
We knew, my brother Hone and I, that something was about to happen. We could tell it from the suppressed anxiety of our mother, from the slightest agitation in the demeanour of Mr Hadfield.
At last came the day when my mother said, ‘Tonight, before you go to sleep, you will stop your ears with plugs of flax. You will hear nothing and you will make no sound.’
‘Why?’ said Hone.
‘Because,’ said my mother, ‘there will be nothing to hear. Do as you are bidden.’
So, as soon as she had left us, we pulled the flax from our ears and peered from the doorway of our hut. It was a silent night and there was no moon. In the distance we heard the faint splash of oars, but this was no new sound. Often, fishing canoes put out at night-time. Voices hummed lightly across the water, and almost instantly were stilled.
‘There is a ship off Peka-peka,’ whispered Hone. ‘Look. You can just make out its shadowy shape on the horizon.’
As we stared and our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, we saw that two smaller boats beside the vessel were making for the shore.
‘Are they coming here, to Waikanae?’
Hone shook his head. ‘No, they are moving further along the coast. Nearer to Otaki.’
‘But that is Te Rau-paraha’s cousin’s mainland pa. What is happening?’
From Mr Hadfield’s house, three figures slipped soundlessly into the night — Mr Hadfield, our stepfather and, ‘Our mother!’
They made their way in the direction of the beach where we could see that the two small boats had now landed. From each disembarked a party of men.
‘Soldiers!’ murmured Hone. ‘And they are armed. You can see the glint of their muskets in the starlight.’
Mr Hadfield, our mother and stepfather now joined the soldiers on the sands, and the party set off on foot along the beach towards Otaki. Not a sound gave away their presence. We knew there would be no scouts guarding the Otaki pa; none of the tribes on our coast was at war. Resolved to see what was happening, Hone and I followed them at a distance. It was more than three hours before we arrived at Otaki and, as we slipped along the shoreline, we noticed a small boat skirting the coast, shadowing the figures in front of us. Its oars were tied about with cloth so that they made no sound.
The group ahead of us left the beach and mounted the sand-hills. Just before the entrance to the pa, I saw my mother in conversation with a tall figure I took to be Te Kawana. She pointed to one of the huts and, at a signal from the man, the soldiers raised their muskets together and fired a volley of shots. Then, accompanied by a party of soldiers, he burst into the hut. There came the high-pitched sound of women wailing, and several minutes later the soldiers reappeared, one holding a lantern, three more leading a naked man covered in red ochre, and the rest holding captive two naked women.
‘That is Te Rau-paraha,’ whispered Hone. ‘I recognise him from the hen house. And those must be his wives. He has been taken sleeping, and with
women
. What dishonour for a great chief not to be captured in battle with warriors.’
‘We will have more than dishonour if our mother sees us,’ I said. ‘Quickly. We must run back before she returns.’
‘Run?’ said Hone. ‘I am already so tired I can scarcely walk.’ He grabbed my arm. ‘But, look, they have Te Rau-paraha in the little boat now and they are rowing him out to the larger vessel. It is the government brig,
Calliope
.’
‘While you were sleeping,’ said our mother next morning, ‘there was a great to-do in the night. Te Rau-paraha has been taken
prisoner at Otaki by Te Kawana and the Pakeha forces. What humiliation for him. A great chief to be captured so, not on the battlefield but exposed naked in his bed. Terrible, indeed.’ She smiled. But it was a smile of hatred. ‘So, after thirteen years, the gods have favoured me. I have broken the power of Te Rau-paraha’s mana and avenged my husband and the tohunga.’
‘Mr Hadfield says we should not harbour thoughts of revenge,’ said Hone, ‘but that we should learn to turn the other cheek.’
‘How curious,’ said our mother. ‘For is it not written in the Bible of Te Ariki:
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
?’
The Governor strode over to where I was sketching in the garden. I laid aside my crayon. ‘Welcome back, Sir George. And my congratulations on such a great honour.’
‘Thank you. But I shall not be styled so until after my investiture, of course.’
‘Was your recent business in Wellington successful?’
‘Entirely. I’ve arrested Te Rau-paraha on a charge of treason.’
‘And imprisoned him?’
‘No, no. I could never imprison him like a common criminal. That would be seen as an unacceptably shocking act by all Maoris, even his enemies. It would destroy his mana and enrage Ngati Toa. So he is now a “guest” of his old ally in the North, Tamati Waka Nene.’
‘But surely, if he is an ally, he’ll let the chief escape?’
‘That is not at all the Maori way. Waka Nene has promised to contain Te Rau-paraha and it’s certain he’ll do so.’
‘And Te Rau-paraha’s nephew? Won’t he seek revenge?’
‘Not while his uncle remains with the great Waka Nene. So now we have a little more breathing space in the south.’
‘And Mr Hadfield?’
‘After Te Rau-paraha’s capture, he was obliged to go back to Wellington for his health. He is recovering well but still in need of medical attention. He’s a most astonishing man. I accompanied him to Wellington, and there he asked me if I would consider riding back to Otaki with a message for Nohorua, Te Rau-paraha’s brother. He wished it to be carried by me since it required a Pakeha of the highest mana to deliver it.
‘You will understand that I was a little uneasy about such a mission, most particularly since the entire tribe was aware that it was solely
on my instructions, and in my presence, that their chief had been so ignominiously arrested.
‘Mr Hadfield assured me I would not be harmed, but the nearer my horse drew to Otaki the more, I confess, my apprehension grew. It was a Sunday and I had been told I should find Nohorua at church at Mr Hadfield’s Mission.
‘I dismounted, was greeted a little curtly by one or two of the natives, and delivered my letter to Nohorua, then, as I had promised Mr Hadfield, I knelt down to pray with the congregation which was almost entirely Maori. And at no time did a single one of them threaten me or attempt utu for my kidnapping of their great leader. I went among them freely and left in peace.’
So Te Rau-paraha stayed many months in the North as a ‘guest’ of Ngapuhi, his former allies, and when the time was auspicious, Te Kawana returned him to Ngati Toa. I saw this return. I was fifteen years old.
Though the chief ’s mana had been broken, Te Kawana had no wish to humiliate him further, and on the shore at Otaki a gathering of more than five hundred people watched as the government brig carried the chief back to his ancestral lands. When Te Rau-paraha set foot upon the sands, we saw that he wore a splendid British naval uniform, a present from Te Kawana, and carried a magnificent sword, another of Te Kawana’s gifts. As the tribe moaned and wailed and the men stamped a welcome, the chief Poho-tiraha stepped forward to greet him. Then Te Rau-paraha raised high his weapon and thrust it into the ground in front of Poho-tiraha, crying out, ‘Take hold of this sword. I no longer wish for honour on earth but for honour in Heaven. We shall build a church upon this ground.’
But all of this, the rejoicing, the singing and the great feasting, I was permitted to watch only from the safety of the pa. My mother remembered still what had happened to my father. Even with his mana broken, she did not trust Te Rau-paraha.
Mr Hadfield, his health fully restored, returned to us at Waikanae And so we continued to live happily near the Mission, my mother, Mr Nicoll, Hone and I, until — and still I can scarcely bear to remember it — until the Pakeha fever swept through Wellington, Otaki, the Manawatu, the Whanganui, claiming within a month more than eighty lives. When I think of it, my heart twists with
bitter grief. Among those struck down were both my mother and stepfather.
‘Makareta, Hine-moana,’ said my mother as she lay dying, her breath rasping harshly in her throat, ‘sit here beside me and listen carefully to my words.’
I squatted next to her where she lay, flushed and fevered.
‘Hear what I say. Look, now, at Tutere-moana, the mountain-top of Kapiti.’
I peered through the doorway of our hut.
‘What do you see?’
‘Only the head of the mountain thrusting into the sky.’
‘And at its peak?’
‘Nothing but the grey stones at the summit.’
My mother sighed. ‘Then it is certain I am about to rejoin the spirits of my ancestors.’
I clutched her hand. ‘You must not leave us!’ I cried.
‘If it is ordained, then my time on this earth is almost done. No one can defy the will of the gods. Attend to what I tell you. Around the brow of Tutere-moana, I see a wreath of cloud.’
‘No!’
‘Hush, and obey my wishes. This is the funeral wreath, the sign of impending death. No mortal can gainsay it. Now, when I have left you to join our ancestors, Mr Hadfield will wish to give me a Christian burial. Do not oppose him in this. He has been good to us; he will protect you. And what are a few Pakeha words spoken over the dead? They change nothing. And, afterwards, he will lay my bones in the graveyard of Te Ariki here at the Mission. Do not grieve that I am in such a place. The land here is the land of the Maori; my bones will lie safely in the earth of Aotearoa and my spirit will have returned to Hawai’iki. This is the only thing that is important. Accede to the desires of Mr Hadfield in all of this.’
Each night, by my mother’s grave, I recited the karakia, the sacred songs and prayers she had taught me, and waited for her spirit to visit me, but she did not come.
‘Ah, Makareta,’ said Mr Hadfield, appearing beside me, ‘I see you
are reciting your Christian prayers. You must take comfort from knowing that your dear mother and stepfather are now safe in Heaven in the arms of Te Ariki.’
‘Where is this Heaven?’ I asked, and he pointed to the sky.
Though I did not say so to Mr Hadfield, I could make out no sign of anything but clouds. And had not my mother, herself, told me that when the time came her spirit would walk to Te Reinga, slide down the sacred pohutukawa into the sea, and pass along the Broad Path of Tane to Hawai’iki, the ancestral lands?
‘Shall I pray with you, Makareta?’ said Mr Hadfield.
I began to say no, but thought better of it. Suppose my mother was, after all, in the Heaven of Te Ariki? Would it not be wise for me to intercede with Him … as a precaution?
