Authors: Deborah Challinor
‘Don’t then,’ the storekeeper said, shrugging.
Pierre moved on to a bin of dried peas, sniffed a handful and discarded those as well. ‘Stale,’ he announced disgustedly.
He had a little luck eventually, though, selecting three bottles of white vinegar, several packets of spices and a small cask of salt. He paid the surly shopkeeper for them, plus six pieces of butterscotch in a paper twist for Tahi, and arranged to collect the goods later. As they left the store, Kitty was sure she heard the storekeeper mutter, ‘Cheeky bloody Frog.’
Outside, she asked, ‘Were there really weevils in the flour?’
Pierre shook his head. ‘But you can get a better price sometimes that way, eh?’ Then, casually, he inclined his head towards Tahi.
Kitty followed his gaze: there was a large piece of butter-scotch
making a lump in the boy’s cheek and he was clutching his penis through his trousers.
‘Do you need a mimi?’ she asked.
Tahi nodded.
Kitty looked up and down the street. ‘Oh dear. I wonder if there’s a privy anywhere?’ she said to Pierre.
‘He don’t need a privy when there is a wall.’
‘Well, you take him then,’ Kitty urged, ‘I’ll wait here.’
She turned her back while Pierre took Tahi around the side of the store: she couldn’t see them, but she was certainly still within earshot because, after a long silence, she heard Pierre say, ‘Don’t he want to come now?’
Another silence, shorter this time. Then Pierre saying, ‘I have one too, then we be two men together, eh?’
A few seconds later came the sound of a stream of liquid hitting the wall, followed by Pierre’s voice: ‘See Monsieur Spider there? Let’s drown him.’
Tahi giggled, then exclaimed, ‘Haere ra, pungawerewere!’
Kitty was still grinning when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed three men crossing the street towards her. She stopped smiling and quickly glanced over her shoulder to see where Pierre was.
One of the men doffed his hat and drawled, ‘Morning, little lady. Lost, are you?’
‘Not at all,’ Kitty replied quickly, alarmed to see that the trio were very rough-looking. And drunk.
‘Ye def’ny look lost to me,’ another said. ‘Come with us, we’ll look after ye.’
At that all three of them guffawed. The first man stepped up and took her arm in a firm grip, his expression turning mean. ‘Come on, girlie, I got a surprise for you.’
Kitty wrenched her arm out of his grasp, then saw something that allowed her to relax somewhat: Pierre had appeared from
around the other side of the trading store and was standing behind the trio with his pistol drawn. Despite his lack of height, he cut an intimidating figure, with his wiry, muscled body, his scowling face, pointed beard, and long, exotic plait—and his pair of fighting knives in full view at his belt.
‘Leave the lady alone,’ he growled. ‘She not be interested. Go!
Cassez-vous!
’
They turned around, but took a hasty step back when they saw the pistol. They stared at him for a moment, then one slowly raised his hands, palms out. ‘Sorry, didn’t realise she was taken.’
Pierre steadied his pistol, cocked it and aimed it at the man’s chest. The man backed away, then turned and hurried off with as much dignity as he could muster, followed quickly by his companions.
Kitty blew out a great sigh of relief, her heart thudding wildly. Pierre whistled and Tahi appeared from his hiding place behind the building.
‘Shall I get Koro?’ he asked breathlessly, gazing up at Pierre.
Pierre shook his head. ‘
Non, mon fils
, they be gone now.’ He holstered his pistol and spat in the dirt.
‘Thank you, Pierre,’ Kitty said.
Pierre bowed theatrically. ‘At your service, Madame.’ But when he straightened, he added so that Tahi wouldn’t hear, ‘It is not safe here. We will go to the others.’
‘The others’ were already well away in the grog-shop, which was quite crowded even at this early hour. Mick had procured a mandolin from somewhere and, accompanied by a morose-looking man on a
bodhrán
, was giving a rendition of his favourite song. Kitty also liked it, so she leaned against the doorway with Pierre, ignoring the stares of the men inside, and listened as Mick sang in his rough but rather sensual voice:
I’m a bold Irish hero, who never yet was daunted,
In the courting of a pretty girl I very seldom wanted,
In the courting of a pretty girl I own it was my folly,
I’d venture my whole life for you, my very pretty Molly
.
Then he winked at Kitty and launched into the chorus, the words of which he knew she thought were nothing more than made-up nonsense.
Mush a ring fal a do fal a da,
Whack fol a daddy-o,
Whack fol a daddy-o,
There’s whiskey in the jar-o
.
As I was walking over old Kilgary Mountain,
I met with Captain Powers, his money he was counting,
I pulled out my sword, and likewise then my rapier,
Saying, stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver
.
It’s when I got the money it was a pretty penny,
I put it in my pocket and I took it home to Molly,
She said, my dearest lover, I never will deceive you,
But the devil’s in the women, they never can be easy
.
But Mick didn’t get to finish the song because, just as he started on the third chorus, Kitty was shoved rudely out of the doorway by a man who was breathless and red in the face from running.
‘He’s done it again!’ he shouted as he barged in. ‘The bugger’s attacked the flagstaff again!’
For a moment there was no sound at all. Then Rian started to laugh.
The general consensus seemed to be that Hone Heke had lost his mind. After the flagstaff attack, he had threatened to destroy the gaol, the police and customs houses, and the post office at Kororareka, although all this, fortunately, was thwarted by two hundred Nga Puhi men led by the formidable chief Kawiti, and a contingent of armed locals. FitzRoy offered a £100 reward to anyone who apprehended the renegade chief, payable on his delivery either to Thomas Beckham, the police magistrate at Kororareka, or the magistrate at Auckland. He also declared that anyone found assisting, harbouring or concealing Heke would be charged. Heke promptly offered his own £100 reward for the capture of the governor.
As Rian had predicted, FitzRoy sent a garrison of thirty soldiers of the 96th to Kororareka and requested even more military assistance from New South Wales: two companies of the 58th Regiment were despatched to New Zealand immediately. The flagstaff on Maiki Hill was replaced and its lower section heavily reinforced with iron, but Heke managed to fell it a third time on 18 January, only eight days after his second attack. Tamati Waka Nene, now openly supporting the government, had been guarding the flagstaff at the time, but such was Hone Heke’s mana that no one made a move to stop him.
Rian was chopping wood for Sarah—a chore for which he seemed to be in high demand by Kitty’s relatives—when Win Purcell came by to relay word of FitzRoy’s latest measures.
Rian rested his axe against the chopping block and wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his shirtsleeve. ‘So what do you think? Will it be war?’
‘I hope not,’ Win said, his red face shining even though he had done nothing more than walk a few hundred yards up the beach. ‘But ordering blockhouses to be built across the bay doesn’t look good, does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Rian replied, gesturing for Win to sit on a bench in the shade of a nearby tree.
Win did so gratefully, while Rian sat on the chopping block and got out his pipe. ‘And I don’t like the sound of more troops coming from Sydney, either,’ he added. ‘The last lot that arrived are still in Auckland, aren’t they?’
Win nodded, withdrawing his own smoking accoutrements from a deep pocket.
‘And that makes four hundred men, plus the fifty special constables you say Beckham has just sworn in at Kororareka?’
‘Aye.’
Rian frowned. ‘And if FitzRoy has said there’ll be no protection for settlers anywhere else, that means that Paihia won’t be defended, I assume?’
Win concurred gloomily. ‘Nor Waimate, nor Kerikeri.’
Rian used a twig to scrape the last of the old ash out of his pipe, then tapped the bowl against the chopping block before he tamped in fresh tobacco. ‘So what will you do if there
is
war?’
‘Well, we’re hoping of course that it won’t come to that. We’re not strictly pacifists, but we
are
servants of the Lord. We don’t condone violence.’
‘And you won’t be taking part in any?’
Win lit his pipe. ‘No, we won’t.’ He puffed vigorously until the tobacco caught. ‘What about yourself?’
A good minute went past before Rian finally said, ‘I’ll tell you what I told my wife. And that is, if it comes to war, I won’t fight for one side or the other.’
Win looked at him shrewdly. ‘You say you won’t fight, but will you assist in any other way? Say on the side of the Maoris, perchance?’
Rian returned the look. ‘Did Reverend Williams send you down here? Or was it that long-winded bigot, Dow?’
‘Neither. Augustus Dow may be long-winded at times, and I
concede that he hasn’t yet been in New Zealand long enough to appreciate the many intricacies of the Maori race, but he does have a good Christian heart.’
‘Well, I’ll take your word for that,’ Rian said. ‘And you’ve certainly had worse than him here, haven’t you?’
Win’s face darkened. ‘Indeed.’ He stared at his boots for a long moment. ‘Look, Captain, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but these are trying times. There may be war, and that in my experience means loss of lives. There are children here, and women.’
‘I’m fully aware of that.’
Win went on as though Rian hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll be blunt, Captain. I need to know if your cargo on this trip included arms.’
‘No, it did not,’ Rian answered immediately. Not this time. ‘You saw what we unloaded after we arrived, and that was everything we shipped. The
Katipo
is sitting well above her waterline at the moment.’
‘Well, that’s a good thing to hear,’ Win said.
He looked so pathetically relieved that Rian felt sorry for him. ‘I’ve made no secret of my views of colonisation, whether it be by missionaries or thieving land-grabbers like the New Zealand Company. And, to be as blunt as you were, I’m sometimes hard put to see a difference between the two. But I fear it may already be too late for this country, for these people. I also believe that war is inevitable, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.’ Rian suddenly grinned. ‘Who the hell am I, anyway? A scruffy sea trader with an even scruffier crew. Although I do have a very beautiful and charming wife.’
Win almost smiled. ‘So why don’t you just sail away with her, Captain, and keep her safe? Take her beyond harm’s reach?’
Rian peered into the bowl of his pipe, stirred the contents slightly with his twig, and drew on it to strengthen the embers.
‘Because I have friends here, Mr Purcell, and so does she. And if it comes to war, I
will
do what I can for my friends. Surely you must understand that?’
‘Yes, I believe I do.’
‘And although, as you say,’ Rian added, ‘we haven’t always seen eye to eye, I hope that there are some in this community I can also now name as friends, just as I can say the same thing about Pukera.’
Win settled his weight against the back of Sarah’s garden seat and crossed his arms. He looked vaguely pleased. ‘Well, if it
does
come to war, I dare say we would be glad of your presence. And that of your men. We have little fear of Heke himself, but sometimes in the heat of battle, as I’m sure a man such as yourself will know, events can occur that are deeply regretted afterwards. And there are young warriors aligned with Hone Heke who have little experience and even less discipline, and who may succumb to the bloodlust that can afflict many men in times of war.
That
is what I am frightened of, Captain.’
A
mild panic spread throughout New Zealand, fuelled by speculation from settlements nowhere near the Bay of Islands, and by genuine fear generated in Auckland, which was considerably closer to the seat of unrest. And FitzRoy’s very public preparations for war belied the official call for calm.
Nonetheless, the Paihia mission station quietly prepared for a siege, although some of the children, who were having trouble linking their brown-skinned playmates to any notion of danger, had to be persuaded that it was not all a game. Te Rangi had already declared that Pukera would remain neutral should a conflict arise, both because of the village’s close relationship with the mission, and because he (or rather, Haunui) did not particularly agree with Hone Heke’s heavy-handed tactics.
Extra grain and other produce was brought to Paihia from Waimate, which was also readying for war, and visits were made to smaller outlying European settlements to offer shelter at either of the missions should the need arise. The idea of visiting the smaller Maori communities in the area had also been considered, but discarded; the Maoris had been at war for decades and were quite capable of keeping themselves out of the way if necessary, and there were also fears that rebel Maoris might infiltrate European settlements under cover of ‘good’ Maoris.
Rian countered this argument, which held strong sway with many of the British settlers filtering through the Bay of Islands
on their way down to Auckland, by pointing out that, so far as could be ascertained, Heke had no intention of alienating the settlers: that would limit his declared aim of improving relations between the races. The response to that was, inevitably: so why had Heke thrice cut down the flagstaff, the ultimate symbol of British authority? And if Rian attempted to argue further, it only made anyone listening decide that he was a supporter of Heke and subsequently regard him with deep suspicion. Heke himself had gone quiet and was rumoured to have temporarily retired to his stronghold at Kaikohe.