Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  Each man had known the other long enough to know exactly the wrong thing to say. On the other hand, certain insults and provocation were growing old. In any event Hull’s expression didn’t change.

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay any attention to her comings and goings.”

  “She’d be a grown woman by now.”

  “It’s not something I concern myself with.”

  “I’m not surprised. And now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries and you’ve seen the interior of my home perhaps you’d care to leave through the same door by which you entered.” Coffin stepped aside and gestured with one hand.

  Hull didn’t move. “I’m not here for idle chatter nor to inspect your architecture. If you’d cool your blood a moment, Coffin, you might well wonder why I’ve taken a step which I assure you is no more pleasant for me than it can be for you. I must ask that you oblige me on a matter that concerns both of us. I promise I will take as little time as possible.”

  Coffin considered as he regarded the man on the couch narrowly. At last he nodded. “Little time let it be, then.” He entered the parlor. “May I offer you something to drink?”

  Hull’s answer was surprising. “No.”

  Coffin sat down in the chair closest to the couch, gestured at a humidor. “Smoke?”

  “Again, no.”

  “Have you changed that much?” Coffin leaned back in the chair.

  “I think not, though I’ve recently undergone a sobering experience. Surely you’ve heard.”

  It would have been easy to smile knowingly, to gloat. As was clear from the resigned expression on Hull’s face his old rival expected him to do exactly that. Coffin did not. Whatever personal embarrassment Hull had suffered was nothing compared to that of the rest of the militia. Wiremu Kingi’s men had killed too many for anyone to smile about it. As more warriors were attracted to his army the country was laid waste. Neutral Maoris were more inclined to offer surreptitious support in the form of weapons and food. It was a bad time for New Zealand. Coffin couldn’t smile about it.

  “Sobering is a mild enough description. You’re lucky the Kingites didn’t massacre the lot of you.”

  “I think they could have done so had they been sufficiently inclined.” Hull made a sign of disgust. “That’s what comes of trying to put down a rebellion with untrained militia led by military rejects. It’s a mistake we won’t make again. Though I’m not so sure regular troops would have been any more effective. Imagine trying to fight people who shoot at you from behind trees! And when you do confront them, they run away. I ask you, Coffin, can people who do such things claim to be civilized?”

  “According to the tenets of Maori civilization they can. Tell me: if you think they could have slaughtered you to the last man, why didn’t they?”

  Hull fought to form the words. “I think it gave them more pleasure to taunt us all the way back to the city.”

  Still Coffin didn’t smile and although Hull was grateful for the understanding, he would never have admitted it. “Yes, that sounds like the Maoris.” He lowered his gaze. “But surely you didn’t come here for sympathy.”

  Hull laughed sharply at that. It was such an extraordinary sight that Coffin committed it to memory on the spot, certain it was something that might never be seen again: Tobias Hull laughing at something other than another’s misfortune.

  “Think of me what you will, you know me for a realist, Coffin. There have been numerous discussions among the leading citizens of Auckland, Wellington, Napier and the rest of the colony about the feasibility of financing another expedition to fight the Kingites. A proper one this time, with the right sort of equipment and better leaders. We must put an end to this rebellion before it can spread any farther!” He calmed himself with an effort. “You have excellent sources. I’m sure you’re aware of these meetings and their aim.”

  “Just as I’m aware that it’s a foolish man who throws good money after bad.”

  Hull couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “Then what the Devil do you expect us to do? Hole up in the towns and cities and surrender the rest of the country to the natives?”

  “I’ll thank you,” said Coffin coolly, “to compose yourself while you’re a guest in this house.” Hull glared at him a moment longer, then took a deep breath and crossed his arms across his chest, waiting. “Better. I would lend my name and resources to such a compaign if it was professionally led and manned. Indeed, under such circumstances I’d join myself. You know what I’m talking about, Hull, and so do the others. Professional soldiers. Men whose business is war.”

  “Even McQuade’s contributing,” Hull muttered. “So are Cosgrove, Pettit and many more. They make no stipulations.”

  “Which means they didn’t learn their lesson well enough the first time.” Both men were silent for a minute before Coffin continued. “Much as it pains me to admit it, we do agree on one thing. Something must be done about this Wiremu Kingi and his army, at the least. The smaller war parties we can deal with ourselves, but this Kingi’s successes raise the possibility of a Maori nation united for war beneath a single standard. Frankly I thought that an impossibility until only recently. You’re right that we must stop it now.”

  “I’ve spoken to the Governor. He’ll give us his personal support and that of the treasury. As for our recent debacle, it may do more good than harm in the long run insofar as it’s frightened many who did not previously take the Kingite threat seriously. It’s been too easy lately in the towns. Cityfolk sit back and insist the rebellion will never endanger them. Our latest defeat puts the lie to that.

  “The Governor has thrown in the full colonial militia. This time we’ll put a thousand men under arms. Scouts have been paid to seek out the Kingite’s headquarters.

  “As to your qualification, you’ll be interested to learn, Coffin, that a full contingent of British regulars commanded by regular army officers will arrive shortly in Auckland to take charge of the campaign.”

  Coffin’s eyebrows lifted. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  Again Hull favored him with that lopsided grin. “You don’t know everything that’s going on in the government, you know. There are some who still know how to keep information to themselves.”

  “I never doubted that for a moment.” Throughout the conversation neither man’s eyes had wavered from the other’s. It was as if an invisible barrier set up between them permitted only this tenuous visual contest to continue. While they spoke of cooperation their wills fought on.

  “If what you say about the arriving troops is true then you’ll have my support, though I can ill afford the time away from business.”

  “In that you’re not alone, Coffin. Rest assured the army will be here in a few days at most. I don’t know their number, though it’s in the hundreds. Combined with our militia and secondary volunteers we should muster more than enough to exterminate this Kingi and his followers forever. Then we’ll at last have an honest peace in this country.”

  “There are those,” Coffin murmured, “who’d say we’ve always had peace in this country and if not for the machinations of certain unsavory land dealers that we’d enjoy it still.”

  Hull shrugged it off. “The Maoris love war. They loved it before we came and they’ll continue to do so until we reform them. We must show them that if they want to fight it’d best be among themselves.” Abruptly he rose. “You spoke of business. I have my own to look after. I’m sure you’ll not be offended if I choose not to linger,” he finished sarcastically.

  Coffin also stood. As he passed, Hull extended his right hand. “If you would, I’d shake hands on this, Coffin.”

  “There’s no need.” Coffin made no move to grip the proffered hand.

  Hull let it fall to his side. “Good. I’ve endured enough unpleasantness for one day. It was necessary to discuss this or I wouldn’t have come.”

  Only the maid, Emily, saw the two men part.

  7

  If it had been left to Coffin he would hav
e chosen to slip quietly and in small groups out of the city, so as to give the Kingites as little warning as possible. Alas, there was nothing for it but to have a parade, complete to gaudily waving handkerchiefs and brass band. The army regulars insisted on it. Coffin consoled himself with the knowledge that they couldn’t have concealed their intentions anyway. The quietly observant Maoris would surely have noticed the movement of so many men and animals, even in small groups. But if given the choice he would have opted for secrecy.

  As it was, the regulars looked proud, resplendent and invincible in their bright uniforms. Their appearance induced the colonial militia to push and shove themselves into something resembling a military line of order, while the rag-tag band of volunteers comprising the rear of the column managed to look halfway respectable as they streamed out of city.

  Nearly three thousand strong, the army marched out through well-kept farms and fields. There was reason to hope that when confronted by such a show of strength and determination, the Kingites would simply break up into arguing family groups and the rebellion would melt away without anyone having to fire a shot.

  Robert Coffin did not believe this, nor did Tobias Hull, but it was a thought much in vogue among the newly arrived troops.

  Coffin and Hull saw each other rarely, which pleased both men. In such a large group there was no need for them to surfer each other’s company.

  They’d already met Colonel Gold, the commander of the regular troops and by extension the entire expeditionary force. Coffin thought him unnecessarily contemptuous of colonials and Maoris alike, as well as a bit vain, but there was no denying his professionalism. There were Captains and lieutenants whose skills Coffin admired more, but though he’d done plenty of fighting in his time he was not a military man by trade, so for the sake of harmony he kept his qualms over the choice of leadership to himself. He’d had previous encounters with individuals who, while unpleasant on a personal level, had proven themselves masters of their respective professions. Colonel Gold might well be kin to such men.

  While there were those who doubted the natives would dare to confront such an overwhelming force, the majority felt the rebels would have to make a stand somewhere lest suspicions of cowardice lose them the support they had so painstakingly cultivated among neutral Maoris. It was simply a matter of forcing them into smaller and smaller areas until they would have no choice but to fight or surrender. They were not by nature a nomadic people. Nor was this Australia, with its thousands of square miles in which to hide.

  Even so, when scouts brought them news of the location of the Kingite’s camp, Coffin and his fellow colonials weren’t the only ones who tried to dissuade Gold from making a frontal attack. A couple of his own officers tried to remonstrate with their commander, to no avail. The arguments persisted as the expedition’s leaders gathered on a low hill to study the nearby pa in to which the enemy had retreated.

  “Come now, gentlemen, you can’t mean what you say,” said Gold as he lowered his spyglass. “However brave you think they are, these are still savages we are dealing with here. They’ve never had to face an attack by regular troops. I can assure you from experience that these Maoris will break and run as soon as we begin our advance.”

  “You can break a Maori, but you can’t make him run,” said one of the colonial officers. “They’re not your usual heathen.”

  “All heathen are alike.” Gold’s confidence was unshakable.

  A small party of soldiers had been sent to test the Maori’s will. Halfway to the pa they’d been turned back by a fusillade of rifle fire, clear indication those inside were ready and willing to resist. Meeting armed Maoris out in the open was dangerous enough, but taking a fortified pa was not something the experienced colonials were anxious to attempt.

  Kingi’s village was protected by an encircling stockade of stout Kauri pine. It sat atop a hill, which meant that any attackers would have to struggle uphill against whatever fire the village defenders could bring to bear. At least the rocky terrain had prevented the Maoris from adding a deep moat to their defenses. As the expedition’s officers looked on, smoke could be seen rising from several cook fires. Of the defenders themselves there was no sign. They wisely chose to keep their heads down lest some English sharpshooter pick them off. But neither Coffin nor any other militiaman doubted for a moment that they were being watched closely from at least a dozen spy holes in the wooden palisade.

  “If you would not have me attack, then what would you have me do?” Gold protested. “Return to Auckland?”

  “Of course not, sir.” The officer who had the courage to speak was one Captain Stoke, a man Coffin had already come to know and respect. As the men of the militia had learned during the long march, while Gold was senior among the soldiers he was by no means the most experienced in combat. In that regard he was outstripped by several Captains and not a few lieutenants. Like too many fellow officers in His Majesty’s armed forces, Gold owed his position more to social status and contacts than actual skills, although his knowledge of classical tactics gleaned from study was impressive.

  The only problem was, the Maoris were anything but classical opponents.

  To Gold’s credit, he was willing to listen to suggestions instead of slapping down those like Stoke who offered them.

  “I say we encircle the entire village,” said Stoke. “Taking especial care to station a large contingent by the stream that runs behind it. That will cut them off from their water supply and force them to use only what they’ve stored within the stockade. Then we wait them out.”

  “A siege?” Gold frowned unhappily. “I’m in no mood for a long campaign, Captain. It would be bad for the morale of the men.”

  “Bullets are worse,” someone muttered, but Gold didn’t hear him.

  “In case you have forgotten, gentlemen, we were sent here to put an end to this rebellion as expeditiously as possible. That is what I intend to do. These natives are to be taught a lesson in the superiority of European arms and tactics. We’ll teach them nothing by squatting around campfires and exchanging harsh words. The lesson is as important as victory.

  “I want the regiment ready to make a frontal attack on the main gate of this village tomorrow morning. Regulars in front backed by militia. The irregular volunteers will remain in the rear until they are called, by which time the village should be secured. I anticipate no difficulties, gentlemen. Once they see that we are determined to finish this and find themselves exposed to real soldiers I’m confident many if not all of them will lay down their arms and surrender. You see, we need only convince the commoners that their cause is hopeless and they will abandon their chiefs and leaders, who can then be rounded up and escorted back to Auckland for trial. Any questions?”

  Coffin studied the faces of the other officers. Clearly there were uncertainties, which no one chose to voice. Just as clearly Gold had his mind made up. They were going to attack in the morning. Coffin could see their hesitation. Gold just might be right. Confronted by professional troops some of the Maoris might indeed decide to surrender.

  Most of them, however, would be delighted at the prospect of doing battle with the best the pakehas had to offer. Coffin didn’t venture that opinion because he could imagine Gold’s reaction. Instead he contented himself with hoping the Colonel was right.

  As the meeting broke up and the officers returned to their tents, discussing details of the forthcoming attack among themselves, Coffin found a vantage point where he could see the cookfire smoke rising from inside the fortified pa. He missed Holly terribly. The older he grew the more indispensable she became to him. She was his anchor, his reassurance, the one who comforted him when things grew difficult. While that gratified him it also bothered him. He’d never intended to sacrifice so much of his emotional independence to any woman. But that was what he’d done.

  I’ve become domesticated, he realized with a start. Like a dog or a parrot. I, Robert Coffin, a man to be feared and respected. I’ve become the head of a fam
ily.

  And why not, he told himself? Why not ease back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of his labors? That he could look forward to sharing that with the company of a woman who loved him true ought to be reassuring, not troubling.

  Of course, no one would or could relax until the campaign concluded. If Gold was right, it would all be over tomorrow.

  Heavy cloud cover at sunrise forced even the determined Colonel to postpone the assault. All night rain had turned the slopes leading to the base of the Maori stockade into thick mud. In addition to complicating the loading of muskets and pistols it made any thought of a rapid, concerted rush up the hill impossible. Meanwhile the Maoris could wait and keep dry until it was time to open fire on the attackers.

  Gold was impetuous but he was no fool. They waited all that morning until the last of the low-lying fog lifted and an hour more for the sun to dry the saturated earth. Only then was the order given to advance.

  From his position at the head of a company of militia Coffin had to admit it was a grand sight. Nothing like it had ever been seen in New Zealand before. Helmets gleaming in the sun, buckles and buttons flashing, the brightly clad soldiers followed their officers across a small dry gully and up the hillside opposite. Bugles blew and drums rolled, the latter reminding Coffin of a chorus of keas startled from their tree. Waving impressively in the breeze above all was the Union Jack.

  His gaze rose to Wiremu Kingi’s pa. The cookfires still smouldered but of the stockade’s defenders there was no sign. Why didn’t they mount the wall? Either they were afraid of army sharpshooters or else Gold was right and they were huddling fearfully within. Much as he wanted to believe in that scenario he could not. It wasn’t Maori. But then, the Maoris had never faced anything like Gold’s experienced, disciplined troops. They’d always fought badly organized farmers and shopkeepers. If all the spit and polish, the bugle blasts and drum rolls impressed Coffin, what effect must it be having on the natives?”

  The fanfare ceased and everyone heard Captain Stoke’s voice ring out sharp in the late morning air. Like a machine the first line of troops dropped to one knee and raised their weapons. They fired and the ground shook as several hundred muskets discharged simultaneously.