by Joanna Orwin
Despite the strangeness of their foods, they cooked the fish, potatoes and kumara we gave them and did not eat them raw. Accordingly, that eating of cooked food in the way of humans and our investigations of their physical nature led us to think they could perhaps be men like us and not supernatural beings. Friendship of a sort then developed amongst us.
Even so, their habits were not ours, and their atua were different from ours. We knew this because they continued to ignore the rituals and protocols that protected the spiritual wellbeing of our people, but did not suffer any consequences. Accordingly, our chiefs conferred, and, they agreed it would be best to continue to gift those strangers from the sea with all they desired so they would soon sail away and leave us to live our normal lives.
Because of the time of year, the hospitality we could offer those strangers was generous, but our chiefs knew feeding so many extra mouths would soon deplete our winter supplies and sorely stretch their ability to provide for our people, thus testing their mana. We had just returned to the coast after the kumara harvest to capture the autumn shoals of surface-feeding maomao that run in the waters of Te Puaha o Tokerau. According to the saying of our ancestors, once the maomao have finished their run, they do not return, so we could not delay our final effort to supplement food supplies for the approaching winter. Nevertheless, we brought to the ships each day our baskets of fish, potatoes and freshly dug kumara.
Canoes filled with Zealanders came out to the ships to trade whenever conditions were calm enough. After that first day when both ships had been overrun by Naturals, Monsieur Marion took his second-in-command’s advice. Only the chiefs were now allowed on board. Although the others were initially disappointed, they soon settled to a routine of handing up their baskets of fresh food to the sailors lining the rails of the ships, mostly in exchange for nails or small pieces of old iron. Once it was made clear that they would not be allowed on board, the women no longer bothered coming out to the ships. Monsieur Crozet promised the men that the embargo would be in place only until they had established good relationships with the local chiefs. ‘We need to ensure we don’t trespass in our dealings with their women.’
Jean thought the women were ugly enough to quell the ardour of even the most indiscriminating amongst the men. ‘I doubt Monsieur Crozet will have any mutiny on his hands.’
With the Mascarin’s longboat and its crew fully occupied in fetching firewood and casks of fresh water from a nearby island, the expedition leader suggested that Monsieur du Clesmeur join him and his officers in taking the Castries’ boat to explore the islands and the harbour beyond. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree, sir, that our next priorities are to find wood suitable for repairing the ships and a more sheltered anchorage. We’re too exposed here should the wind change.’
Monsieur Marion was showing no sign of the earlier impatience that had coloured his dealings with the captain of the Castries. Much to Jean’s disgust, he was conciliatory towards him, even standing back to let him take the best seat in the stern of the longboat. ‘Ma fois, anyone would think he was the subordinate officer,’ he muttered to André as the two ensigns waited to board the boat with the other officers selected for the excursion.
André shrugged. ‘What’s he got to lose by being polite? Anyway, it’s Monsieur du Clesmeur’s boat.’
Jean was dismissive. ‘Technically, it’s Monsieur Marion’s boat. Now things are going better for us, he’s suddenly remembered that young sot’s an aristocrat. And his uncle’s our sponsor. So he’s toadying up to him once more.’
There was no point arguing with Jean, but André thought Monsieur Marion’s behaviour befitted that of a good leader. Surely it made sense to keep the Castries’ captain on side?
Accompanied by the carpenters, the sergeant-at-arms and some of the soldiers, the officers took the longboat through the eastern channel, heading towards the mainland several leagues distant. The entire coast was lined with villages, most of them situated on headlands and fortified by ditches and palisades. Everywhere they looked, they saw slopes cleared for gardens, although most of these seemed to be lying fallow.
Monsieur Marion concluded they had arrived not long after the annual harvest. ‘Our good fortune, gentlemen—these people will have plenty of produce to trade with us.’
Wherever they landed, the Naturals gathered on the beaches to greet them and make them welcome, often performing one of their curious dances. One in particular involved waving branches of green leaves accompanied by a long, wailing dirge. Jean said it sounded more like a wake than a welcome. ‘If this is their practice when they’re happy, I’d hate to be around when they’re sad.’
Best of all, they found a cove backed by overhanging trees with many tough, curved exposed roots that would provide excellent preshaped timber for repairing the Mascarin’s damaged forepart. To André’s surprise, Monsieur du Clesmeur volunteered to stay there and supervise the carpenters.
Monsieur Marion hesitated. ‘If you insist, sir. I’d hoped for your company in exploring further along the shore.’
‘More toadying!’ Jean muttered as the captain bowed in acknowledgement. ‘Why doesn’t he point out that the carpenters know their business well enough without his help?’
‘My thought was that one of us should remain here in case an important chief arrives expecting courtesies,’ Monsieur du Clesmeur explained, taking out his snuff box.
As the expedition leader nodded in agreement, Jean continued his murmured asides to his cousin. ‘No doubt he sees himself granting gracious audiences!’
André shrugged. He was growing tired of sticking up for the Castries’ captain. ‘More likely he’s no intention of exposing those elegant shoes to saltwater.’
Leaving the captain to direct the men in cutting planks and cheeks to brace the bowsprit amidst a great crowd of interested Naturals, the other officers strolled further along the beach to enjoy the beauty of this secluded spot. Soon drawing ahead of Monsieur Marion and the main party, André and Jean clambered across rocks towards a headland. Accompanied by Thomas Ballu, the grizzled sergeant-at-arms, they hoped to find some game birds in the bay beyond. As they rounded the point, they heard some sort of commotion. Curiosity overcame caution, and they hastened their steps.
Drawn up on a flat grassed terrace behind the beach were two groups of heavily armed Zealanders, evidently about to join battle. Before the three Frenchmen could retreat, they were spotted. Two men—chiefs from the white feathers they wore in their hair—immediately left their place and walked purposefully towards them. Both carried lethal-looking stone clubs and toothed spears. Other men watched, their own weapons poised.
‘No point running for it, gentlemen,’ said Ballu. ‘That lot would soon have us, with those rocks back there to slow us down.’
‘What do you suggest?’ Jean deferred to the experienced old soldier.
‘Bluff it out—act nonchalant.’ Ballu faced the oncoming chiefs, his musket slung casually over his shoulder. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Not our fight, is it? Wait and see what they want.’
Just when André thought they were within range of those spears, the two chiefs put their weapons down and came on empty-handed, calling out to them. The ensign then recognized both of them. With a deep breath, he said, ‘They were on board yesterday—they know us!’
‘Seem friendly enough,’ agreed Jean. ‘’But keep that musket close at hand, Monsieur Ballu.’
‘Stay relaxed, gentlemen,’ said Ballu. He took the musket off his shoulder and grounded it, then continued to wait for the two chiefs.
André did not dare take his eyes off the two Zealanders. They might now be unarmed, but their warriors were watching not far away, wary and on the alert. Beyond them, the other armed group now indulged in some sort of dance, much like the ferocious performance they had witnessed on board the Mascarin. Even at this distance, the sound of their screams and deep-throated grunts was enough to make his heart race.
The chiefs reached them. The
y first approached Ballu and pressed noses with him, then it was the ensigns’ turn. The Zealanders’ nowfamiliar smell of sweat and fish oil was even stronger than usual. The two chiefs wasted no time. They gestured at the musket, then took Ballu by the arm, tugging at him.
‘They want you to go with them,’ said Jean. Relief made him laugh. ‘And we thought we were about to be killed—they simply want you as a mascot!’
The sergeant-at-arms allowed the chiefs to lead him along the beach towards their waiting warriors. The ensigns watched as the two chiefs took their places at the head of their party, Ballu with his musket placed between them. On a signal, the opposing groups of warriors moved off in ranks, marching towards each other. When they were a short distance apart, perhaps fifty paces, they halted. André watched, amazed, as one fiercely tattooed warrior came to the front of the other group and began twirling his long spear. His rapid movements, fluid and practised, were accompanied by grimaces and bitten-off grunts. None of the others moved. Both sides waited in silence. Then the whirling warrior suddenly faltered. He lowered his spear and stared.
André exclaimed, ‘He’s only just spotted Monsieur Ballu!’
At that moment, the two chiefs thrust Ballu right forward. The sergeant-at-arms raised his musket and immediately fired a shot over the head of the warrior facing him.
The sharp percussion startled both sides, but the other group was the first to react. Their challenger following, they turned and fled in complete disarray. With a howl of glee, the victorious warriors set off after them, only abandoning the pursuit after their defeated enemy had disappeared around the distant headland. They then returned to their waiting chiefs. Gathering up Ballu, the whole group returned to where the ensigns were watching, then escorted the Frenchmen back to the longboat, laughing and singing all the way.
‘What’s it feel like to be the conquering hero?’ Jean asked Ballu, grinning, when the Zealanders at last stopped patting the sergeant-at-arms and smothering him with their peculiar embraces.
‘Hard to know how serious that skirmish would’ve been, sir,’ said Ballu. ‘Looked like a lot of posturing to me. Anyway, I knew those spears were no match for my musket. It seemed wise to go along with what they wanted.’ The phlegmatic sergeant-at-arms shrugged. ‘Myself, I could do without all this fuss.’
When they told the two captains what had happened, Monsieur Marion congratulated the sergeant-at-arms. ‘You’ve done us a great favour, Monsieur Ballu. These Naturals will look on us as allies from now on.’
‘But we’d better steer clear of the ones who ran away,’ Jean muttered to André. ‘They mightn’t be so enthusiastic!’
‘Certainly, their fear of muskets is to our advantage,’ said Monsieur du Clesmeur. ‘We only have to raise our weapons to bring these savages to order.’
When they turned inquiring faces towards him, the captain hastened to deflect attention from the sergeant-at-arms with an account of his own. He told them at great length what had happened after he was left in charge of the carpenters. Almost as soon as the rest of the landing party had scattered in different directions, the crowd of Zealanders gathered on the beach started to make threatening noises. ‘The men had scarcely begun work when some of the Naturals began jostling them. Some even tried to take away their axes and saws.’
Alarmed by the increasing agitation amongst the Naturals—and uncomfortably reminded of their experience in Van Diemen’s Land, Monsieur du Clesmeur said he took firm action. ‘I drew a line in the sand around our workers, then took one of the chiefs by the arm and led him beyond it. He seemed to understand my gestures immediately, and withdrew his people behind the line.’
Once the soldiers took positions along this line, their muskets in clear view, all the Zealanders moved back, although the captain said some of them kept murmuring discontent. He preened himself, unable to hide his satisfaction. ‘Nevertheless, we were able to complete our work without any further interference.’
‘Nicely done, sir,’ said Monsieur Marion. ‘A firm but friendly hand is all that’s needed. Take heed, gentlemen—Monsieur du Clesmeur’s approach should be used as a model for all our behaviour towards these people.’
Although Monsieur du Clesmeur pretended modesty, he was obviously gratified by the praise. Jean was unimpressed. ‘Ever more toadying from our leader,’ he commented later to André. ‘Mortdiable—the man had a detachment of soldiers with him. He wasn’t in any danger. Not like our friend Ballu. Now that was truly brave.’
André thought his cousin a trifle harsh. ‘Monsieur du Clesmeur hasn’t had much experience. It’s hardly fair to compare him with an old campaigner like our sergeant-at-arms. I think he kept his composure remarkably well.’
‘I don’t understand why you keep defending him,’ said Jean. ‘Either one of us would’ve done exactly the same. Wait and see—we might yet get the chance to show our own mettle.’
Extract from the Te Kape manuscript, 1841
At that time, many related peoples lived in and around Tokerau with rights to its rich resources, their kinship ties like intermingling grains of sand that pour as one stream from the hand, ties that stretched from the rich garden-lands of Taiamai inland, west to Hokianga and east to Te Rawhiti, where the whales blow. Ngati Wai and Ngare Raumati held the eastern seaboard. My people were of Ngare Raumati descent, and Te Kuri, our principal fighting chief, had a stronghold on Orokawa in the eastern harbour as well as a large settlement at Whangamumu on the outer coast. Te Kuri himself had links with Te Hikutu, a Hokianga people who had won rights to land in the western harbour. Ngati Pou held the outer islands of the harbour at that time, and lived inland as far as Taiamai and west to Hokianga. We lived in peace with Ngati Pou even though they were not the closest kin to us. Te Roroa, Ngati Hineira, Ngati Manu, Te Kapotai, Ngati Rangi—those are some of the related peoples, eastern and western, I remember in Tokerau at that time, and many were their chiefs. [Ed: genealogical lists of often indecipherable names omitted here] Ngati Rangi mostly lived inland at Waimate and Taiamai but had fishing grounds here in Tokerau, and some of their people were living at Paroa and on Motu-arohia. Descendants of Ngati Awa were also still living here in Tokerau at that time.
The relationships between all those peoples ebbed and flowed like the tides and the intermingling waters of the harbour. Te Pikopiko i Whiti—where the winding inlets flow out into the inner harbour. That is the place where Hine-nui-te-Po receives our dead. Te Puaha o Tokerau—where those inner waters disperse into the outer harbour and merge with the deep sea waters, beyond the point now known as Tapeka. Where those inner and outer waters merge, that boundary shifts according to the inflowing or outflowing tides. At the time we are talking of, eastern and western chiefs were rival authorities in Tokerau, their influence ebbing and flowing like those tides. So that is those names.
Of those chiefs, Te Kuri held a position of strength because of his close ties with both the Hokianga people from the far western coast and Ngare Raumati here on the eastern coast. Accordingly, he was ill-pleased when some of te iwi o Mariou took up arms in support of a rival Ngati Pou group. Mariou’s people also cut timber without first asking permission. I remember Te Kuri saying their presence could quickly become an irritant, a plague of namu namu, whose barely felt stings then set the skin aflame long after the insects themselves have disappeared.
It was only when the ships came into the harbour and anchored off Orokawa where Te Kuri and his close ally Pikiorei had their strongholds, thus bringing those strangers from the sea under his mana as guests, that he was persuaded to tolerate their lack of manners—that, and the iron they were so willing to gift us.
‘Come aboard with your senior officers, Monsieur du Clesmeur, if you please,’ said Monsieur Marion. ‘Pay careful attention to our progress through the channel so you may better bring in your own vessel.’
The young captain seemed happy to comply. ‘That would indeed be helpful, sir.’ Then, as though he felt the need to emphasize his independence, he added
somewhat pompously, ‘It’ll give me the opportunity to focus on further bearings to supplement the plan I’ve drawn up for this harbour.’
André noticed the Castries’ second-in-command, Monsieur Le Corre, stiffen slightly at this pronouncement, then shrug his shoulders. Jean nudged his cousin. ‘De par tous les diables, our young aristocrat takes the prize—I know for a fact Monsieur Le Corre does all the chart work on the Castries.’
‘The captain has been out most days taking bearings and soundings,’ André objected.
‘Anyone can do that,’ said Jean. ‘The actual cartography’s a different matter. He’s claiming credit not due to him.’
With the senior officers of both ships crowded on the Mascarin’s quarterdeck, they set sail as soon as it was light. The wind had changed direction and was now favourable for entering the large harbour that lay behind the line of islands. The morning was fine, the temperatures almost warm after the months of cold and wet they had endured. Moving slowly under small sails in a light breeze, the ship sailed across the bay towards the wider western channel they had carefully sounded over the previous week. A brilliant aquamarine sea reflected the multitude of rocky islets, their colours ranging from ochre to black. Between the rounded humps of larger islands clad in various shades of green, vistas of incomparable beauty constantly opened up before them, revealing yet more islands and sheltered coves. Beyond these, they caught glimpses of the large harbour they had already named Port Marion, where calm, silvered water glimmered against a distant background of high, blue mountains.
Everywhere they looked, the industrious Zealanders who lived in this paradise had shaped the landscape to suit their purposes. André watched as they sailed past the many fortified villages perched on headlands, each one with its strategically placed fosses and smaller ditches, rising in terraces up to the high palisades that surrounded the huts grouped on the summits. In their exploratory excursions around Port Marion, he had already noticed that few of the villages lacked fortifications. As well, apart from those small settlements sited near extensive areas of cultivation, most villages were built on the tops of steep hills where they would be difficult to attack. Such precautions seemed to contradict the apparent friendliness they encountered everywhere they landed.
