Nielson was not at all happy that he had to deal with this situation, since it looked very messy.
‘Aren’t you people supposed to honour the secrets of a man’s confession? What about confidentiality and all that, Edward?’
Edward Chatterton was indignant. ‘I’m not a Catholic priest. I don’t have any such constraints. I can tell deathbed confessions to whom I like. Listen, George, if you’re going to be sticky about this, let me remind you I have had a traumatic evening. A man has died in my arms, complaining that he has been murdered, and confessing to murder himself. That’s a shocking thing to have happen when one is settled for the evening with a nice cognac and a quiet time with a book to look forward to. I thought you army types were ready for any emergency?’
Pride came forth. ‘Well, yes, we are – but all the same . . .’
‘All the same, what?’
‘Nothing. I see your point. You have done your duty, Edward, and now I must do mine, however unpleasant the task. You realize of course this man Abraham Wynter is a captain, in the Honourable Artillery Company? No? Well, he is. Makes it damn awkward, really. A commissioned officer eating people? Of course he was only a seaman then, a deckhand I expect. It sounds very much like he was a runaway and deserter too. Jumped ship no doubt to do this gold digging? Many of them do, y’know? Oh, well, he’ll have to be brought to book. Daniel Kilpatrick? At least you got a full name out of him, before he expired. Well, we can check on this Kilpatrick, and Strickland. Abraham Wynter, eh? Supposed to be some sort of hero at the moment. Destroyed a nest of rebels down south. Well, he’s got himself a hornets’ nest now, hasn’t he? Go to bed, Edward. I’ll see to this. Sorry I flew at you. Shocking business, eh? Nasty. Very, very nasty. Ah, here’s my lieutenant back with the body.’
Nineteen
It was clear from the document in Jack Crossman’s possession that the land he had acquired through Abraham Wynter had previously belonged to Potaka, the Maori who had begun by being Jack’s enemy and had eventually become his friend. It was also clear that Potaka and his men were now dead, annihilated by Abraham Wynter’s rapid-firing steam gun. What was not known, but was feared by Jack as he travelled back to New Plymouth, was whether Amiri had also been killed in the same ambush. On arrival Jack learned from Ta Moko that Amiri was indeed one of those shot to pieces in the rebels’ cave.
‘Oh God, no,’ he said, almost breaking down before his Maori guide. ‘This is my fault! If I had not been so greedy for land—’
Ta Moko interrupted him. ‘You were not to know, Captain. And if not you, some other pakeha. This man Wynter, he is not a man to concern himself who buys what he has for sale.’
A rush of emotions flooded through Jack, including guilt and anger, and great sorrow. Potaka had chosen sides in a war and though his end was horrific, it was no worse than being blown to pieces by a shell, or cut down in a hail of rifle fire. Jack was sad that his friendship was over, but it had been a dangerous thing in any case. Had someone in authority known he was fraternizing with the enemy, he would have been in serious trouble.
But Amiri was a different matter. He had been in love with Amiri. It did not matter to him whether she was a rebel or not; her passing caused him terrible anguish and there was a rage in his heart for the man who had taken her. He knew he would have to kill Abe Wynter and fortunately the man was of the same rank. Jack knew what he had to do: force Wynter into a duel. Not so long ago Jack had fought a duel with a Captain Deighnton over nothing. Now he was ready to do the same with Captain Wynter, this time he had something to fight over.
‘Where is Abraham Wynter?’ he asked Ta Moko. ‘Can you take me to him?’
‘He is not here, Captain. He has flown.’
‘Flown?’ Jack wondered whether Ta Moko’s English had suddenly failed him. ‘What do you mean, flown?’
‘Sir, he has run away.’
Jack was at a loss. ‘I was led to understand – that is, I heard he was some kind of hero, for this action.’
‘Yes, Captain, he was. But no longer. They are hunting him. No one knows what he has done, but one Major Nielson wishes him captured for a crime.’
‘And you don’t know what this crime is?’
‘No one does.’
‘Major Nielson must or he would not be after him.’
Jack knew that Nielson was the Provost Marshal in New Zealand, the army’s policeman. He left Ta Moko and made his way to Nielson’s office. He found the major bent over a pile of papers, smoking a large cigar. Nielson looked up when he entered and though Jack knew him, he did not know Jack. A frown appeared on Nielson’s brow.
‘Can I assist you, Captain?’
‘Captain Crossman, sir, of the 88th. I am here on special duties connected with Colonel Lovelace.’
The major frowned even more fiercely, then his frown cleared and he said, ‘Oh, one of those.’
‘Yes, sir, one of those.’
‘What is it then? Be brief. I’m due to go to dinner with the general at six.’ He glanced at the clock, which told both men it was 5.44. ‘I rather hoped to finish these papers, too – but . . .’ He gave a gesture of helplessness, then, ‘Anyway, go on. You have some information of import to impart? Import to impart,’ he repeated, ‘I must tell Edward that one. Sort of rolls off the tongue, eh?’
Jack fumed with impatience.
‘I understand you’re hunting down Abraham Wynter. May I ask why?’
The major pursed his lips before saying, ‘No, Captain, you may not. At least, you may ask, but you will not get an answer.’
There was a heavy lump in Jack’s chest as he tried to contain his frustration. He knew he would get nowhere, however, if he revealed his feelings to this senior officer. Persuasion was what was required, not a display of wild emotions.
‘Sir, as you now already know, I am a spy. I am here setting up intelligence networks throughout New Zealand. As a spy I naturally deal in secrets. Secrets by the dozen. Secrets by the hundred. I began my career in espionage as a sergeant. I am now a captain. It would follow that I am able to keep secrets, or long ago I would have been discarded by my superiors or executed by the enemy. Colonel Lovelace, and before him, Colonel Hawke, held me in esteem. I do not say that to draw praise to myself, nor am I boasting. It is simply a fact. I am good at intrigue, which is not necessarily praiseworthy in the eyes of many men.
‘Sir, I have particular reasons for wishing to know Abraham Wynter’s crime.’ Jack bent the truth somewhat. ‘I was close to turning the leader of those Maoris he slaughtered in that cave. Unfortunately my duties took me to Auckland, and I was not able to complete my work. May I ask whether his crime has to do with the action he took on that day at the rebels’ hideout? If so, I should very much like to join the hunt for this man.’
Major Nielson leaned forward. His hands were now linked together, elbows on the surface of the desk, and he rested his chin on his knuckles. His eyes were fixed on Jack’s own.
‘Something has just occurred to me, Captain. Tell me, in the course of your duties for Colonel Lovelace I imagine you have acted as an assassin, have you not?’ He leaned back in his chair again and picked up his smouldering cigar, making it glow like a torch with a single draw. ‘I am familiar with the work of Colonel Lovelace. We went to school together and purchased our commissions in the same year. Come, come, you need not be coy with me, Captain. Do tell.’
A denial immediately sprang to Jack’s lips. Any decent army officer would be revolted by the idea that one of his colleagues was an assassin. But something in the major’s expression made Jack hold back on his refutation. Instead he said, ‘There have been occasions when all other methods have failed to produce a desired result.’
The major nodded, still staring into Jack’s eyes.
‘There is no hunt for Captain Wynter,’ he finally said.
Jack’s head went up. ‘No hunt? But . . .’
‘Oh, he’s wanted all right. We’re – that is, I’m hoping he’ll die out there in the bus
h. I don’t want him back here. If there’s a trial, there’ll be a scandal. The army doesn’t like scandals, as you well know. This wouldn’t stop here. Every newspaper in Britain would make it headline news.’
Jack’s mind was in a spin.
‘But what’s he done, Major?’
‘Killed a friend. Two actually.’
‘But that wouldn’t make headline news.’
‘And eaten one of them.’
Jack’s head jerked up again. ‘What – cannibalism? Here in New Zealand? A European?’
‘Not here. In Australia. There were three men who discovered gold, then were lost in the desert. Two of them killed and ate their comrade when they were starving. One of those men was Abraham Wynter. The other was a seaman called Strickland, whom Wynter had killed in a most horrific and bizarre fashion.’ The major leaned forward. ‘Now, Captain Crossman, you know as much as I do. The only other parties to this information are a priest and the general, neither of whom will ever divulge the latter part of this man’s crime. We are saying we want him for the murder of Strickland. You seem to want Wynter for other reasons, or you would not be in my office. My suggestion to you is to go out and find him – but don’t bring him back. Am I understood?’
Jack could not believe his luck.
‘Thoroughly, Major.’
‘Good.’ Nielson rose from his desk, pointing as he did so. ‘That missing hand – it won’t hinder you in this task?’
‘I hardly know it’s gone, sir.’
The major nodded and crushed his cigar butt in the hollow of a brick on his desk that he kept for the purpose. ‘I must go to meet the general. I will tell him only that I have engaged your services in tracking down Wynter. He will know what we know without being told. When you return – supposing you do return – you will say that you attempted a capture and your quarry resisted. Is that all clear?’
‘Absolutely.’
Jack turned to leave, when the major added, ‘Oh – and no witnesses.’
As Jack walked back to his quarters he pondered on that last remark. He would need Ta Moko to track for him. How would that work, when he came upon Abe Wynter? Was he to send his Maori off somewhere to do shopping while he destroyed his man? These senior officers wanted everything wrapped up neatly in a nice parcel that would not come apart. Well, they could not have it all ways. Jack would do his best. In any case, what the army wanted kept quiet was the cannibalism. Ta Moko was not privy to that information and it was doubtful whether Abe Wynter would have told anyone. A man was being hunted for murder. That is all anyone needed to know.
‘Wha—’ Jack’s heart skipped a beat as he came up against someone in the gloom, almost bumping into the fellow who was standing stock-still in his path.
‘Sir?’ said Harry Wynter. ‘You left us up there in Auckland. We follered you back.’
Private Wynter sounded pained, like a wife or child who had been abandoned on the road.
‘Oh, Wynter. I thought you were your brother for a moment.’ Jack breathed more easily. ‘Is Gwilliams with you?’
‘Yessir. In the billet.’
‘You’d better join him. I have something to do over the next few days. You will make yourselves useful around camp.’
‘We an’t comin’ with you?’
A feral dog slunk between them, passing through these two human pillars as if they were stone.
‘No, this is something I have to do alone.’
In the gloaming Jack saw Harry Wynter’s blind milky eye turn in its socket. It was a disconcerting sight. Harry’s breathing had quickened and Jack knew something of importance was coming.
‘You’re goin’ out after him, an’t you?’
There was no real gain in lying to this man.
‘I have been ordered to bring your brother in – dead or alive.’
The reply was belligerent. ‘Why can’t we come with you?’
‘I would think it was obvious, Private Wynter. This is your brother we’re talking about. You would be too personally involved. How do I know what your feelings would be? No, it’s best you stay here and await the outcome. If – if things go well and we capture him and bring him back for trial, you may stand as a character witness if you so wish.’
‘Character witness,’ snorted the private. ‘He an’t got no character, that bugger. He’s a murderin’ bastard, an’t he? Killed his best friend over what? A drunk argument, or somethin’? I just thought, well, we’re your men, me and the corp. You don’t do nothin’ without us, normally.’
Jack saw it then. Harry Wynter felt he was being sidelined. Nothing angered the private more than being ignored.
For once Jack Crossman decided to justify himself to this soldier who gave him so much trouble.
‘Private Wynter, this has nothing to do with your worth or enterprise. I value both. In truth I have been ordered to do this mission alone. I need Ta Moko of course, but not for his fighting skills – I need him to track for me. Gwilliams and yourself are soldiers I would not normally be without, as you say, but on this occasion I have no choice. A major has ordered it so.’
‘Oh, well, if a major said so,’ mumbled Harry, ‘then it’s gotta be, an’t it? Good luck, sir. Bring the bugger in.’ Amazingly he came to attention and saluted Jack. ‘He’s my brother, but he’s done a bad thing this time. No one wants to see his brother hung and I’m askin’ in advance if I can be excused the execution.’
Once again this strange excuse for a soldier had the ability to surprise his commanding officer.
‘Of course, Wynter. I would not expect you to witness the execution of a member of your family.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
They parted and Jack continued on back to his quarters in a bemused state. He slept badly that night and rose before dawn. Ta Moko came to him as soon as it was light and Jack told the Maori what they had to do.
‘We must travel fast, so there’ll be no sneaking through enemy territory.’
‘They will let us through. I will make them,’ said Ta Moko.
Jack was not sure how the Maori was going to do that, since not all Maoris were best friends with each other, but he left it at that. Jack dressed in his uniform, including his sword. He was not going out to kill a man in the camouflaged oddments he normally wore out in the bush. Gentlemen were quite particular about dressing for the occasion – they even had the ‘right clothes’ for fossicking or for collecting seashells on the beach – and Jack was only an exception in common times. Today was uncommon. Ta Moko was dressed in his usual canvas seaman’s trousers cut short at the knee and a thick woollen plaid shirt. He normally carried an ancient musket but Jack now gave him a new Enfield rifle, which Ta Moko accepted as though it were the crown jewels. They took with them just the minimum rations. Ta Moko was expert at trapping birds and other creatures. They would neither thirst nor starve.
The manhunters, for that was what they were, travelled on foot, swiftly through the bush. Ta Moko had made many enquiries the night before and knew the general direction in which their prey had travelled. Ta Moko also learned that Abe Wynter had taken three of his six Maoris with him. The other three had refused to go, even with the promise of a great deal of gold. It seemed that Wynter’s plan was to find a hideout where he could hole up until the army – and the government – forgot about him. Then he would make his way to the coast, hire a native boat, and escape across the ocean, probably heading for Australia.
His reasoning was fairly sound. If he went now for a boat, the navy would be on high alert for him. They would be checking all the native craft that took to the high seas. There was only one direction to go and that was north. Abe Wynter was not a man to spend the rest of his life on a Pacific island amongst savages. And if he went south he would end up in the freezing waters of the Antarctic. So hiding out until the furore died down was the best of his options. Also, he knew that the army would not be anxious to find him and grandstand his crime. They would be horrified if his story reached the newspapers. The
navy would not be so fussy. The army’s embarrassment was their smugness.
Jack and Ta Moko made good progress over two days. Sure enough, any hostile Maori they encountered proved an initial problem but these were quickly solved by Ta Moko.
‘This officer is seeking another for mano-o-mano,’ he told the rebels. ‘There is to be a fight to the death. The other killed the woman of this man by foul and underhand means.’
Magically, they were given free passage. No Maori would stand in the way of single combat between two rivals fighting over such a terrible transgression. It was a miracle they did not all trail behind the manhunters in order to watch the spectacle. They slapped Jack’s shoulder as he passed and wished him luck.
‘God be with you. May you cleave his head!’
For more than two weeks they scoured the hinterland seeking the runaway captain. At night they lit no fires so had to eat their meat fresh off the bone; a difficult task for Jack’s inexperienced teeth. Ta Moko found them wild root vegetables to eat and water in plenty to drink. Jack’s beard grew shaggy and uncomfortable, but he took no time to shave. One thing was good: he slept well out in the open, dropping off exhausted with the end of each old day and waking fresh with the following new dawn. His spirit began to flag however, when there was nothing to show after the passing of two whole weeks. Then they came across a lone elderly Maori, an eremite who tried to go by them without a word. Although the old man would not stop, Ta Moko would have none of it and questioned him by walking backwards and talking into the old man’s face. Jack’s guide learned that a white man and three or four Maoris – the old man was not good at counting, he told them – had settled at an abandoned hut not one day’s travelling from where he stood.
With the elderly Maori’s description of the area in his head, Ta Moko set out with Jack to find their quarry. They took fifteen hours to reach the place and arrived at dusk. Voices could be heard from a clearing amongst a grove of flame trees. Creeping on their bellies, Jack and Ta Moko observed the hideout from the forest pale. A fire had been lit in front of the hut. The roof of which had collapsed in one corner. Abe Wynter was sitting in a makeshift chair staring moodily into the flames of the fire, while his three Maori were squatting nearby, talking to each other in low voices.
Kiwi Wars Page 24
