by Sarah Lark
“But, but . . . the South Island. That’s where I came here from. We’ll have to cross the whole country.” Lizzie grew dizzy when she thought of the days of traveling with James Busby. “We’ll never manage that without them finding me.”
Kahu shook his head but gestured for her to be quiet. “What do you say, Uncle? It would increase both our mana to bring the wahine to safety. All the tribes will speak of us.” The Maori recognized a warrior’s influence and renown with mana.
The chieftain looked severely at his nephew. “The men around the fire may amuse themselves with such a story, Kahu, but will the spirits grant that your mana will grow? Isn’t the battle we wage for Aotearoa too serious and too holy to be decided by escaped women and broken flagstaffs?”
Kahu shrugged his shoulders. “Depends on the spirit,” he said in English. “Chief Hone Heke in Hawaiki will slap his sides at it.”
His forebear Hone Heke had died a few years before and now, according to Maori belief, held court on the legendary island Hawaiki.
Kahu winked at Lizzie but then pulled himself together and reformulated his response somewhat more eloquently in his own language.
The chief did not seem impressed. “Do you also carry the blame for something, Kahu? Do you want to go? Will we see the canoe again? Why would you take part in a journey like this that may cost you your life?”
Kahu laid his hand on his heart. “Uncle, what are you thinking? Of course the canoe will come back. Nor will this cost me my life. I’m a good sailor. And why do I do it? Well, why did Kupe steal Kura-maro-tini?”
Lizzie did not understand these last words, but she did see the chieftain grin. “So the voyage would lead us to new islands blessed by the gods,” he said. “But Kupe also returned, as is well known.” The chief seemed to eye Lizzie critically.
“What did you tell him?” Lizzie whispered to Kahu. “Why do you want to take me?”
The young Maori looked at her innocently. “Because we have a common enemy,” he explained. “And there’s no better friend than the enemy of an enemy.”
Lizzie frowned. None of that involved words she did not know in Kahu’s language. Really she ought to have understood better. Perhaps the Maori were speaking in allusions. They often did that, and Lizzie thought it would take more than a lifetime to hear all the legends and stories about Aotearoa and its ancient heroes, and to understand their meaning.
Kuti Haoka made his decision. “Very well,” he said, turning to the people of his tribe and raising his voice. “Kahu Heke, chieftain’s son of the Ngati Pau, will travel with the big canoe. May he journey with the blessing of the gods. Tangaroa may accompany his journey. We will prepare the canoe.”
“And you,” he said, turning back to Lizzie, “will be safe here until tomorrow. But if you want to accompany my nephew, so accompany him to the meeting house. I know the customs of pakeha. And no man of my blood is to besmirch your honor.” With that, the chief walked back inside the wharenui.
Lizzie leaped at Kahu. “What does he mean? We’re supposed to marry? Why?”
Sleeping together in the tribe’s wharenui meant marriage. Men and women who simply wanted to have fun together slipped off outside. In the Maori view, they did not thereby dishonor the women.
“The chief misunderstood something,” Kahu said offhandedly. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to you. Not here, not on the journey.”
Lizzie readily let the subject drop. There were other things that unsettled her far more. “How do you picture the journey, anyway?” she asked, thinking of Michael and Connor’s outrageous scheme to flee from Australia to New Zealand on a sailboat. “Do you mean to sail? Or row? The two of us all alone? Do you know how far it is? We have to go all the way around the island. That’s a long way, and it’s winter.”
Lizzie remembered that England did not send prison transport ships until it was spring. The ocean was considered too unruly in winter, and surely that was true of the Tasman Sea too.
Kahu looked at her sternly. “So do you want to get away from the old dog looking for you now or not?” he asked, almost angry. Apparently, he had been counting on more gratitude than penetrating questions. “And don’t you tell me how far it is. You seem to forget we were navigating around these islands ten generations before Tasman was even born. In summer and in winter, in spring and in fall. And now, excuse me. I must take possession of the chieftain’s canoe.”
Chapter 7
Putting the chieftain’s canoe into the water seemed to be a highly complicated and spiritual matter. The men of the tribe spent the day on the beach, leading dances, songs, and blessings. The women busied themselves with preparations for an opulent dinner. Lizzie helped them cut, season, and cook vegetables, fish, and pork for the farewell celebration.
Everyone was in high spirits, and by the afternoon the younger girls were wearing their traditional dancing clothes—woven upper body coverings and skirts of hardened flax strands—over which they wrapped blankets against the winter cold. The men were still celebrating on the beach when it grew dark, and the women greeted Ruiha and Kaewa as well as the Busbys’ cook. Lizzie was desperate for news from the councillor’s house and she was cheered when Ruiha waved at her right away with her bag. She had found it and taken it before Lizzie was even missed.
“It took a while for the master and mistress to understand everything that Mr. Smithers said about you,” explained Kaewa.
“And? Did they believe him?”
Lizzie had to ask even though she knew the answer. She couldn’t help but hope the Busbys appreciated her and her many years of tireless work. Perhaps they had simply thrown Martin Smithers out. Or maybe they were sending a letter to Van Diemen’s Land requesting pardon. Surely it would be granted—so many years with a family like the Busbys had to count for more than an escape.
But Ruiha nodded. “Yes, in the end, they did. Especially since you were gone. Perhaps if you had stayed . . .”
“Nonsense!” Kahu Heke shouted. He was returning from the beach. With him came all the other men, starving from all the singing and dancing for the god of the sea. “Don’t even think of going back, Elizabeth. The whites only believe the worst about people, even their own.”
Kaewa nodded. “The mistress said you had become suspicious lately anyway, being here in the village. She lost trust in you right away.”
Lizzie swallowed her tears. It was no use crying over injured pride. After all, it did seem that a righteous life was not to be her fate.
“Here, eat something,” Kahu said, handing her a bowl of meat and sweet potatoes. “And take a drink.” He held out a bottle of whiskey. “Forget the Busbys. Tomorrow we’ll be at sea.”
In the morning, Kahu and Lizzie loaded the chieftain’s canoe with provisions and water. She felt better as soon as she saw the craft. Until then she had always imagined the canoe as a sort of rowboat. But the Hauwhenua was a gorgeous outrigger canoe decorated with carvings, the pride of the tribe under Kuti Haoka. It only had its shape in common with the little boats in which the Busbys’ children liked to paddle around the bays. It offered space for at least twenty rowers or passengers, but as a rule, a sail, not muscle, powered a canoe like this. The outrigger ensured it would not capsize in rough seas.
Kahu explained to Lizzie that the sail, which was not square but oval and tapered into two blades, provided safety.
“It makes the boat faster,” he said. “And besides, it will help the boat sit more securely in the water when the wind blows. A very important innovation—only the pakeha still haven’t happened upon it.” Kahu smiled encouragingly as he tossed Lizzie’s bag on board. “You really don’t need to fear, pakeha wahine,” he added gently. “I’m sorry if I was gruff with you yesterday. I was unaware that you were afraid of the voyage.”
Lizzie nodded. She had since then thought about the words Kahu had said to his uncle the day before. Kupe had been the first settler to reach New Zealand from Polynesia, and Kura-maro-tini became his wife. Kahu must have
compared himself and Lizzie to those two; the chieftain had supposed that Kahu hoped to earn her love with a voyage to the South Island. Though the chief had not liked it, Lizzie understood that Kahu did not want to marry her right away. She was prepared to give herself to him as thanks for her rescue. After all, men insisted on such payment, and even if his face repulsed her, Kahu’s body was taut and agile. Sleeping with him would, no doubt, be more pleasant than her nights with Martin Smithers.
“What does Hauwhenua mean?” she asked, hoping to bring the conversation to neutral ground.
Kahu smiled. “Wind that blows from land. The canoe is to carry us forth from the coast.”
Finally it was time to depart. Almost the entire village led the travelers to the water. Ahead of everyone strode the chief, his untouchable daughter, and several priests. Their departure with the waka ama, the outrigger canoe, did not pass without songs and blessings.
Kahu gallantly helped Lizzie into the boat. She had to smile. Here they were, on the beach of Aotearoa, surrounded by a few half-naked singing and dancing natives, but Kahu behaved like a polite suitor inviting his sweetheart onto a rowboat in Hyde Park’s Serpentine lake. Kahu’s behavior was a mixture of tribal custom and an English education from his European teachers. Lizzie wondered if one would triumph over the other in the end.
Kahu first directed the Hauwhenua away from the South Island. Even though that was their destination, he thought it made more sense to sail along the west side of the North Island in the Tasman Sea. Lizzie gasped, almost panicking, when the land disappeared from view.
“You really don’t trust me, do you, Elizabeth? Is it because I’m not white? Or because you think me a dodger?”
Lizzie pulled her scarf more tightly around her head. It was sharply cold at sea. She tried to smile. “I, it’s just, it’s just the boat is so small for the wide-open sea. And, and you’re not a sailor.”
Kahu laughed. “I’m a born sailor, Elizabeth, like all men of the tribes. Have you never seen the Maori children in the bays with their little canoes? But I can ease your mind otherwise. I sailed on an English three-master from Tamaki Makau Rau to London.” Tamaki Makau Rau was the Maori name for Auckland.
“You’ve been to London?” Lizzie could hardly believe it.
Kahu nodded. “Aye, I wanted to see it once. So I hired on to an English ship. You have to know your enemy if you want to fight him successfully. And I wanted to know what the pakeha had planned. What they wanted to make of our country if we let them. I’ll tell you now, I didn’t like it.”
Lizzie shrugged her shoulders. “Well, London. It’s not evil, but the docks . . .”
“It’s a sewer, Elizabeth.” The words burst out of Kahu. “You know that yourself. There are beautiful houses, big houses, and rich people, of course. But the tribe does not stick together. Society is rotten. I’ve seen the children in the bad quarters who must choose either to steal or to starve. I can imagine what your past life was like.”
Lizzie blushed. “Did you . . . ?”
“Did I buy a pakeha girl for the night?” Kahu shook his head. “No. But not because I’m such a good person—sorry if I have to disappoint you on that. I went into town with the sailors. Only, the girls didn’t want me.” He pointed at his tattoos.
Lizzie smiled bravely. “I don’t mind,” she claimed. “So if you’d like . . .”
Kahu exhaled sharply. “So, you think that’s why I’m doing this?”
Lizzie shrugged.
“That’s not why,” said Kahu. He did not look at Lizzie though. “It’s something else entirely. If I’m ever to sleep with you, Lizzie, then it will only be in the meeting lodge in front of the eyes of the elders. I want to be part of your future, not your past. And I will be toku for you, not taku.”
Lizzie’s shy smile was real this time. “Was that just a declaration of love?” she asked carefully. “And what about the conflict between the Maori and pakeha? Or about the war you think is coming?”
Kahu was still looking out at the sea. “All wars end one day—for good or ill. And if you really want to know, I don’t believe we can throw the pakeha back out of the country. In the end, we’ll have to share it. We must learn respect for each other. Unfortunately, many of you only understand the language of war. Not you, though, Elizabeth Portland. You and I, we could make something new.”
Lizzie sighed. “You don’t know me, you know,” she said quietly. “Portland is not even my real name.”
Kahu looked at her, confused. He seemed embarrassed. But then he smiled.
“But I know the name of the canoe you came to Aotearoa in.”
Lizzie wished she wanted to kiss him, but she felt nothing except a vague form of peace as Kahu calmly shifted the sail.
“Will we go ashore at night?” she asked.
Kahu shook his head. “No. At first we’ll travel close to the coast, but later we’ll move away from it a bit, and then navigation becomes easier at night—as long as the gods let the stars shine. We’ll only land now and again to take on more water and provisions. But you really need not fear. This isn’t some voyage of discovery, Elizabeth. We’re sailing around a country that has belonged to my people for centuries—even if your people are only now reaching their hand out for it. You can go to sleep unconcerned. And tomorrow we’ll be looking in the direction of Hawaiki.”
To her surprise, Lizzie slept rather well in the swaying canoe, wrapped up in numerous blankets against the biting, winter cold. The air was fresh and made her sleepy. She awoke relaxed and no longer afraid. Lizzie started to prepare a breakfast, but Kahu called her to him first, pointing toward the coast. Imposing cliffs fell steeply into the sea. They were craggy and without vegetation. Only rarely did a kauri tree cling to a projecting rock on which a little soil seemed to have collected.
“Look, that’s Cape Reinga, the northernmost tip of Te Ika-a-Maui and, so, of all Aotearoa. From there wander the souls of dead Maori back to Hawaiki, the island from where the first canoes came.”
Kahu pointed out onto the sea. They could spy a little island, but after that, all was ocean—and no one knew where Hawaiki had really been located. Kahu’s ancestors must have sailed from unimaginably far away.
Lizzie shivered. “So Hawaiki lay to the north?” she asked. “Was it colder than here?”
Kahu took the dried meat and bread she handed him, and laughed. “Elizabeth, wahine, how long have you been on this side of the globe? Seven years or more? And in that time, have you still not realized that things are different here than in England? Hawaiki was warmer than Aotearoa. That’s why many of the plants our ancestors brought could not take root. In fact, only the kumara thrived, the sweet potato. You pakeha have fared better; your climate is similar to ours. Your plants flourish, and your animals all the more. You will all shape this country more strongly than we. You can do more with it. But that is still no reason to appropriate it without paying properly.”
Lizzie nodded but did not want to think too much about the fighting between Maori and pakeha. The land along which they sailed was too lovely—a pristine, wild, mountainous landscape dotted with white beaches and green hills. Toward evening, the land fell out of sight again and would remain invisible for several days. The thought unsettled Lizzie anew.
The weather was worse too. After two days, they were caught in a terrible storm. True, the Hauwhenua could hardly capsize, but it did not offer any protection from the weather. Waves washed into the canoe; Kahu was busy with the sail, so Lizzie bailed water out of the boat. She was soaked through within the shortest time, and her whole body shook with cold.
“But we’re making good progress,” Kahu declared, pleased, as lightning raged across the night sky. Indeed, the canoe only moved ahead, and the voyage seemed nothing but fun to the sailor.
Lizzie, on the other hand, only felt the need to pray. She asked herself seriously whether it was better to turn to Jesus Christ or Tangaroa, the Maori god of the sea.
Kahu shook with laughter whe
n she inquired to whom he was praying.
“You may find it funny, but I don’t want to blaspheme against God,” she said, annoyed. “Least of all in this storm. If you made someone angry up there . . .”
The tall Maori looked tenderly at the delicate girl who now looked like a wet, frightened cat. Lizzie could not guess how similar to his people she was. Kahu, at least, had never met a European who approached questions of religion so practically. Most pakeha had always struck him as bigoted.
“So you’d risk it in good weather?” he teased her, having to yell over the wind. “Pray to whomever you want, Elizabeth. You’re not in danger anyway. The wind will die down soon. We Maori learn that Tane is the god responsible for the wind, Tangaroa for the sea, and Papa for the earth. Yet in the missionary school, we sang songs about Jesus the shepherd, the sailor, the gardener in the Lord’s vineyard.”
“In the vineyard?” Lizzie asked. Her study of the Bible had not gotten as far as the vineyard, but that interested her.
Her question didn’t deter Kahu from his theological considerations. “Sometimes,” he continued, “I ask myself if that doesn’t all get to be too much for him.”
Lizzie had to laugh despite herself. “Look, there’s a star,” she called, pointing to the sky where the first clouds were drifting apart.
Kahu nodded. “There, you see? It’s clearing up. For which you can thank Rangi, the god of the sky.”
As it started to grow light, Kahu steered toward land. They needed supplies and to dry themselves.
“This is the region of the Ngati Maniapoto,” Kahu said as he pulled the canoe onto the beach. “In truth, they’re very warlike, but now that they host our king, they act very diplomatically. We’ll make a fire, you can warm yourself, and I’ll look around for drinking water.”
The area surely had plenty of water. It was defined by green hills and thick forests over which defiant rocks towered like giants. Lizzie was nervous when Kahu left her alone, but she took the opportunity to remove her completely soaked clothing, though all she had to cover herself with was an equally wet blanket.
