The Reverend responded, "I mean that the places are receiving English names. For example, they have named Te Pukatea, 'White's Bay'."
Robulla scoffed, "Well, now, isn't that creative! They're not short on modesty, I'll give the white men that much."
The Reverend replied, "No, no, Chief. They have named it after Black Jack White, the American Negro. Do you remember him? The Maori here have told me much about him."
Robulla replied, "Ha! The boy from Mississippi? Remember him? He is like a son to me!"
The Reverend said, "Perhaps I should warn you before you travel inland."
The Chief simply glared at the reverend as he departed.
Moving over the hills from the shore, Robulla and his warriors reached the flat floor of the wide Waitohi valley. They could scarcely believe what they encountered. Spread out in all directions for as far as they could see were white stakes stuck in the ground at regular intervals, knee-high, like small grave markers. It looked like the entire basin had been turned into a massive cemetery. The fact that it had all been done without Robulla's consent did not quickly escape him. He was hopping mad. He ordered his men to pull up each and every baton blanche. Satisfied that he had stopped the current encroachment upon his sovereignty, as the white man had so nicely put it at the treaty signing, the Chief set up camp at White’s Bay. He wanted to stick around for a while and head off any further trespasses.
Within days a team of indignant, self-important investigators stood upon his doorstep at White's Bay, demanding an explanation for his vandalism. He simply replied that no permission had been sought to survey the land; and certainly nothing had been paid to the Maori of Cloudy Bay for the acquisition of any new lands. The men were adamant that he had signed a deal which encompassed the Waitohi valley. Recalling no such entitlement mentioned in the Treaty of Waitangi, the Chief was equally vociferous in expressing that he had not. The argument heated and spread to many more parties, coming and going, over the next few days. Finally the order was issued that a constable with armed assistance be sent to arrest and shackle the great and illustrious Robulla for contempt of the Crown's orders.
What ensued was a showdown. It occurred at a little patch of flat, grassy land right next to the gentle river flowing through the middle of the serene valley being fought over. The Maori called it Wairau. Some say that it was merely an incident, causing the death of only a few people. Other accounts claim that it was a massacre involving hundreds. Regardless, the legend lives on in the annals of New Zealand history and is retold many ways by different people. Perhaps only the tall Titoki tree, which stands there still today by the stream for which the site is named, knows the full story. The following is written with excerpts taken directly from a newspaper clipping held at the Picton Historical Museum, right down the road from where it happened:
Cloudy rays fell on the tattooed face of an old man as his eyes yearned skyward. With outstretched and uplifted arms, he cried, "Farewell, oh Sun, farewell thou world of light, come, oh night, come on, oh Death!" He stood on a flat plain near a stream. Beside him lay the sprawled body of a dead white constable from town, still in uniform clutching the handcuffs and leg irons that he had brought to capture the Chief.
Several feet away, a Black man in whaling clothes held his Bible overhead, and proclaimed, "Have faith, Robulla, have strength. Not a hair on your head will be harmed, by the grace of God. Believe that, and you will be saved!"
The old Chief continued to tremble and chant heavenward, a revolver in one hand. Around the perimeter of the clearing lay strewn the bodies of four Maori and twenty-two Pakeha. Countless others, weaponless or wounded, cowered in the bushes along the small river.
II
Something happened to both of them at Wairau. It was a transcendental transformation for both Black Jack and Robulla. Exactly why or what is hard to explain. Beyond the sheer magnitude of the event around them and its ramifications, something big occurred inside each man that changed them forever. On the surface, one man recoiled at the sight of the shackles; and the other found Jesus for the first time.
For Black Jack, the shackles held ominous significance. Seeing them along with the horrible tragedy ripped open wounds and laid bare parts of his soul that caused him to reconsider his returning to America. The possibility of being sold back into slavery entered his mind. He also saw the cuffs and leg-irons as evidence of what the British were planning for New Zealand, with evil intentions after all. The ordeal roused a sense of higher purpose and duty toward this new land that he loved, evoking ideals of loyalty and commitment. He suddenly felt as though his place were here, and that he was morally obligated to stay and fulfill his destiny in this country. That destiny, he concluded, included standing by the vulnerable Maori. He wanted to stand for truth and justice in the face of the white threat, standing up for the land itself along with its native people.
Ironically, Robulla got saved by the white man's Savior. From the short time that he spent with Reverend Ironside and the Maori converts at White's Bay, Robulla learned enough about Jesus Christ to believe. In his heart now, he knew Who had kept him from coming to harm at Wairau. The old chief’s faith was prompted along by Black Jack’s vociferous sermonizing and enthusiasm as well.
Miracle or no, the experience at Wairau was powerful enough to convince Robulla to accept the Lord as his personal savior. This spiritual awakening in the midst of a life-threatening crisis helped the two to form a brotherhood that dispelled any mistrust that may have arisen between them stemming from Black Jack's previous deeds or words. That is to say, Robulla was not inclined to accuse Black Jack of giving bad advice on the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, or of being in cahoots in any way with the white man; even if he had lived long enough to somehow influence them to name a bay after him. All of that palled in comparison to Robulla's new soul.
Even greater than their newfound peace and joy was their rekindling of good will. All mistrust between them was laid aside in light of their shared belief in The Lord. At Black Jack’s suggestion, they agreed that an offering of disarmament to the whites would be a good idea. In return, he thought, the whites would probably offer to exchange goods and services for the relinquished rebel guns as a show of good faith. Robulla was not thrilled by the idea, but he relented to the wisdom of the prospect.
Furthermore, Black Jack suggested that Robulla move away from the white whaling settlement of Kakapo, owing to his involvement at Wairau and the problems his involvement there may pose for him in the near future. He said to Robulla as they strolled White's Bay a few days after the massacre, "Chief, I have a plan. First, we're gonna go back to Kakapo, just you and me. Now you know and I know that those are good folks, and they've always treated me and your people reasonably well. They didn't have anything to do with this latest land grab, and they've certainly been there long enough to belong. Let them be the first one’s that you make an offering of peace to. Take that rusty old revolver that you shot that constable with and offer it to them for some blankets or tobacco. See how that strikes them! Surely, word of that will make it around the white settlements. It's bound to have an effect."
The old chief looked perplexed at first, then finally relented. He said, "All right. You have been right about most things so far. Let us go and do this thing. What do we have to lose?"
June 22nd, 1843:
They seem scared, thought Robulla. They got two ships and a slew of sailors in the bay, and still they are standoffish. He set the six-barreled pistol upon the table. Several of his women counted shillings, saying that the shore whalers should sell them something. Our money is as good as anyone else's, thought Robulla. Besides, this family should be grateful for me saving them from that shipwreck years ago. And for selling them this damn land afterwards! Why are they so nervous? He wondered. I didn’t start anything at Wairau, he thought. That dumb constable didn’t listen when I told him to keep his damn hands off me. What was I suppose to do? I didn’t know that old piece of crap was gonna go off. They mad
e the damn thing, now they are acting like they are doing me a favor to buy it back.
Robulla felt he was showing a real effort to make total peace. What more could he do than sell them his gun? He asked himself. What good was money if it did not seal a bargain with trust? He wondered. The entire experience left a bad taste in his mouth, and he departed the whaler's house disgusted. The only man who seemed to have any respect for Robulla, he thought, was the man who had married Kueka. This Pakeha was now busy running back and forth between the house and the ships in the bay. Robulla stopped him coming up the hill and asked, “Are you scared? Or is there some other reason that you can’t stop to talk to your uncle for a moment?”
Mr. Wynen swallowed hard. He said, “Everyone is real busy giving their account to the authorities on who was responsible for Wairau. That’s all. No worries. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got more stores to roll out from the hold.”
Later that day at White's Bay, Robulla said, "Black Jack, I just don't trust them. They all seem to be bothered by something, and totally uninterested in resolving the differences between Pakeha and Maori. They were all running around like they each had a bug up their ass. It was driving me crazy, so I left."
Black Jack chuckled. "Well, did you discuss disarming with them? You know, calling a truce and getting back to the goals of the Treaty of Waitangi?"
"I showed them my gun and tried to talk with them. I even tried to use some of their kind of money to buy some stuff. You know, to show that I could deal on their terms."
"And?"
"And nothing. They milled about the house as if I was a dog they wanted to let out. It was humiliating. I've never been made to feel less important, even by you!"
Black Jack said, "Oh well, at least you made the effort. They will remember that."
"Bollocks! They were sweeping the dust out on my heels. I don't know how you have lived with those people for so long. And you consider yourself one of them now, don't you!"
Black Jack looked down. "No, not really."
"But what of the great whaler? You've been doing so well for years. Has all that changed?"
"Look, Chief, since Kueka's murder, I'm confused myself. Just like when I finally found Kumari. It hasn't been easy for me losing my faith in two peoples. I've had to become my own person completely, with a little faith. You've learned that yourself." The Chief nodded. Black Jack continued, "So believe me when I tell you that my trust in the white man isn't that great right now either. I've seen a lot of bad things that I don't like in my many years of whaling. One of them being, the slaughter of whales. At first, they were just dumb beasts to me; but now they are just as beautiful as any of God's other creations. And the white man is killing them all. In just a few years, I have seen their numbers dwindle. I cannot face staying here and watching them all disappear. If I do, I fear I will see the same fate for the Maori."
Robulla said, "I hear you, but what about the money? I thought that you were going to become the great wealthy whaler and return to your homeland in triumph over the white man. What has happened to that dream?"
Black Jack said, "Chief, I feel that I now have a higher calling here. Besides, I have not become wealthy. Whaling in Winter and lazing in Summer does not make a man rich. That type of wealth does not interest me anymore anyway. It is spiritual wealth that I seek now. This is my home, and I want to defend it. I do not feel the yearning to return to America that I once did. I want to shape the destiny of this new land along with my own. Like you, I do not trust the white man's intentions, but I believe that he can be guided to do the right thing with this land and its native people. Seeing those shackles again shocked me. They are a warning that the evil of man against man can spring up anywhere. Evil has to be thwarted by good men like you and me. I am leaving the white man and the Maori for awhile, and I am going to live as a monk in complete solitude and silence."
Robulla was skeptical. He thought the man had finally gone mad. Not returning to America? We will see, my friend. He thought.
Chapter 23
Solid black night held deafening silence. No bells tolled the time. No watch knew the hour. A set of hands sifted through soft ashes like hot snow in the dark. Two lips pursed as a pair of cheeks puffed. He blew gently on the smoldering stone. Orange light oozed briskly from the core of the coal. Beating to each breath, the radiant ember pulsated from red to yellow, like a diamond heart on fire, pumping bright life into the face of its reviver and his room. Heat flowed on the cold heels of fleeting shadows. The vast area where light was lacking fell backward when the wavering warmth waned with his lung wind. At last satisfied with its steady strength, he removed the burning rock from its pale with blacksmith's tongs and placed it in the ready stove where it promptly ignited the waiting tinder. Peering in upon his new home's first flames, Black Jack cheerfully said aloud, "Merry Christmas to me, in 1843."
The whalers had helped him move. Like Robulla, they all thought he was mad to leave such a lucrative profession at its peak. Black Jack assured them that he was making the right decision by virtue of the fact that he had prayed a long time about it. Besides, he had noticed that the last couple of seasons had seen significantly fewer whales come into the bay; and the supposed shore whalers had to search further out to sea for the great creatures: Something that they seemed slow to admit. A 'trend' they all said, nothing to become alarmed or concerned about in the long run for whaling as a whole. Two slow seasons did not a bust of the business make; and besides, there were just too many whales for their small operation to have affected the overall number of the leviathan. That's what they all had said; but Black Jack knew better. His common sense told him that killing the calf along with the cow would eventually mean no more cattle: A simple principle which was as true in whaling as it was in farming. Trying to tell the whalers that the world was a farm and that they were more like cattle rustlers than good farmers was like telling a drunkard that the brewer was going belly-up. They would hear none of it. They all joked him about something called 'Amistad'; as it seemed to them that his sudden upheaval from the Pakeha village was a sign of his rebellion. In the end, however, all farewells had been handled in good spirits with no hard feelings between Black Jack and the crew from Kakapo. In fact, to show their good will and appreciation, they had helped him move his few worldly possessions from the seaside village to his newly selected site inland.
"Are you going to be a hermit now, Black Jack?" One of the men had asked.
"Something like that." Black Jack replied.
They banded together to help build him a 'proper' home, with sawed timber beams and plank walls. It also had a wood shingle roof instead of the manuka branches that served as the watershed for so many Maori huts in the pa. The wood came from sheers that were either splintered or showed the first signs of not being shipshape. Once they were shored within the small building, they served their purpose well. Supplies were brought as well to give Black Jack a sterling start to his strive for independence. He was stocked with the essentials, including a sturdy double-edged five-pound axe, a one-pound hammer, an assortment of nails, a cast-iron pot, one frying pan, one plate, one tin cup, a set of utensils, and a hoe. All were carried on a small cart pulled by a mule, along with a potbelly stove and a large copper water cistern. It reminded Black Jack of home, complete with the iron chalice for stoking the hopefully eternal fire.
Since he was saying his goodbyes during the holidays, the sailors insisted on his staying for one last sendoff. He obliged them a sentimental soiree of celebration and singing at the grog shop. It was almost as festive as his fateful night following his first flensing, but Black Jack ended the fun and fanfare early. Fetching a pale of flame, he fended a phalanx of spear grass and fern as he fled for his new castle and fortress of freedom. He desired to provide himself with all of the creature comforts. Ironically, he was faced again with debating whether the perpetual furnace was his servant or his master. As the first droplets fell from the threatening clouds, a cold wind followed. Still, he
felt that he had done the right thing for Christmas Eve. There was one more thing that the gang had managed to get especially from Sydney to help Black Jack pass the long nights alone. Now in the light, he compared the shiny brass of his new mouth harp to the dingy tinge of his old one. He played a few notes on each and found they that they set their respective tones.
Since the Wairau Massacre, a lot had happened with Robulla as well. He had gone to trial in town and been acquitted. The governor at the time was sympathetic to the Maori as a whole owing to the fact that the Treaty of Waitangi afforded them protection as any other subjects of the Crown. The unauthorized grab for land at the hands of anxious settlers, therefore, was deemed a violation of local Maori rights. The case was dropped on those grounds. The Judge’s generous decision had a calming effect upon the chiefs of Cloudy Bay, including Robulla, who saw that the treaty actually held meaning and power.
Following his trial, Robulla did not feel at home on the South Island and began to consider moving home again to the north. His decision was helped by a handful of factors. First, he saw a map of all of New Zealand made by the white man. In it he saw the North Island next to the South Island, and all the territory that he controlled either directly or indirectly. It was large, but nowhere near the size he had thought. It surprised him to see the other coast of the islands so close to where he was. Then he laid eyes on the map of the entire world with New Zealand in its proper perspective. This global view had a profound effect upon the Chief. For the first time, he realized that he did not rule the majority of the world, as he had always thought. Seeing the amount of land controlled by the Pakeha mad him realize that he had been drunk on power, and he sobered up. Being a prudent man at heart despite his propensity for zealousness, Robulla remembered the words of Black Jack about yielding to the Pakeha. Even in the calm following the trial proceedings, he was left with an uneasy feeling about the future role of the Europeans in New Zealand.
Rich Man's Coffin Page 19
