Anyway, I was once a good influence on that fine young man, and a good Christian as well. I guess my old ways got the best of me. I will never learn. Here I am nearly eighty, and I am going to rot on some Pakeha’s ship for God knows how long. Please accept my apologies for murdering peace once again.”
V
October Sixteenth, 1848, inside Black Jack’ cabin at Para:
Lord, an endless storm without lightning and thunder is like a long, watery torture. I'd rather shrivel up in a bath and melt away than live here and endure this mush. One of the settlers finally got it all together and found his way down to Waitohi. He moved on down the valley a little; and sometimes I think I can hear his cows if I listen real hard. But it's after Midnight now, and I know they're just standing there, huddled and still, in the cold pouring rain. People say they're the dumbest animal, but I think they're pretty keen. They know what's going on: Who's cruel, and who's kind; and stuff like that. I seen a bull gettin' it one day. Surprised the hell out of me. It must have been at least seventeen inches long, and slimy. Not like a horse's, but more like a dog's; with the inside part showing and no skin around it. When he mounted, it found its way up inside the cow just like a snake, twisting and turning for home like it had eyes or something. The cow's eyes bugged out, and she let out an awful sound as she tried to run away. But I could see that he was quick; and something shot up in there.
Now I think I hear the rain stopping. Sweet Jesus, it is! Three days on and it's gonna quit just like that, I can feel it. I don't care what time it is, I'm gettin' up and lookin' around outside. My goodness, I can see the moon breaking through. I'm puttin' my shoes on and goin' out. I've been sleepin' all day anyway. Ever since that Maori brought me news about Robulla. Poor old bugger. Close to two years now out on that ship with no relief in sight. I don't know what to do for him. The whole thing kind of messes up the plan we had. The wars don't seem to be doin' any good either. The settlers just keep comin'; and now they have a reason to dress up in their soldier suits and act all important. They ask me if I'll join up. They say I have the perfect spot to be one of their scouts. I act all naïve and say yes; and I am very happy to take their free rations. Poor dumb bastards. Sometimes when the Maori come for my report, we crack open a government tin and eat and laugh. It is a great time then; even though our hearts are with Robulla. The Maori have issued a strong warning to the Pakeha concerning his release. Even the land seems to want utu for his captivity.
For crying out loud, I can barely see now out my door. The fog has come up so bad following the rain, the sky and the ground have become invisible again. It is a dense, warm, fog. Very fine though, it is, like smoke. With the rebounding rise of vapor from different herbs and soils, it almost has a flavor: Like thick tea. A nice deep breath of it seems to cleanse my lungs and revive me. To heck with it, I know the land well enough after all these years. I'm going for a stroll. I still can't believe there's no snakes in New Zealand. Not one. No possums, raccoons; no rabbits, neither. Come to think of it, when the birds go in, I don't think I've ever seen a critter after dark. Sometimes the skeeters don't even seem interested in biting; and the flies are so lazy you can swat 'em right out of the air. Yes sir, I think that it’s got to be the gentlest land in God's creation. There's no wolves, deer, antelope, crocodiles, alligators... I really can't think of anything that's wild here 'cept the fishes and the birds. Well, me, of course!
All right, here I go into the soup with no lamp or nothin'. There ain't another soul around for miles. This is fantastic. My senses are on edge. Just one foot in front of the other, that's it. Like explorin' another world. Remember where the creek is: Ah, yes, I hear a little trickle now. All right, I'm on the path. There's the edge of the water, I can walk on down the trail now. I'm travelin' in fine style now. What a strange smell the air has, though.
Here it is October, and it's already gettin' warm. At least it was when I first set out. Now it seems to be gettin' a little chilly. The fog seems a little crisper, a little thinner. I can just make out a dim blue glow in it. This has got to be the very definition of eerie. I'm slightly frightened, but it's more than that: It's a feeling coming not from fear of the unknown; but of the possibility of this being all there is to know. Like that man in the Bible Mama used to tell me about. The one that was damned to wander the Earth for eternity without rest. This must've been what it was like for him. Wandering through the dark fog, acutely aware, never seeing anyone, and nowhere to go.
Well, I know where I'm goin'. There's the Tua Marina stream, right where I 'spected it. It's got a nice strong sound that'll keep me company. I'm gonna head north up the big wide path, just for the Hell of it. Maybe I'll make it all the way up to the dairy farm before I get tired and want to turn around.
I guess I've been walkin' for close to an hour now. Haven't seen a thing! There's just somethin' in the air, though. Can't quite put my finger on it. It's got me all charged up, though. Must be around two in the morning, and I'm not even tired. I wonder how old Robulla is doin', out on that ship. I wonder if he's wide awake right now. I've heard about two people talkin' to one another in their minds, under just the right conditions. If ever there was two people who could communicate without talkin', it would be us! At this distance, I don't know. I think I'll just think about him anyway, to make myself feel better about the whole situation.
Hold on, what's this? That's not a light up ahead, I know it. That ding-dang dairy ain't this close. Besides, they wouldn't have a light on this early. Well, maybe. I hear tell these milkers get up pretty early. Not this early though. It can't be much past three, I reckon. Now, wait a minute, I'm not walkin' that fast. That thing is movin' toward me. Is someone comin' down the river? This is gettin' stranger by the minute. This bloke or chap or whatever this is must be daft. Now I know this ain't some whaler lost his way all this far inland at this hour. Besides, he'd be on the piss somethin' fierce and couldn't stand on no stream. Hold on, here it comes. Wait, it's still far away. Hell, I can't tell what it's doin'. I keep walkin' toward it; and it just seems to be floatin' all around. Here it is. No. Don't tell me. There ain't no building out here. Where the Hell am I? All right, there's the stream. That is the Tua Marina, right? Then what's this? I'm slapping the first wooden step with my boot. It's ringing out solid and true like any good solid plank should. She's here, all right! Well, I'll be. I must be lost, or maybe I need to get out more often. Seems like I would've heard them building something this close. It's like the grog shop over from the station just up and floated its way here.
Now, are those Pakeha voices I hear? I'm walking across a wooden stoop through the fog. I'm opening the door, and the stagnant, foul, warm air of the place is hitting me in the face as I step out of the mist. Everything seems real. The smoke, the stench of stale beer, the clinking of glasses. The sailors at the bar? I know I definitely did not smell the ocean outside. Where did I turn? No one seems to notice me. Hell, I've got enough, I'll have myself a beer. Hmm. Tastes real enough. Imagine that, an actual house of entertainment, out here in the middle of nowhere. And how did these blokes get here? They're not whalers, they're sailors. What are they going on about?
"And I hear tell the son-of-a-bitch would sooner eat you as look at you. They say that he didn't get goin' strong 'til he was in his sixties. Then he showed everyone a thing or two." Said one crusty old sailor.
"Yeah, well mate, you talk him up like he's a war hero or something. He's nothing more than a low-down, bloody savage. The whole lot of them are. I say a musket ball for every one. That'll show 'em." Chimed in another younger but equally patriotic seaman.
The third man at the bar added thoughtfully, "Well, mates, they've got him down in the hole now. He's almost eighty, and he's sure to rot away there. His kind are jumpin' up and down and chanting their voodoo rubbish, swearin' that the spirit of the land will take its revenge on us all. Hell, sometimes they sound scarier than the Catholic Church!" The three burst into raucous laughter and hoisted their mugs.
After a moment of revelry, the first man o' war, having taken notice of Black Jack, turned from the bar and said, "Well let's ask this gentleman. Good sir, what do you think we should do with the renegade Maori chief?"
Black Jack hesitated, having become aware of his actual presence in the pub only through the present patrons' eyes. He gathered his thoughts, and self-consciously said, "I personally believe that you will be sorry if you do not release the Chief. If I remember correctly, the original Governor's report cited the New Zealand Company as the aggressor in all land disputes. Also, the charges against Robulla such as arson and murder were either fabricated or exaggerated. That's what I think." He finished, holding his mug and looking at the men. He wondered how he had suddenly become able to speak perfectly articulate English.
The sailors stared at him in stunned silence for a brief moment; and then all at once they charged Black Jack in a torrent of vituperation with yells of “traitor”, and “overboard!” They swept him backward off his feet and in one rush pushed him through the shop door, over the porch, and into the creek with a splash. Still holding the shattered handle of his pint mug, Black Jack struggled to stand unsteadily as the shop door slammed. Whether he had drifted a ways downstream, or whether he had staggered unaware, the steamy silhouette of the ship seemed to be moving away in the misty darkness. Once again the light from its fogged windows became blurred and fuzzy, as if at a good distance; and then again not so far. Regardless, he climbed out of the water and started moving further down the slippery path toward home. He was even more disoriented and baffled than before; and he allowed his quest for the comfort of his cabin to outrun his curiosity about the queer apparition he had encountered. Not having fully accepted the experience as real, he took a quick, last glance over his shoulder after the fleeting form.
Oh, God, I gotta funny feeling about that place. I didn't like that one bit. I'm feelin' awfully strange now. How long was I there?
As he turned his head to look behind him, his foot struck a large rock on the path in front of him. The next moment seemed to freeze for Black Jack, as he spun back just in time to see the large stone spring into the air.
Oh my God, I've kicked that big rock up in the air. Now the ground is dropping. Am I dizzy? I can't stand. My face is on the ground. My mouth is full of mud. The Earth is knockin' me in the head like a hammer over and over. It's loud. I'm up on my knees. My stomach is swingin' underneath me. I'm gonna be sick. My arms are burnin'. I can't hold onto the ground, it's shakin' so bad. I'm terrified the whole world's gonna drop out from underneath me, but there's nowhere for me to go. God, how long can this go on? I'm startin' to choke on dust. Rocks are hoppin' toward me. All right. Did it stop? My head is buzzing. That beer is coming up. Ah yes, that's better. I'm scared. I don't think any of this is happening. I'm going home now. I'll just follow the... wait a minute, there's two streams now. Where did all those boulders come from? These big cracks look real enough, but they weren’t there a moment ago.. I'm so tired. Lord, have mercy on me and help me stand steady.
Black Jack found his way home through the foggy dark and promptly went to sleep. The weather went forgiving, and the next day saw the sun come out. Black Jack spent the day scouring the land around his hut. He noticed that the ground had shifted more than a foot in all directions: Up, down, and sideways, along many places across the valley floor. He made a day trip following the Tua Marina stream north again. Very far upstream he found a farmer fuming over his ruined dairy and some shaken cows. In the same spot where he had the strange encounter, there was no sign of any structure along the dirt track.
VI
From Robulla’s messenger, November 27th, 1849:
“I have been sent by Robulla’s people straight from his funeral. They send their best regards and well wishes, along with their mutual sympathies on the loss of the Chief. He almost made it to his eighty-second birthday, although we all know the Chief himself would not lament the little detail. He was at peace with himself for being released by the British after the tremendous earthquake last October. Actually, and they will not admit this, a huge wave came just after the earth stopped shaking and washed the ship onto the shore. According to witnesses, it tumbled onto shore and cracked open like an egg. It is said that as the waters receded, Robulla simply walked out from the bowels of the ship onto dry land without a drop of water on him. It took the British months to determine if he were still alive or not; and when they did, they were so amazed by his survival story that they let him go for time served.”
“Whether you believe this or not, the Chief enjoyed his last year of life and spoke fondly of you often. I was at his wake. I tried not to laugh at his six brown toes on each foot sticking up out of that white casket lining. Some Pakeha said that he was the Devil for that reason, but what do they know? I think he was the Savior that they so feel so free to speak of. He certainly prayed a lot the last few months. He got some stomach pains recently, but it didn’t keep him from telling some great stories while he was lying around. He laid in his burial canoe, but he told us not to use it if he died. It’s sad, because I think he was trying to please the white man by using one of their coffins; but they can’t seem to wait to put the dirt over him.”
“Oh well, wait until they get a load of Te Rangihaeta. You probably never met him. He’s one of Robulla’s wild nephews who got picked to take over when the Chief passes. He loves to drink rum and smoke tobacco. When he does, watch out, he will tell you what for. He wasn’t afraid to tell off the Governor who was good enough to come all the way down from Nelson today. Robulla’s young replacement said, ‘We are driven into a corner, and yet you covet that also.’ Oh well, it looks like all the serious fighting is going to stay on the North Island anyway. Our condolences again on the death of your friend.”
Chapter 24
"Hell, no, I won't go!" Said Black Jack.
His defiance spattered on the shocked faces of the uniformed men at his door. One in the front waved a piece of paper. He said, "But you'll lose your orders, Jack. You'll be discharged without pay. You’ll get no more rations."
"Honestly, I could care less. I am not leaving my homestead to fight some damn crazy Maori up north. No sah. Now you boys carry on. Good day." He slammed the door in their faces. As it resonated his resolve, he wondered if he would be called up to Nelson on charges of desertion. He hoped now more than ever that the army honored its original enlistment policy as a strictly 'voluntary' service. Only time and the god-awfully slow mail in these parts would tell, he thought.
Black Jack felt entitled to a simple and ordinary life after all he had been through. He no longer felt obligated to be in service to anyone. Despite the occasional skirmish and squabble over land here and there, it seemed to him that the Maori-Pakeha relationship had settled into a tolerable level of tension. Fighting and expansion now seemed to be the norm after the ten years since the Treaty of Waitangi. As one man who could have remained neutral to the conflict the entire time, Black Jack felt that he had actually helped each side tremendously and should deservedly and perhaps selfishly serve his own needs for a while. He cynically joked to himself that he had in his short life been all things to all people, and now he just wanted to be left alone.
The wars didn't seem to matter in the larger scheme of things, anyway, he thought. In just the last year since Robulla died, houses had sprung up all over the valley. Men came streaming down, building huts out of manuka branches; and within months had constructed large English houses with verandahs and big, comfortable rooms. At the mouth of the Wairau River, there was now even a new hotel where bottled beer and other creature comforts could be had.
Black Jack now found his silent and tranquil valley full of the sound of pounding hammers and ripping saws all day; and the night was presently pestered with the desperate bleating of thousands of misplaced and unconsciously homesick sheep. All across the plains he saw them, wherever he scanned: An endless decoupage of uniform gray and white speckles on an infinite newly-laid green lawn. If
that was not enough to shatter his pristine transcendental shield, then a final addition to the landscape, and a certain insult, was woven in among the wool to completely destroy his calm: The shepherds' new dogs barked all day and bayed all night.
As if some dark force of misfortune had followed Black Jack full circle from his fateful flight so long ago and found him finally half-way 'round the world, the sign of the canine was an omen which caused his teeth to clench and the hair on his back to bristle. His hatred for dogs grew to an obsession. Out of spite, he began steering people away from his land. He had no shame in doing it, either.
If a white settler were stupid enough to ask him, he reckoned, then he would tell him flat out that the land all around him for many miles was all claimed. If he were feeling particularly ornery due to the frequency of interruptions to his otherwise peaceful day, then as a parting gift and a proverbial kick in the ass, he would point the persons in the direction of the farthest available piece of swamp land on the survey map. What really topped his tulips, however, was when settlers, trudging back from the lowlands to Waitohi for supplies, would stop and sincerely and vigorously thank him for his expert guidance. Amazingly still, he marveled, was that he managed to begin charging some people a fee for telling them where to go, and even received plenty of return business and referrals by word of mouth.
II
The time told. The soldiers returned with more papers. Anything official looking with writing on it scared the hell out of Black Jack. He only showed his fear now out of respect. He stood at attention in the doorway of his hut.
Rich Man's Coffin Page 21
