Rich Man's Coffin (37 page)

IV

         
Black Jack, speaking to a passing Maori guide in the fall of 1845:
 
"Relay this message to Robulla in Taupo.
 
From Black Jack White, your ally in the south.
 
I have experienced the incident of meeting the queerest of two Pakeha gentlemen.
 
It seems that they were sent on official business from the Crown.
 
I intercepted them here at the Tua Marina stream, and they became quite excited when they learned that I was a Negro and former whaler with a knowledge of the area and the ability to speak Maori.
 
Their excitement grew when they learned that they were only a couple of miles from the site of the Wairau Massacre; and that the stream they were following flowed directly south into the Wairau River.
 
They went on and on about the fact that Waitohi would be such a better place for the settlers to land, rather than Nelson, which is so far north and over steep mountain ranges.
 
Hell, we could have told them that!
 
Well, let them all suffer in their stubborn ignorance if they refuse to take advice from the locals.
 
They probably wouldn't like the advice I gave them anyway.”

         
"I took them down the road to the Wairau on their spare mule; and we paid the Maori ferryman to take us across.
 
The Englishmen, a Mr. Fox and a Mr. Stephens, seemed scared.
 
They complained about the boat being 'scarcely more than a plank' and about the fact that the horses had to swim alongside the waterlogged boards.
 
They said they had heard of Maori drowning in such canoes.
 
Back home, they said, the horses and men all rode across on one big flat boat, not one that was only four-inches wide.
 
I told them that they were free to swim with the horses, if they preferred.
 
They didn't like that idea much.”

         
"At first, they did seem to have a genuine appreciation for our land and the people.
 
We spent several days together; and I accommodated them at my humble abode.
 
I was happy to have the company.
 
They were strange men, though.
 
They both slept in my bed together, whilst I bedded down on the floor.
 
During the day, we traveled throughout the whole valley and even ventured into the mountains.
 
I liked riding an animal; it was easy on my legs.
 
The two men spoke to each other about what they saw in the most flowery and sensual manner that I have ever heard two men talk to one another.
 
One man spoke freely while the other uttered agreements and faithfully scribed it all down.
 
They talked about simple things in the most fantastic phrases.
 
For example, we came upon an area of hidden lakes which seemed to be previously undiscovered. I thought that they were nice and all; but they went on and on. 'We hereby call this land of lakes
Tarndale
, for the smattering of Tarn birds which lie about; where the blue whistling duck delights in rocky mountain streams, with the Paradise Goose, and an occasional teal or widgeon, whilst the unsophisticated wood hen is often amused by us, pecking and prying with quaint attitude and curious eye around our encampment.
 
Lake Tennyson lies in an amphitheater of lofty peaks bold in outline, dark in color, except where brightened by sunlight and relieved by patches of snow scattered in clefts of the rock.
 
On its banks clumps of birch trees, here and there, hang over the water, or stand grouped over a smooth down, towards a wood, on the side; whilst in front, the river, leaving the lake by a pebbly way, flows away down the level grass plain.'
 
I tell you, Robulla, they carried on speaking like that the whole time.
 
They literally seemed to be in love with the entire land.”

         
"Then they did the strangest thing.
 
I am still so stunned by the bizarre nature of their actions, that I have yet to come to terms with my anger.
 
Perhaps you can help me to understand.
 
As we finished up our sightseeing and headed for the valley floor, they began to set fire to everything behind us.
 
At first I sat bewildered, not knowing the extent of their intent.
 
Then as it became clear that they were burning everything, I became irate.
 
I demanded to know what they were doing, and they simply laughed and sniggered in a farcical manner, as if they found my concerns to be funny.
 
I was forced to flee the flames on the half ass' back until we reached the valley floor, at which point I told them that I would keep the mule as payment.
 
That seemed to sober them slightly, but they still continued to frolic with one another.
 
I told them that they better not ever show their faces again, or they would have Hell to pay.
 
That was the last I saw of Fox and Stephens."

V

         
From Robulla’s messenger, July 22
^nd
, 1846: “Black Jack, I am sorry for my delayed response.
 
I have been very busy over the last year.
 
In fact, I am being led away by British soldiers as I speak this message to you.
 
They say there will be no trial, and they point to the ship in the bay where I will be held captive until the matter is resolved.
 
What matter you ask?

         
Let me see, how to begin.
 
Oh yes, your news of the little fire-starting faggots sent me over the edge.
 
I smelled smoke inland for quite some time, but I thought nothing of it.
 
Just some settlers burning the odd Manuka branches or two, I thought.
 
Then, I rode out into the valley and witnessed a Holy Hell of uncontrolled burning, turning the valley into orange and white mayhem.
 
I was incensed.
 
In my rage, and not far from the intensity of the raging flames that I saw, I instantly declared war on the white man again.

         
It had been a long time since I used my mere, but you better believe that I did not hesitate to chop down the first family I saw standing watching the land burning next to theirs that they had not purchased.
 
Of course, news of that little incident spread faster than the fire.
 
They found the bloody clothes that I had taken back to the pa as trophies. I would have kept on killing too, if Tamihana hadn’t rowed up from Kaikoura.
 
He’s my son from one of my wives a few years back.
 
He got saved when I did, and now he preaches to the villages down the coast.

         
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.