Isle of tears, p.8
Isle of Tears, page 8
‘This is a burial ground!’ she cried, and rapidly made the sign to ward off evil.
‘Ae,’ Mere said calmly. ‘We brought the bones of our revered dead here for many generations. But when the missionaries came they told us that the practice was unclean, so we have buried our dead next to the village ever since. Although I do not think it is unclean. Yes, the rotting flesh is paru, it is dirty, but the eternal spirit resides in the bones, not the flesh, and the bones were not brought here until the flesh had gone from them, so how can they be unclean?’
Isla knew she would regret the question, but fascination made her ask it anyway. ‘The flesh, how did ye, well, how did ye get it off?’
‘After the tangihanga of a revered person, we would place the bodies in trees or on platforms, until the flesh disintegrated. This took about two years. The bones would then be retrieved and cleansed and oiled, then painted with red ochre and interred here, in this wahi tapu.’
Isla tried not to let her relief show: at least the colour of the bones wasn’t due to blood. ‘But if they’re no’ buried in a kirk yard, do the spirits no’ walk abroad?’
‘Ae, all the time,’ Mere said cheerfully. ‘Do not the spirits of your ancestors walk with you?’
Isla thought about it. ‘Aye, maybe they do, in a way,’ she replied, relieved all the same that the remains of her distant ancestors were safely buried beneath the ground in Scotland. She repressed a shudder and the urge to make the sign again; no matter what Mere said, the sight of the neat piles of human bones left her feeling deeply uneasy. ‘Ye said that this cave is wahi tapu?’
‘Aye.’
‘So are we tapu now, too?’
Mere nodded. ‘But it can be removed.’ She turned to go, but Isla touched her shoulder.
‘Why did ye bring me here, Mere? This is no’ a place for the likes o’ me.’
‘But it is, Isla,’ Mere replied incisively. ‘When Wira welcomed you to Ngati Pono, he invited you, and your brothers and sister, to become Ngati Pono. And to do that, you must know our ancestors, who are now your ancestors. Our ancestors are as important to us as the land is. Without one you cannot have the other, and sometimes they are the same thing.’
She blew out the candle, put it back with the tinderbox and led the way outside, where the sunlight was painfully bright. She showed Isla how to wash her hands and face in the stream to remove the tapu of the burial cave, then declared that they should head back to the village.
Isla had thought about the cave all the way back to Waikaraka, and why Mere had taken her to see it, and the pa. She was deeply suspicious now that war was coming. Her unease had only increased when Niel, who had embarked upon a regime to improve his physical fitness, told her it was so he could fight better, even though she knew it was still Tulloch on whom he was setting his sights. But what if he did become a competent warrior? Would the Ngati Pono expect his allegiance? Every day he went running to increase his endurance and stamina, choosing to go barefoot to harden his feet, and obsessively timing himself with his father’s watch. At mealtimes he ate as much as he could stuff down, particularly meat, which was quite a lot as he’d already had a large appetite. Isla swore he’d grown at least an inch taller since they’d arrived.
But Niel wasn’t the only male at Waikaraka to be busy; a small team of men had been occupied over the past week cleaning and oiling guns, and sharpening spears and the lethal clubs and axes. In fact, it appeared to Isla that a good number of the village’s men had disappeared altogether. Growing more and more alarmed, she asked Mere one morning where they had gone.
Engrossed in stripping a blade of harakeke, Mere paused and regarded Isla for a long moment. ‘They have gone to other villages, to take counsel on various matters.’
Isla fiddled with her own piece of flax, reluctant to meet Mere’s eyes because of what she might see in them. Nevertheless, she heard herself ask, ‘What matters?’
Mere sighed, and it sounded like the wind in reeds. ‘Matters of war.’
A knot of dread swelled in Isla’s belly. ‘Is there gonnae be a fight somewhere?’
Mere attacked her flax again, wielding her small knife expertly until the soft inner fibre was revealed. ‘Ae, it seems so. I had hoped that there would not, but it appears now that the time has come.’
‘Is it o’er the land? The Peka Peka Block?’
‘It is over the land, but it is not about the land, although without that we will surely perish. We must keep our independence, our mana. The British are afraid of our king, Potatau Te Wherowhero, chosen by Wiremu Tamihana of Ngati Haua, whom Pakeha call the Kingmaker. They think we will all eventually follow Potatau, and then the English queen will not be able to rule here.’
‘And will ye? Follow him?’
‘Not all, perhaps; but many will. You know that Te Ati Awa have opposed the surveyors?’
‘Aye.’
‘And that the imperial soldiers have built a blockhouse at the mouth of the Waitara and a fortified camp further inland?’
Isla hadn’t known that.
Mere’s face set in deep lines of reproach at the deliberate British insult. ‘That in itself angered Wiremu Kingi. But he would not begin the bloodshed. He chose not to attack, but built instead Te Kohia, a fighting pa, also at Waitara.’ At Isla’s inquiring look, she explained, ‘Wiremu Kingi is Ati Awa’s senior rangatira, our paramount chief. He does not support sales of land to Pakeha. A week ago, Colonel Gold and the 65th Regiment attacked and destroyed Te Kohia, although all our people, including Wiremu Kingi and his general Te Hapurona, escaped. After the battle, six Pakeha settlers were killed near New Plymouth.’ As Isla gasped, Mere added, ‘But not all at once,’ as though this somehow made the news less horrifying.
‘Kilt by who?’
‘We have heard that the British are blaming warriors from Taranaki, Ngati Ruanui and Nga Rauru, come to help Wiremu Kingi. The warriors are now at Kaipopo pa at Waireka.’
Nervously, Isla asked, ‘Where is that?’
‘About six miles south of New Plymouth, near the sea. The Pakeha at New Plymouth are frightened that they will be attacked.’
Isla swallowed. ‘And will they?’
Mere looked as though she wasn’t bothered if they were. ‘I do not know. Between Waireka and New Plymouth is the Pakeha blockhouse called Omata Stockade. Colonel Gold is gathering his soldiers there now.’
Isla bit her lip: so finally there was to be war. She, and every other settler in Taranaki, had lived with the possibility for several years, and now their fears had been realized. What would she have been doing at this moment if her mother and father were still alive? Bringing the stock in close to the house and making heavy shutters for the windows, if she knew her father; certainly not cowering in town as most of the area’s settlers seemed to be.
Even though she thought she already knew the answer, she asked, ‘Will Ngati Pono be taking part in the fighting?’
‘Ae. That is where the men have gone—to consult with other Ati Awa warriors.’
‘But no’ Niel, surely?’ Isla blurted.
Mere tucked her hair behind her ear as she reached for another blade of harakeke. ‘No, not your brother.’
Isla let out a huge sigh of relief. ‘Is it because he’s too young?’
‘No. A Ngati Pono boy is considered old enough to fight when he can wield his weapon with the required skill.’ Catching the look of renewed alarm on Isla’s face, Mere added quickly, ‘But Niel cannot do that yet. Although Harapeta says he is showing considerable promise.’
Isla digested this for a moment, already worrying about the time when Niel would be expected to go into battle. But would he be of a mind to take up arms against imperial soldiers? Would his loyalty to the Ngati Pono have reached such a level? Of the four of them, he had been the most reluctant to accept the kindness and generosity Wira and his people had offered, the most averse to the idea of them becoming Pakeha-Maori. But to Isla, living with the Ngati Pono was far preferable to fending for themselves or, even worse, having their parentless state discovered by well-meaning busybodies who would, without a doubt, separate them. She and Niel were old enough to find employment, but Jamie and Jean would more than likely be placed in an orphanage—and perhaps not even in New Zealand. That would mean Isla would never see them again, and she couldn’t allow that to happen: she had made a promise.
She shook her head to banish such awful thoughts, and, contriving to sound casual, asked, ‘And Tai? Will he fight?’
She had hardly seen him since the day they had arrived at Waikaraka, and assumed he had been away much of the time with the other men. She had not, however, forgotten the way his gaze had made her shiver even though the evening had been so warm and muggy.
‘Ae. But do not worry. He will come home again,’ Mere said confidently. ‘It has been foretold.’
Isla was too intrigued to pretend she wasn’t curious. ‘What d’ye mean?’
Mere selected another piece of flax, then discarded it when she noticed several black spots near the spine. ‘When he was born it was with the membrane over his face, and as a very small boy it was foretold that he would not die on the battlefield, that Tu, the god of war, would always protect him. It is why he will make such a good warrior—he has no fear.’
Isla had heard of such things, of course, when she was growing up, but had understood that a bairn born with a caul would be protected from drowning, not death in battle. But perhaps things were different this far away from Skye. She had never met anyone who had had a prophecy told about them, and her interest in Tai was piqued even further, although she didn’t say this to Mere. ‘And Harapeta will fight, too?’ she asked.
‘Ae. And Wira.’
To Isla, Mere sounded unhappy, but resigned. ‘D’ye no’ want Ngati Pono tae go tae war?’
‘No, I do not.’ Mere set her knife aside and wiped her hands on her skirt. ‘But Wiremu Kingi has tried to avoid bloodshed to no avail, and now there is no other way.’
Ngati Pono heard, by word of mouth, of a clash between Maori and the British military at the end of March.
The loss of life was limited on both sides, but Ngati Pono were amazed to learn that subsequent newspaper accounts described a battle of ferocious proportions, with many Maori deaths. Wira, returned with the Ngati Pono men from a council with Wiremu Kingi, was perplexed and worried that the situation was worse than he, and Te Ati Awa in general, had been led to believe.
‘Someone must go to New Plymouth and find out how things stand,’ he finally announced one evening early in April.
‘But we would have been told if our allies had suffered such a defeat,’ Mere argued. She reached out with a stick and poked at the embers of the fire in the centre of the Tamaiparea whare. Sparks leapt, then floated upward with the smoke to disappear through the small hole in the roof.
‘It may be a trick,’ Wira insisted. ‘A trick to make us give up the fight.’
‘But Kingi would know that, surely?’
‘Apparently he does not. It is he who has asked that I send someone into the town.’
‘But who? None of the men can go. You certainly cannot.’ And then Mere realized. ‘Oh, no, Wira, you cannot send those children. I forbid it.’
Wira shrugged himself deeper into his blanket and extended his bare feet closer to the fire. It was still only April, but the nights were beginning to grow colder already. Another month and the kumara would be ready to harvest. ‘I am only thinking of the two eldest.’
Mere turned on him. ‘And what do you think they might do in New Plymouth? Ask Colonel Gold if he might care to have a cup of tea with them and discuss his plans of war?’
‘Do not be silly, woman. No, Kingi thought that if they keep their ears and eyes open they might pick up some useful information. Perhaps tell us what the mood of the settlers and the soldiers is. And what really happened at Waireka.’
As always, Mere saw straight through her husband. ‘Kingi thought—or you thought? I think you mean you, you vain man, hoping to anoint yourself with glory in Kingi’s eyes!’
Wira pretended not to hear her, but had the grace to look guilty.
‘You are talking about spying, Wira, and I will not have it. How could you even think of such a thing? It would be far too dangerous for them.’
‘Why? The town is bursting at the seams. Who will notice two more Pakeha children? No one will know they belong to Ngati Pono.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Or perhaps only one should go. Perhaps Isla?’
‘No, Isla is not to go alone,’ Mere said vehemently, ‘and that is that. And what if they are recognized? Or what if it is seen that they are not with their mother and father, and questions are asked? They will have to say that their mother and father are dead, and then they will not be allowed to leave.’
‘They are clever children, Mere, and very capable. They will think of something.’
Mere struck angrily at the fire with her stick, sending a shower of ash and sparks into the air. ‘No, they will not, because I will not allow them to go. Even if it was safe for them in the town, they may become lost, or attacked on the way. Who is to say that our allies will believe that they are from Waikaraka, if they do not know them? The British, too, may harm them, if they think they are spies.’
Wira’s expression became one of adamant petulance. ‘Wife, I wish you to ask them if they will consider doing this thing for us. I still cannot understand what they are saying.’
Mere folded her arms. ‘No, husband. If you want them to go, you ask them.’
‘All right, I will,’ Wira capitulated wearily, accepting once again that his headstrong wife was not going to obey him. ‘And Mere, it will be for them to say yes or no. They are old enough to decide.’
‘And if they say no?’
‘Then I will not force them. But if they do choose to go, I will not send them alone.’
Mere snorted derisively. ‘I am sure that no one who is not Pakeha will be permitted into that town.’
‘That is true, so I was thinking that someone should accompany them as far as it is prudent, then wait for them. That way, they will not become lost.’
This sounds more like my husband, Mere thought. He was arrogant and stubborn, yes, but she knew he was fond of the McKinnon children, Isla especially, and could not understand why he would wish to deliberately place them in harm’s way.
‘Ae? And who were you thinking of sending?’
‘Tai. He can be spared while there is no actual fighting.’
There was a long silence, then Mere said at last, ‘Wira Tamaiparea, are you matchmaking?’
Wira looked deeply offended. ‘Of course not! That is women’s work, not the job of a rangatira such as myself!’
But Mere could see, in the firelight, the tiniest tilt to his mouth as he tried not to smile.
When Wira broached the subject with her, Isla asked for some time to think about it and discuss the idea with Niel. At first, he had said no.
‘I’m no’ spying for anyone,’ he declared adamantly. ‘And I’m no’ going wi’ that cocky wee shite Tai, either. He’s too big for his boots.’
‘Well, I want tae go,’ Isla countered.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve some business tae attend tae in New Plymouth. We have.’
‘What business?’
‘I want tae find oot what’s happened tae Braeburn. The loan will no’ have been paid since Da died, ken.’
Niel’s brow creased. ‘But that’s oor land. Me and Da spent ages clearing it.’
‘Aye, but no’ any more if the repayments have fallen intae arrears.’
‘How will ye find oot?’
‘I’ll speak tae the bank manager.’
Niel rubbed a hand over the wispy copper-gold hairs on his chin, which he’d been carefully cultivating. ‘Ye’ll just march in and ask?’
‘Aye, and I’ve the papers tae show him.’ Isla stuck out a foot, revealing battered footwear nearing the end of its days. ‘And I
want some new boots.’
‘What will ye pay for them wi’? We’ve no money.’
‘Dinnae ken, yet. So ye’ll come?’
‘I’m no’ sure aboot leaving the weans here by themselves,’ Niel said eventually. ‘D’ye think they’ll be all right?’
‘They’ll no’ be by themselves; they’ll be with Mere and Ngahere. And Pare.’
Niel humphed. ‘I’m still no’ spying.’
‘Neither am I. We’re no’ being asked tae. All Wira wants is tae ken what happened at Waireka, and what’s gonnae happen next.’
‘That’s spying in ma book.’
‘No’ in mine.’
‘And why does that Tai laddie have tae come wi’ us?’
Isla gave an impatient sigh. ‘D’ye want tae find your own way tae New Plymouth?’
‘No.’
‘Then that’s why.’
‘But why him? He’ll be leerin’ at ye the whole way.’
‘Oh, he will no’, Niel. You’re such a galoot,’ Isla snapped, blushing and belatedly realizing that cocky Tai and her jealous brother would almost certainly clash at some stage during the expedition.
Wira was very pleased that Isla and Niel had agreed to his request.
‘It will take you two days and two nights to walk to New Plymouth if you keep off the Pakeha roads. Or two days and one night, if you take the horses,’ he said. ‘You should take the horses.’
‘But we cannae ride,’ Isla confessed. ‘We’ve never had horses so we never learned. Can we no’ walk?’
Wira agreed, though somewhat reluctantly, and two days later Isla, Niel and Tai set out for New Plymouth, each with a blanket and enough food in their peke, or bags, to last several days. Tai also carried a shotgun.
Leaving Jean and Jamie behind had been hard, as they had both wept inconsolably, thinking that they were about to lose their older brother and sister as well as their parents, but Isla had done her best to assure them that she and Niel would be back in four or five days, and with a little present for each of them. Still, Isla found it difficult not to cry herself at the sight of their panicked little faces, and at Laddie’s distressed whining when they left him at the village gate.
