Authors: K Martin Gardner
A man you say?
Have I seen a white man in the water or on shore?
Well, yes, captain, there are more and more of you all the time.
Your point?
I like the way you kowtow to me when I am standing impudently upon your deck.
He’s white, but he’s not.
Now, you’ve been hitting that grog again, right captain?
He’s black.
A black white man.
Goes by the name of Arthur.
Your cabin boy.
Gotcha.
You want him back.
Five muskets now as a deposit, and twenty more with ammunition when I return with your manservant.
He’s somewhere close.
Like where, at the bottom of this channel?
South or North?
You don’t know.
Big help you are.
You don’t really want your boy back, do you!
These are old muskets, aren’t they, I just feel it.
Without powder, they are useless.
You’re slogging me off, aren’t you captain?
All right, I’ll play your silly little game.
I’ll find your black white man, and I’ll be back.
And stop calling me ‘Robulla’.
I don’t know where you got that shit.
My tribe calls me Te Raupraha.
II
There he goes:
Robulla the scoundrel.
Like a rogue possum rummaging through alleyways at night, that one.
But I’ve got his number, oh yes; no one pulls the wool over this captain’s eyes.
It seems that our illustrious friend imagines himself to be some great chief; from up North at Kapiti, all the way down to Kaikoura.
It seems that he has four or five tribes under his thumb.
To me, he just sails around with the same group of rejects bullying his own people.
All the Maori I’ve encountered don’t want anything to do with him.
They’re all quite settled now in their respective tribes and lands, with peace and plenty to go around.
They say Robulla - sorry, Te Raupraha - just wants to cause trouble.
Worse than that, they say that he is just an opportunist who is seeking glory.
He fights his own people with the white man’s weapons.
Now there’s a hero!
Poor dumb bastard.
Yes, we chuck him a few of our muskets that have rusted sitting in the hold of the ship.
Somehow, he gets them working; and, oh, the sound!
Like a child with a new toy, he is.
I think he believes himself to be the new God of Thunder when the hammer finally chances upon a spot of dry powder.
And then off he goes, to terrorize innocent people.
Oh well, at least it can be said that it sends him on his way as quickly as he came.
What an odd bird, though.
He’s a bit old to be running up and down the countryside like a young warrior.
I reckon he’s got to be going on sixty or so, which would put him being born right around the time Captain Cook was first here.
A shame the good Captain didn’t fire a well-placed shot then.
Then again, I’ve got to give some credit of intelligence to my dubious mate.
He did ferret us out for what we were worth.
Weren’t here a fortnight last year when he comes sailing up in his fortress with his hundreds of men.
I must admit, it did put me on the ready.
They disarmed us straight away though when their intentions became clear.
What a riot!
They offered up some poor white bugger who had jumped ship years before and been pushed around from tribe to tribe until he had learned to dress and feed himself, but not much else.
He wasn’t much good to us with his wits being gone and all, but we took him anyway just to show good will toward the native shore patrol.
We just wanted them to shove off and leave us alone to bring in the whales, but of course, we treated them as royalty.
I didn’t feel good giving them muskets, but I suppose that as long as they are not using them on us, then perhaps we are helping to bring civility to this coast.
The Maori are definitely not competing with us on any significant scale for the whale, so I do not consider them a nuisance overall.
However, this gentleman may be on his way to wearing out his welcome.
Perhaps he will be a man of his word and bring The Harper back to me.
It is a whim, I know, but I really do not like losing anything of value.
We are very busy, and our resources are limited in our short time here.
That boy needs to pay for his passage over here before I consider him dispensable.
Besides, if what the Australians say is true about his being out in their skiff, he shall be flogged severely.
Chapter 14
Kumari and I were walking the sky that night.
I was telling her about thunderstorms; and about how the air smelled when lightning came down out of the clouds before it rained.
Her love made me feel like I was breathing that air before the storm, I told her.
We thought it was a whale at first.
Bearing down on us, it blended in with the black bay, only the white caps breaking across the bow being visible from the beach.
We were celebrating before it came.
Before
he
came.
Ruaoneone lifted the ban on fire for one night, and look what happened.
It was my fault, really.
I know now for two reasons my presence shaped the fate of that night.
If Robulla’s intentions had been known, they would have stripped my soul of its naïve idea of having reached my romantic destiny with Kumari in my arms, along with any notion of a charmed existence with her peaceful and loving tribe.
As the looming figure of Robulla’s menacing war vessel glided up to the shore, our music stopped and the mood froze.
“Dammit, I really didn’t feel like working tonight.”
Ruaoneone said to his wife as he dropped his roasted pork leg in the sand.
She echoed his displeasure with a grunt and a look of disdain toward the uninvited visitors.
The Chief stood up and motioned for the usual welcoming committee to assemble and do their dutiful dance.
They responded quickly, not wanting to upset their leader.
The women gathered the children and traipsed languidly back to the higher ground of the pa, fearing what may happen following the
wero,
welcoming dance. “I don’t know what to expect from this joker, so make it a good one, men.” Ruaoneone said.
Robulla stood upon the bow of his boat and waved a pair of large fern branches, one in each hand.
The Maori symbol for a peaceful visit, it put Ruaoneone’s men at ease.
There would be no bloodshed tonight, they thought.
Robulla signaled his men to remain on the boat. He stepped onto the beach and walked up to Ruaoneone.
The two chiefs clasped hands and touched noses.
They talked in low tones as the village men milled around idly, awaiting the outcome of the meeting.
Black Jack observed from a distance, releasing Kumari from his arms reluctantly.
As he watched his young lover file up the hill along with the other women, he felt something creepy come over the night.
He watched the two chiefs talking, sizing up the unfamiliar, notorious chief.
He’s a whole head shorter than my Chief,
Black Jack thought.
Without boasting, Black Jack told himself that he was at least a head taller than the man, and some forty years younger.
Without all those men and a nasty reputation behind him, thought Black Jack, the little general before him would be nothing to fear.
His mama had said the same about Napoleon:
A little man with a big army and a bad reputation.
From then on, he decided, he would call Robulla,
The Maori Napoleon.
Ruaoneone glanced over at Black Jack.
He beckoned him over; and the three stood face-to-face.
Ruaoneone said, “Black Jack, this is Robulla, the great chief from the North.
He comes in peace tonight to ask our help.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard many good things about you.
It is an honor to meet you.”
Robulla and Black Jack did the
hongi
.
Ruaoneone spoke again. “Black Jack, it seems that Robulla has some official business concerning your ship.
Your Captain and the honorable Chief here have been negotiating some rites of passage issues.
The issues are delicate and complex; and the Chief would graciously like to request your assistance.”
Black Jack asked Robulla, “The Captain would like me to return to the ship then?”
“No, no, son.
Nothing of the sort.
Your captain has given up hope of your returning from your newfound life here.
He merely wishes to see your face and to know that you are getting along.
He mentioned that you were in the area; and I told him that I had briefly seen a man of your description.
We both agree that you would greatly facilitate talks between your good Captain and me.
Don’t you think so?”
“And I am to sail with you?
When will we go, and how far is it?”
“We will leave at dawn.
It is roughly an hour of rowing up the coast to Te Awaiti.
My men and I are going to visit some other neighbors tonight, where we will sleep.
In the morning, we will land and pick you up. We will have you back by the midday meal.
How does that sound?”
Black Jack agreed.
Robulla seemed pleased. He bid his hosts goodnight and set off in his floating fortress.
As its immense form slowly disappeared around a jetty, Black Jack and Ruaoneone shuddered as if awaking from a spell.
Black Jack asked, “Do you believe him, Chief?”
Ruaoneone said, “He came waving the green branches of peace.
As a Maori, he is bound by his word to spare us.
Obviously, he needs you; so perhaps your help will help us all.
Just be careful, my son.
I will look forward to your safe return.”
With that, Ruaoneone returned to his
whare
, his hut.
Finding his way under the soft blanket of his own bed, Black Jack felt the firm, supple, skin of his eager bride. She quickly quelled his fears about the coming day.
II
Arthur adorned himself in full Maori dress that morning.
He was proud of his new life with his new tribe; and he wanted to show it.
If it were true what Robulla had said, then he had nothing to fear from his former captain.
Perhaps, he thought, the riches of a successful season, along with the local scenery, were softening the old man.
Regardless, he told himself, there was no way that he could return to the ship now, given his present circumstances.