Authors: K Martin Gardner
"I know it's not the Christian thing to do, and I know it's an invasion of privacy; but I think it's the answer to stopping the war."
Said Black Jack, standing with the empty, open bag in his hand.
Tamihana looked at him blankly for a moment, and then brushing letters aside as he stood, said, "No."
He calmly made for the door.
Black Jack stepped in front of him. "Now wait a minute Chief.
Let's think about this."
"No."
"How better to see into the mind of the white man.
Think about what it will mean in the long run."
"No."
"To your children, to everyone’s children if you can honestly say that you helped to stop the bloodshed."
"No."
Said Tamihana, more firmly, as he pushed through the door past Black Jack.
"Chief!
What are words on paper in comparison to piles of bodies?
Maori bodies!"
Black Jack screamed at the departing man's back.
Tamihana kept walking.
Black Jack, in desperation, blurted, "No one likes you, you know!
I hear them saying that you're too soft, that all your words about peace and love are for the birds; that they do nothing for the Maori."
Tamihana jerked to a halt. He lifted his head, turned on his heels, and charged back toward the door.
He grabbed Black Jack by the throat and pushed him back up against the wall of his hut. "You are an evil, evil man.
Do not anger me with your mischief."
The Chief's voice faded as he sized Black Jack up.
He released him and dropped his own head. "Oh, you are right, I suppose.
All the prayers and hallelujahs grow tiresome when only half the people are in church."
He lifted his head and said, "And only half of
them
are listening."
The two chuckled.
Tamihana stepped back inside as Black Jack followed.
"Tell me about your plan my friend."
"So then I said, ‘Oh yes sah, you'll find plenty of water down there on that piece of land. It sits right below the bend in the river. And I do mean,
below
."
Said Black Jack.
Tamihana fell into his best impression of a naïve settler. "Well, thank you, kind fellow.
I surely do appreciate your help."
"Well don't mention it, sah... to anyone!"
“Don’t mind if I
dooooo
!” Catching his breath, Tamihana wiped a tear. "All right, time to get serious.
Now you say you'll be carrying some actual military orders on the North Island?"
"What?"
"They actually think that I'm gonna go coast to coast, Wellington to Wanganui, inland by mule!"
"Not row along the coast by canoe?"
"No.
And can you hear me now when they ask how the jungle was? 'Ah, you know, tough as nails, sah, but I managed sah.'; or when they ask about crossing the rivers: 'Oh, you know me, sah.
I swam... and I helped the mule swim across too."
The two slammed the table in unison as they laughed hard in each other's face.
The pair hammered out a simple plan.
Tamihana would send some of his brighter young Christian Maori who were literate in English.
They would live with the tribe at White's Bay, and coach others there in the finer points of the scheme.
Whenever Black Jack received orders, he would recruit readers who were also adept at doctoring the mail so as to avoid detection; and then the mail would be distributed by canoe all the way up the coast of the North Island to its appointed post.
By that time, most of the information would have been acted upon and countered, making its message meaningless and its mission moot.
The best advantage of this system, of course, was to help avoid bloody conflict altogether.
The best part of it for Black Jack, was that most times he didn't even have to go along.
He stayed at White's Bay and made a working holiday of the entire operation, until word of its success returned to him and his swollen belly.
Occasionally, he made a cameo appearance, borrowing a mule on the other side of the strait and popping up at some checkpoint near Wellington.
A few soldiers knew of him just through general appearance and mention of name; however, most of them would have been hard-pressed to formally report any specific times or places of his actual presence.
An icon to the Maori, recognized instantly by strangers from description alone, he was a convenient nobody to the white man, remaining effectively anonymous to the majority of his superiors for the duration of his postal career:
A true civil servant.
Plus, he looked absolutely killing in a uniform.
On more than one occasion, his sharp duds no doubt helped him to knock off the odd piece of lonely, homesick settler's wife whose husband was too busy mending fences or shifting livestock between paddocks.
Amazingly, between the days of espionage and his long stops for morning and afternoon 'tea' with the ladies, Black Jack received a commendation from the Governor at Nelson for 'timely and efficient performance' of his duties.
One day down by the river, Black Jack ran into one of his old whaling station mates.
He was working on three small boats, all newly built.
They were painted yellow, with red trim, and a red placard on the back with letters that Black Jack supposed were their names.
Recognizing Black Jack, the man called out, "G'day mate.
Gosh it's been years.
How ya goin'?"
Black Jack took a moment to place the face, and then recognizing the whaler, said, "Oh, fine.
My legs could be better; but I'm gettin' along all right."
"All right?
I hear you’ve been running the mail around here."
"Oh, well, I do what I can to get by.
How 'bout yourself?"
"Me?
Well, see for yourself.
I’ve started a new business now that the whales are gone.
Just built myself these three new beauties.
I'm just about to christen them.
Yes, sir, ferry transport:
It's gonna be the next big boom 'round here.
Join up with me now, Black Jack, and you can get in on the bottom rung.
Whad'ya say?"
"I don't know."
"Bah!
Sure you do.
This is where it's at.
Good pay.
Plus commission, your own boat, and you get to spend some nights down in Beaver Town. I hear tell it’s a wild place.
I'll even put you up at the hotel.
C'mon."
"I don't know." Said Black Jack.
The damn war is winding down
, he thought.
I haven’t heard of a battle for nearly a month
.
"Bah! C'mon Black Jack, help me christen these babies.
Then we'll have a beer and talk about old times. Like when you disappeared off the back of that whale!"
Remembering such a strong event, Black Jack relented; and the two maneuvered onto the small pier with their bottles.
The Captain cleared his throat and puffed out his chest.
He said, "All right, ready?
Nothin' fancy now.
I, Captain Samuel Bowler, do hereby commission to service the following boats, this first day of January, eighteen-hundred and fifty-five:
The Mary, the Gypsy, and the Necromancer."
Sam gave a nod, and Black Jack smashed his beer bottle over the bow of the Gypsy, the bottle spewing the remainder of its contents onto the other boats.
Black Jack liked his new job.
He liked the little boats, and the way that Sam had designed and tailored them for the swift, shallow, and narrow streams that interconnected the townships of the valley.
They weren't like the clumsy and unruly boats of some who had hurriedly adapted their old whaling skiffs when they abandoned the stations.
No, these digs were smooth, thought Black Jack, as he cruised in style on the calm, clear waterways lined with emerald grasses.
So much better than fighting the riptide on coastal mail runs from Nelson, he thought.
He had gotten a good feel for the job, and had made a handful of local runs.
Then came the day that Sam gave him his first big assignment.
He was sent down the big river with a full load of bottled liquor.
It was bound for one of the new hotels on the main street. Successful delivery, off-loading, and bill collection would come with a complimentary meal and a night's lodging, he was told.
Sam explained the mission in the same fashion as his whaling days. "Now this is one run I'd usually keep for myself, but I'm busy with some other things; and I can't take the whole day and night to go down to the Beaver.
I want you to be real careful with this one.
You're full to the gills with cases of gin, and I can't afford for these to get the slightest bit wet, let alone dumped in the drink.
You should be fine, just take your time gettin' down there, this being your first time and all.
It's real simple:
The Beaver has grown a lot in the last couple of years, but she's quite easy to get around.
The river comes around a bend right at the end of her main street.
You'll see the three hotels there in a row, along with some other shops; and a garden park at the far end.
That's all there is to it.
Just dock the boat, and the boys will be there for you to help carry the load.
Got it?"
Black Jack accepted his assignment with a modest level of excitement. "Yes, Captain."
"Good.
Now I’ve loaded up the Necromancer.
Make sure the guys are from the right hotel.
They'll say they're from the 'Gin Palace' when asked.
It’s not the name painted out front, but that's how you'll know.
Good luck."
With that, Black Jack put his pole to the planked and pillared pier, shoving off for Beaver Town. “You are not quite as wordy as you used to be, Sam.”
“Don’t push your luck,
mate
.” Sam said, watching Black Jack’s back drift away.
I would of never figured on that one still being alive
, Sam thought.
The Necromancer
, Black Jack repeated to himself as he disappeared from sight.
He asked the Captain what the boat’s name meant, but Sam’s convoluted eloquence only confused him further.
Something about a man who had power over death,
he thought he heard.
Black Jack made his way toward the downstream town with a slow, steady stroke of his staff.
The creek became broad and the current less swift as the inviting waters spread out before him.
Summer lay upon the valley. All living things seemed to thank the generous sun.
Yellow butterflies flitted among the magenta wildflowers and green grass. Speckled brown songbirds darted low in the marshy meadows.
The stream's sparkling spattered scattering rays into the eyes of the clear blue sky.
Sheep frolicked.
Cows grazed.
Horses whinnied as they chased and nipped one another.
The warm breeze tried on new fragrances for Black Jack as it blew by.
Fish glimmered and glided between weeds waving from a crystal water window.
Mountains nonchalantly flaunted their smattered snowmelt majesty.
A building broke the horizon.