(Full story written so far can be found at….https://www.wattpad.com/story/351701551-1861 )
Kohimarama Beach. Auckland. New Zealand. 1861.
The tribes meet at Kohimarama.
Sunrise several dreams away, rooster heads snuggled beneath wings, cold delays…When the cocooned warmth of smothering woolen blankets were thrown asunder, sharp air waking occupant within.
“Kiri!…Kiri! Get up!…Get up!” Wikitera shouted!
Morning saintliness a rare virtue of big brothers at the best of times, Wikitera grabbed a exposed arm, yanked, hard! Almost a full-grown man, strong, large, face narrowly avoid floor, a saving hand hit hard, outreached caught.
Quite awake, fucking annoyed Kiri joined Wikitera, Hone and Pai for a wholesome breakfast full of motherly love, freshly prepared, no leftovers here, pork sausage, kumara, beans, eggs.
The house busy, even the Kuri awake, excited at the activity, making play, a long trip to be made this very day. The food will have to be scoffed, forced fed, barely had Kiri’s bum rested onto chair when…
“It’s time”…Archie said…”Its time children, you have a long road ahead.”
The lanterns and candles cast pitiful glow against heavy fog, denying a promising winters sunrise show.
The extended Whanau now at the door, hugs, kisses, love, advice more.
Father and Archie broke way, parted mist, leading the two horses tethered tight under burdens of basket and sacks, there’s will be a 30-mile slog to Kohimarama, no luxury riding horses back.
The first miles, silent as if alone, heavy breathing of horse, the boys occasional curse and moan was all that accompanied Kiri, no deep thoughts to pass time, or good humour worth share, just one foot in front of the other, trudging through the dark, swirling damp mist air.
But sun will raise, giving light for sight and mood to bright, the young do not often dwell in shadows, and soon came right, especially when left to one’s own devices, free of adult watch, the day was not without stop, or a little fun to pocket.
Quick detour to Aunty Maggie’s near Papakura for brunch, another big feed, no complaints, she was still on the bottle and gave several songs a staggering dance.
Auntie packed a picnic, scotch egg, pork pie for lunch, with a little winter cheer, a half bottle of something brown and strong, that brought on a quiver on taste, a laughing shuddery tear. Followed by a cold swim Papakura Stream before parting, Hone making dare.
“What’s happening at Kohimarama that they require so much food? Surely we are better to take it to market, the Pakeha pay good prices in Auckland?” Pai enquired soaking his hot, tired feet in the coolness of the stream.
Pai could not read, nor write but a mark, lacked interest in news beyond or afar, gave little heed to adults talk, the doings and do of important people and places he not knew, if it was not far from farm or fields he grew, he had no desire for knowledge pursue. Pai cared not, he kept strength, attention, energy, in fact quite a bit, solely for a good girls plumpness of bum, protrusions growing young tit.
“Your so dumb, Pai…Governor Browne has called all the Rangatira, the Chiefs from all the tribes to discuss the fighting and find a way for peace. Don’t you know anything?“ Sneered Wikitera.
“I know Aroha thinks you’re a horse, and likes me more.” Pai retorted, it was not true but when attacked, a hurtful lie makes good defense. “In fact, we have done it…Twice.”
“Don’t lie.” Wikitera went most red in face, blood on the boil, fists clench tight, ready to strike.”
Boys.” Intervened Kiri. “Stop this, we have still a while to go. Wiketera…You know Aroha has only eyes for you, although why…Only she knows.”
“My good looks of course, I’m not bad on the eye.”
“Hmmm…Well your my big brother and I love you, but we all know that’s a lie.” Kiri laughed, but when Pai laughed too, she snapped. “And you are not a gift for sore eyes either, so I would shut up!…Anyway lets get going we still have many miles to go.”
They made Kohimarama late, offloading produce into rear kitchens and taking due pay, the horses to feed, groom and bed, the boys let Kiri wander away. There was many people gathered both Māori and white, she followed a line heading into the main meeting room., she joined keeping to back and out of sight.
“Kiri!” It was Lucy coming up from behind. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to sell produce, we left this morning, and you?”
“We came up yesterday and are staying at the Townhouse. Mother is still there, she has no interest other then the gossip of town and the English papers, its so good to see you.”
They touched fingers tips, just, but enough to send a warming spark through the lovers arms. The hall was now very full, with over a hundred Chiefs and many more in watch, Governor Browne now stood to speak, the great room was at hush.
The girls found a corner to sit, matted floor, the shadows hid undue interest, from position they listened all.
After surveying the room, taking time, regal wave middle and sides…The Governor finally spoke…
“I have invited you to meet me on this present occasion that we may have an opportunity of discussing various matters connected with the welfare and advancement of the two Races. For some time, tribes to the south of Auckland have been in plot, and if carried into effect, could only bring evil upon the heads of all concerned. The framers of it are said to desire that Māori should combine together and denounce allegiance to Queen Victoria whose protection they have so enjoyed, and that they should set up a Māori King and declare themselves to be an independent Nation.”
“Such ideas could only be entertained by men completely ignorant of the evils they would bring upon the whole Native Race if carried into effect. It is unnecessary for me to remind you that Her Majesty’s engagements to her native subjects have been faithfully observed. No foreign enemy has visited your shores, your lands have remained in your possession, or have been bought by the Government at your own desire.”
Quite a few chuckles and sniggers broke at this…The Governor pretended not to notice…
“Your people have availed themselves of their privileges as British subjects, seeking and obtaining in the Courts of Law that protection and redress which is afforded to all Her Majesty’s subjects. But it is right you should know and understand that in return for these advantages you must prove yourselves to be loyal and faithful subjects, and that the establishment of a new Māori King would be an act of disobedience and defiance to Her Majesty which cannot be tolerated. It is necessary for the preservation of peace in every country that the inhabitants should acknowledge one Head…And that is the Queen!”
“It is therefore the height of folly for tribes to allow themselves to be seduced into the commission of any act which, by violating their allegiance to the Queen, would render them liable to forfeit the rights and privileges which their position as British subjects confers upon them, and which must necessarily entail upon them evils ending only in their ruin as a race.”
“I shall not seek to prove, what you will all know, that the treatment you have received from the Government, since its establishment in these Islands, has been marked by kindness…”
A Chief from Tauranga gave a loud snort, several others laughed…
“…I will not count the Hospitals founded for the benefit of your sick; the Schools provided for the education of your children in English; the encouragement and assistance given you to possess yourselves of vessels, to cultivate wheat, to build mills, and to adopt the civilized habits of your white brethren. I will not enumerate the proofs which have been given you that your interests and well-being have been cared for, lest you should think I am ungenerously recalling past favours. All will admit that not only have your ears listened to the words of kindness, but that your eyes have seen and your hands have handled its substantial manifestations.”
“I will not now detain you by alluding to other matters of great importance, but will communicate with you from time to time and call them to your attention to them before you separate. Let me, however, remind you that though the Queen is able without any assistance from you to protect the Māori from all foreign enemies, she cannot without their help protect the Māori from themselves. It is therefore the duty of all who would regret to see their race relapse into barbarism, and who desire to live in peace and prosperity, to take heed that the counsels of the foolish do not prevail, and that the whole country be not thrown into anarchy and confusion by the folly of a few misguided men.”
“Finally,—I must congratulate you on the vast progress in civilization which your people have made under the protection of the Queen. Cannibalism has been exchanged for Christianity; Slavery has been abolished; War has become more rare; Prisoners taken in war are not slain; European habits are gradually replacing those of your ancestors of which all Christians are necessarily ashamed. The old have reason to be thankful that their sunset is brighter than their dawn, and the young may be grateful that their life did not begin until the darkness of the heathen night had been dispelled by that light which is the glory of England.”
Governor Browne left quickly after speech, gauntlet thrown well and truly to ground, he thought wise to retire, unless finding hostility around…With a new Māori King meanings war with the Crown, the Chiefs talked late, for many days they stayed locked in debate.
The next day Kiri made the journey back home, they had stocked up on seeds and sugar, tools and clothes, commodities not easily grown nor sewn.
Unfortunately, Lucy had left after the meeting, her father Mr Williamson in search of her, goodbyes were not freely said….Just a curt nod of recognition…Only locked eyes spoke the truth, loves indiscretion. Lucy with father had ridden back to Townhouse…Pine Lodge, a nice affair off the Great North Road.
Lucy was had spent the next morning aiding mother serving tea, cakes and creams followed soon after with some nice wines, good vintage from Rioja for her Fathers guests.
They had help of course, but good staff according to mother was hard to get, just the discarded leftovers of grand homes that according to mother were better of dead, Scot, Welsh, Irish, useless, lame or inbred…Was the nicest remark mother ever said.
Father had been visited by the Governor…Mister Browne, and two others, Lucy not who, but ear pressed to closed Study’s door and soon she knew…A Mister Henderson and Colonel Mould.
“And what do our friends make of our Chiefs?…What is the mood of the natives?” Her father was asking.
“A absolute disaster, a complete balls. The threat of not accepting a new Māori King has not offend there sensibilities at all, quite the contrary the vast majority only want peace, and want to distance themselves from the fighting in Taranaki.” A voice sad.
“By god! Are you sure man.” It was the Governor’s voice.
“Quite…Its from reliable sources…I have very good spies!”
“See…I tell you once, I’ll tell you again they are savages…No honour between them…Well I tried my best, even tried stirring the pot about land compensation.” The Governor was not pleased.
“Gentleman, may I remind you what peace means, we will sooner or later need to pay compensation for the land so taken, sooner or later they will use the law against us…” Another voice said. “Which means our grand plans for getting the Bank of New Zealand off the ground will fail…Quite spectacularly, and we will be all out of pocket!”
“Well…Only when those savages learn to read and write…I think we don’t need to worry just yet.” Laughed her father.
“Don’t underestimate them, they are devilish bastards…They are learning…They are even calling for seats in Parliament.” The Governor responded… “No peace does not serve us well…Not at all, Colonel, what say you?”
“Gentleman if we cannot encourage the natives to do the honourable thing and fight for there land, there is only one thing for it…” The Colonel mused in exaggerated pause.
“Do share Colonel, don’t be a bore.“ Father was heard to say impatiently.
“Well, we can always trust the settlers to fight first ask questions second, should they feel threatened, perhaps we need to awaken some good old English patriotic spirit, now I have a…”
“Lucy!…What are you doing, come help me in the kitchen at once, stop lurking in the hallway.”
Mother thankfully was heavy of foot and Lucy managed to clear the doorway and find a mirror to admire…
“And stop staring at mirrors, vanity is not a virtue!”
“Yes mother…”
Sabotage in Brookland’s.
George Kupapa was born into the arse end of life…
Father was unknown, a quick payed fuck to mother deep in shit, down in luck, rumored to be a Croat sailor jumping ship, heading up North to dig for Kauri gum, changing names as often as women to avoid the laws noose, gaol or gun.
Mother a blue-eyed Māori servicing Docks and Britomart Barracks, of no abode nor will to better,
dying when he was a boy, disease, broken soul, drink, it matters story not. Some said she came from good stock, wealthy white wife and a young chief from a good tribe who both enjoyed a bit on the side…Until a mixed blood sprog put a dampener on affairs.
At nine years old, alone, without penny, George was looking forward to a life set for misery, joining the dispossessed, drunks, down and outs, bums, living…If called that, in the growing hovels and shacks on the skirts of Auckland town.
Taken in by a pack of Maori camped near Freemans Bay, to learn to be a man the hard way, serving a apprenticeship in survival, of taking what was owed, to make life pay from any easy victim that came there way.
But George Kupapa now Twenty Two had blossomed late bloom, into a fine, full figure of a man. Symmetrical, toned, perfect cheek bones, fuck me eyes dark as night, drowning those daring to look into mystery, promising intrigue, danger…A little fright.
Hair, black, silky, long, tempting wayward fingers run through me, strong legs and arms, all sinew and muscle…Not bulky large, and the tightest of arse and that invited a pinch, a little tussle.
His other blessings save of looks…Was he could fuck, fuck good, anything and everything which may help him or pay good.
But behind that welcoming smile, casual manner was a soul that knew not compassion, loyalty, love… A lurking, poisonous Katipo spider, George had grown into a dangerous man, for those rare in gift of intuition that could look past lust or want, would clearly see someone that could cut a throat as easily as suck dick, pleasure women in ways rare, then steal purse and break heart without care.
George who owned nothing but rage, hate ravaged heart, stealing or plying body for trade to get what little coin could be made…Was not long before under due attention of the law, and by chance one Colonel Nixon who took the handsome youth under arm, grooming the boy in decency, manners, refinement to earn his gold in bed and doing what’s said.
He took his masters hand and licked when told, with as much enthusiasm as a chained kicked dog does before handed its occasional morsel of gruel in the serving bowl. Ten years under the Colonel…In more ways then one…He would bite the hand that feeds one day…One day soon he hoped…But for now it was others that would feel his teeth, his delight to kill and destroy a pure delight, ecstatic joy.
And so, we find George Kupapa in company of five from the street, all bad company known to thee, four Maori brothers in arms from when a boy and a Irish deserter from the 65th Regiment, George Hewitt, sick of English floggings and English wars.
They were riding hard down South, payed in full with purse of silver from the Colonel, given horses, powder and gun and clear instructions….
“Make a little mayhem, boys! Go have some fun! Cause a little mischief! do a tad harm!” The Colonel had said.
They made Taranaki on the fourth night, making camp near the little settlement of Brooklands, taking a needed respite.
With belly’s and moon full, sharing a little light, they damped down the camp fire, George took the wet ash and smeared Hewitt’s face
“There you go you white bastard, only your eyes give you away.” Laughed George. “Just don’t get close to anyone.”
“If there is raping to be done, you’ll not hold me back!”
“Well make sure you slit there throat after…Colonel Nixon doses not want this turning into a dogs breakfast, otherwise it will be your throat cut…We are Waikato warriors on the warpath…Not a bunch of bandits.”
They left camp and safety of bush to cross several fields, hugging the contours and fence line to reach Brooklands. They picked a house, separate, looking best, by happy coincidence owned by a Captain King, home with family, at rest.
The attack was savage, they forced a midnight rout, looting and pillaging before setting building ablaze, taking all valuables found about.
Several more houses attacked, barns and outhouses burnt to ground, rape and beatings, turmoil in town, each point of attack etched with bloodied knife…Na Waikato…! Na Waikato!…In the wood of walls on the doors, by Waikato!…By Waikato!
Remember who knocked, don’t forget who stole your gold, raped your wife they told any victims left, the lucky few to survive.
THE SHIP BOMBAY! 