IV

John expressed no opinions about the flagstaff because you never knew who might be listening-in these days. But he secretly felt that the Governor should be able to page 54 manage better with all the help sent him by England—Chief Justice Sir William Martin, a bishop, and no end of other big pots down in Auckland, where John meant to go as soon as he could get the land fenced for his new Herefords … if Caroline would let him wait so long. Caroline (who had now added Sophia and Maria to Belinda) was always wanting to know if Sir John intended his daughters to grow up like savages.

To Jermyn the cutting down of the flagstaff was the most promising thing yet. Now, thank the Lord, there would be something to lift a young man out of the doldrums. “Yoicks! Up, Guards, and at 'em,” he shouted, smacking Major Henry between the shoulders and rollicking up the bracken-covered hill to borrow Sally's children for a while. The boys, dragooned by Peregrine into saying Yes, sir and No, sir, were such jolly little ruffians behind his back, and Tiffany (praise be) was already shaping like a lady.

But on this sunny July afternoon Tiffany was no lady. Sharing the Maori dislike to clothes, she was leaping, smooth and naked and pagan as a nymph, round the cooking-trench, while little Belinda and Sophia (already taught to think the human body sinful) wailed with shame, and the boys, including two of Corny Fleete's, stood bunched together, admiring yet abashed.

“I must draw you some day, you little beauty,” said Jermyn, huddling her into her clothes. “Come, boys … no, I won't take you, Linda. Damn snobs—” Then he apologized charmingly to Sally and went down the hill, aware that Darien was watching behind the blind. Shocked at a baby's nakedness and yet the things she'd do herself, thought Jermyn, well knowing where Darien's satin slippers had come from. Flower, who could skin an eel with any man, wasn't the kind to give something for nothing.

In Major Henry's hut Tiffany immediately set herself page 55 to disrobing again, quite indifferent to the gentlemen, who were much occupied by his hounds.

“When I'm a man I'll have a thousand wolfhounds and hunt the English with 'em all,” boasted little Hemi Fleete, straddling.

“The doose you will,” said Major Henry, “What will your father say to that? Tiffany, you can't take off anything more. Stop her, Jermyn.”

“I'll hunt him too,” said Hemi, darkening. Gad, Corny was preparing a rod for that fat back of his, since half-castes had already proved uncertain. “I'll kill all the English till there's not one pakeha left,” said Hemi.

“Boy!” said Tiffany, stately as a duchess in bare legs and a red petticoat, “I don't like you.” This seemed a signal for young Lovels to fall on Hemi who, supported valiantly by his brother, rolled with them on the earth floor among the wolfhounds; while Tiffany climbed on the Major's knee, and Jermyn sprawled over the table to continue a letter calculated to make the Colonial Office wish that it had left New Zealand to stew in the juice of its own cooking-pots. He read aloud as he wrote.

“The Treaty of Waitangi stinks in the Nostrils of every true Pioneer. Missionary Williams, who had been a Naval Officer before he apparently decided that converting the Maoris was easier work, made it in conjunction with Captain Hobson and Mr Busby, and it was signed on Mr B's lawn by the Waitangi River. The accompanying Sketches will convey the scene.”

“Blast it all, Jermyn. They'll take it as an insult,” objected the Major on first seeing the neat little uniformed pen-and-ink hens and the colour-splashed kaka parrots screeching with their bright crests up. Jermyn prayed that they would, since that was his intention … and he hoped England would recognize Hobson as her own emissary among the hens.

There could be no doubt that the kakas meant the Maoris, for Jermyn told how they screeched when the page 56 Queen of England (through Captain Hobson) offered to give them New Zealand if they would become her subjects…. “We wish to protect you,” said Victoria, nurse-like to these enormous nurslings who would make any nursery fit for coroners and inquests if allowed to enjoy themselves, “and in return we ask for nothing but Loyalty.”

Jermyn went on outlining the argument of his letter. “The Chiefs, whose notion of Loyalty is killing an enemy, were puzzled and said so with perfect courtesy, being still aristocrats in spite of all us English. The Chiefs explained that the country was already theirs, and asked Capt. H. to tell the Queen, with their compliments, that they did not require a woman's protection. In any case, a female who did not have her thumb turned outward at birth so that she could plait flax could not be considered. Nor were they sure that she had had her legs straightened….”

“Good God, man,” exploded the Major, “they never said that.”

“They would have if they'd thought of it…. Boys, will you kindly make a little less noise.”

“Ka mate, Ka mate, Ka ora, Ka ora,” shouted the boys, slapping their thighs in the Maori war-haka, Tiffany with shining eyes beating time with her slender little hands.

“Sing if you must, then,” said Jermyn resignedly, “but for the Lord's sake stop war-dancing.” The shrill sweet English voices and the guttural melody of the Maori lilted up in “Red plumes, red plumes of the kaka,” and Jermyn continued, feeling very pleased with his handling of the Colonial Office.

“The white settlers deeply resented having Maori landlords, and the Maoris (naturally fearing a Catch somewhere) raised such a dust that Busby's lawn was spoiled which is the only satisfaction we have got out of the treaty in over Four years. Then Chief Tamati Waka page 57 Nene took the floor in a very fine feather mat and everyone stopped shouting to see which way he would Jump since he and Hone Heke are Heads of the great Ngapuhi tribe. Nene jumped for England (though he must be whipping the cat now), so many Chiefs put their Tattoo mark to the Treaty and the Flagstaff on Maiki Hill flew the Jack—which has now been chopped down by Heke's orders. And we English gentlemen wish courteously to remark that such a blackguard Colonization was never perpetrated before, with all the land deeded over our heads to natives who can't sell it to us since their land-laws are in such a devil of a mess and any Governors you send us quite incapable of straightening them out. We protest that the whole business is a mean Scandal and no good to anybody.”

The Major guffawed. Then grew serious. “You'll have them on their ear, boy.”

“Please the Lord,” said Jermyn, feeling much better. The pen was mightier than the sword … though that would come presently. Waka Nene looked in at the door and the children flung themselves on him with shouts of joy. He picked Tiffany up, smoothing her bronze curls.

“So you sing ‘Red plumes,’ little wahine? A song for battling men, my blossom, not for babes.”

“What does Heke mean to do, Nene?” asked Jermyn, getting off the table. Curious how one instinctively showed respect to these chiefs, so like the finest type of the Egyptian Pharaohs even in their ugly English clothes. Nene in his feather mats at Busby's party had been tremendous. Where did they come from, this noble race bearing a shadow of remote ages, strange passionate generations secret in the mist of the ancient days; with every man a warrior, every girl showing the classic grace of Syrian maids? In war-canoes from Hawaiki, the Maoris themselves said. But where was Hawaiki? Not on any map. Egypt, perhaps, Assyria, India? It was all so long ago….

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“Who can tell what Heke will do?” said Nene gently.

Your true Maori—full of courtesy and evasions. But Jermyn knew Nene had been talking to Heke like a Dutch uncle.

“Will Heke fight?” asked Jermyn.

“Should the tide turn, what hand may prevent it, my brother?” Seeing a plug of the Major's best tobacco on the table, Nene suddenly descended from his dignity. “A chew, now, Mahore, and I will take the tamariki home.”

The Major handed over the plug with the necessary compliments, for a chief (even when begging) knows what is proper between gentlemen. With a great lump in his scarred cheek and having said the correct number of haere's and enoho's, Nene went off with the children, and the Major said: “With tobacco and no Hobson, we'd soon have them all eating out of our hand.”

“Instead,” said Jermyn, feeling enormously excited, “we'll have war and Nene knows it.” This, he thought, is what I have been really waiting for. What was dangling about with women and making marks with pen and brush to this man's game out on the wild hills, with danger behind every bush and glory waiting on every shot? Life had been too easy for a young man so filled, so brimming over with primitive urges; so conscious of power in him that he didn't know how to handle. War would show the way…. He brought up suddenly before Amy Mathers's text (slightly fly-blown now). “Oh, rest in the Lord,” eh? Well, he didn't want to rest in the Lord (or otherwise) with Amy Mathers. He wanted to measure his strength against men.

“Think I'll go along the Beach for a while,” he said, and went off whistling: “The French are on the sea, says the Shan Van Vocht.” Gad! There was a tune for a man——