By Brian K Holloway

POSH-2: Waitangi and war

By Brian K Holloway

Copyright 2012 Brian K Holloway

Published by Poshbooks at Smashwords

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Publication Date: November 2011

ISBN: 978-0-473-19792-6 (pdf)

ISBN: 978-0-473-19791-9 (pbk)

Published by Poshbooks

www.poshbooks.co.nz

Digital edition by GoPublished

www.gopublished.com

This book is available in print at most online retailers

Posh

The favoured side of any ship leaving Europe for the Colonies, in particular Australia and New Zealand, was port (left side) of the vessel, and the starboard (right side) on the return voyage. Hence the use of the word, even today, of ‘posh’ people.

The koru, on the cover of POSH-2 is often used in Māori art as a symbol of creation, based on the shape of an unfurling fern frond. Its circular shape conveys the idea of perpetual movement, and its inward coil suggests a return to the point of origin. The koru therefore symbolizes the way in which life both changes and stays the same.

Glossary of Maori terms

Ai (ae): yes

Haere mai: welcome

Haere ra: farewell

Haere ki te kai: come and eat!

Hangi: food steamed in the ground

Hapu: tribe

Hongi: to respectfully greet by touching noses together

Ka pai: good

Kia kaha: go well, be strong

Kia ora: greeting

Kuia: mature woman

Kumara: sweet potato

Maori: indigenous New Zealanders

Mere (Patu): deadly close fighting weapon

Moana: seafood

Moko: tattoo worn on chin and lips of Maori women

Muru: confiscation of goods after an insult

Pakeha: white New Zealanders

Powhiri: traditional greeting ritual

Raupo: bullrushes

Taiaha: fighting stick

Tapu: sacred

Tena kotou: greeting to three or more persons.

Tena koura: greeting to two persons

Tena kuia: greeting to one person

Tohunga: priest, spiritual leader,

Utu: revenge

Wahine: women

Whanau: family

Whare: house

Whare-wanaga: school of higher learning

Whare-mata: school for lower class technical school

Table of Contents

Glossary of Maori terms

What has gone before

Prologue. Early New Zealand

Chapter One. The arrival of Nell Gwynn

Chapter Two. The Mission School at Paihia

Chapter Three. The Treaty of Waitangi

Chapter Four. Disaster Strikes

Chapter Five. Mate sails to Auckland

Chapter Six. Matthew Finds Whanau

Chapter Seven. Maketu massacre

Chapter Eight. Mate sails for Nelson

Chapter Nine. A terrible massacre

Chapter Ten. The sacking of Kororareka, 1845

Chapter Eleven. British Retaliation

Chapter Twelve. British attack on Puketutu Pa

Chapter Thirteen. The Doctor’s Tent

Chapter Fourteen. The Battle of Te Ahu Ahu

Chapter Fifteen. A tragic loss at Ohaeawai Pa

Chapter Sixteen. Battle for the Bat’s Nest

Chapter Seventeen. Homecoming to Auckland

Bonus: POSH-3: The New Settlers

Conflicting Historic Facts from Various Sources

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

By Brian K Holloway

What has gone before

It is London in 1839 and in the squalid filth of the poor, lives a small boy and his widowed mother. He sees his mother brutally murdered by a drunken fiend. In revenge he manages to kill the man and set fire to the house. Friendless and alone, he wanders the mean streets, before thinking of the one person who might help him, Miss Jessica Hooks. He is dumfounded to find that she has just left, emigrating to New Zealand.

With the zeal and innocence of youth, he sets out to find her. He does find her ship, the Nell Gwynn, and manages to get aboard and up into a long boat. He lands on another stowaway, a pretty street urchin called Little Jenny. The boat weighs anchor, and they are found and taken to the captain. He escapes the predatory advances of a paedophile captain, and is protected by Miss Jessica. The first book deals with terrible hardships experienced in the 1800’s on these vermin packed ships heading for the colonies.

By the voyage end Jessica has been proposed to, and marries the first mate , a big Norwegian sailor called Mate Olsen, and Matthew is adopted by them.

Prologue

Early New Zealand

The old feral pig lifted his snout to the pre-dawn sky. His bones poked at a scrawny hide that crudely struggled to contain the lice and flea- bitten frame. He lived on rats and birds, fruit and vegetables, devouring anything that he could digest. Dead meat, animal or human, was a treat, but this night had been a long, futile search, rooting unsuccessfully in the undergrowth for any stray kiwis, or carrion.

But now he recognised the scent of Maori potatoes and his old mouth salivated. If the potatoes were in raised storehouses he would stay hungry, but often they were in cool pits in the ground. He could smell the earthy, half rotten tang. Hunger drove him forward. He was lean and mean, could move very fast, and kill with his sharp tusks, so he feared little and these humans respected him.

The food now was very close indeed and though he could not sight it in the dark, the wafting aroma was exquisite and pulled him relentlessly forward. He could now see the pit was away from the reed houses with only an old humpy nearby.

This hovel was little more than a broken down wreck and the putrid smells from it spoke not of man but of an animal’s stall. He trotted forward. Soon the daylight would come; the humans would be out in force.

He was at the edge of the pit now, the scent was strong and drawing him in. Branches and soil protected the treasure from the weather but little else, certainly nothing that would deter a determined tusker pig. He pawed at the first branch and easily pulled it aside. Laying there was a large pile of potatoes, with sprouts already showing for spring planting. His head bent and he greedily chomped on the closest one.

Unseen, a figure rose like a ghost from the hovel and stood silently watching. Perhaps it was not even human, its form was both loathsome and hideous and scantily clothed in stinking rags. It had lain for a full week barely moving, except to occasionally excrete. This tohunga was so old there was little indication of its sex, though it was female and they were the strongest magicians of all.

Disgusting as the tohunga – priest was, she knew great witchcraft and her magic could change children to frogs, sink canoes and bring untold misery and death to anyone that crossed her path. Now from her mouth, with its broken teeth and raw gums, came a primeval sound, barely a cry, more a guttural croak, full of anger.

The tohunga pointed her long bony and evil finger. Anyone watching might have hoped the tusker would immediately turn to roasted pork, but the pig did an extraordinary thing. It squealed in fright and reared up on its hind legs, as if struck by lightning. It snorted out a bellow and then instead of running away, suddenly charged straight at the human form.

The tohunga took a body blow that drove her backwards, crashing into the reed whare and collapsing the roof to the ground. A terrible melee followed with grunts, croaks and wild thrashings and a long single high-pitched scream – before the pig dashed squealing out the entrance and made its escape.

By now the village was wide awake and the first arrivals saw a scene of carnage, with the absolute demolition of the tohunga’s whare, the half opened pit, and hoarse moans from inside the wreckage.

The priest lay prostrate on the earth. There was a slash across her chest, where a flabby remnant of a breast hung for all to see. She was covered in fresh blood, though apart from the one slash did not appear to be seriously hurt. A small cut on her forehead was bleeding profusely over her face, which made her countenance more awful than ever and the people shrank away as she sat up.

My bones. My bones, she demanded angrily.

One brave warrior looked into the shattered remnants of the abode and saw a flax bag on the ground. There was little else in there anyway, for the tohunga lived and slept between ancient flax mats on the hard earth and scorned all normal comforts. The warrior fearfully pulled out the bag and gingerly passed it over.

I have been waiting for pig. We must see what gods say, we must see, cackled the old crone.

She passed her hand over the ground in front of her, then opened the bag and tipped out all the contents. There were many small bones, the shrunken eyeball of an albatross, the placenta of a baby and other ornaments. She studied them with intense concentration.

So silent was she that the fascinated watchers began to feel as if they were being drawn into her space. As her head went lower, so they all craned forward, despite themselves. As they gazed in rapt awe, steam appeared to begin to rise from the earth and shortly a small thick white cloud hung over the ornaments. The silent crowd stood rock still, frozen, with bated breath. Even the elders very rarely ever saw this much magic. As they watched entranced, the eyeball of the albatross suddenly rolled away, to the northern cliff face.

Enough, enough, be gone all of you, the crone screamed.

As if waking from a dream, the people tumbled backwards, falling over each other in their haste.

Tomorrow at sundown, as she scooped up her ornaments and without another word climbed back into what was left of her whare.

The villagers trooped back to the Pa, to begin their chores, but all day the excited talk was of the strange event. By evening, every villager from the big Pa and other villages nearby were crammed into the square.

A fire was lit, when suddenly, without a word, the old crone was there in front of them. No one saw her entrance and chatter and laughter instantly died away, as if cut with a knife. Without preamble she began to incant to the assembled throng.

The pig, the blood, the eye, the white cloud are all signs. There be very bad times coming. Bad ship from the Pakeha will come, pointing to the north, and spitting on the dry earth.

It rolled in the dust and all those close shrank away from it.

The white man will make blood to be spilt, and the waters will run red with blood.

With that she threw powder into the embers of the fire. There was a blinding flash and when the smoke cleared the tohunga had gone. Great was the magic of the feared tohunga and loud was the babble of talk, but gradually the hubbub of excitement died down as the crowd began to disperse. Yet the elders of the Ngati-Hei tribe continued to sit around the cooling ashes, deep in meditative thought, for they were mindful of her powers and paid heed of the old woman’s words.

In the months that followed, they built stronger palisades and a number of secret escape routes from the main Pa. Water was stored in gourds and a full array of fighting weapons, spears, meres and taiahas were kept at the ready. Guards were continually posted on the cliff top.

Over the years they had been subject to many raids from the dreaded Nga-puhi from up north, with their terrifying huge war canoes, or wakas, but they had always been able to protect themselves. There were other small skirmishes from other local tribes, but Ngati-Hei were a strong tribe of peaceful people, and liked to negotiate whenever possible.

After all, they lived in a beautiful place, where the weather was kind and fish abounded in the sea. Fresh water was plentiful and good to drink and there was enough flat land for all to plant.

But nothing happened as she predicted and the young people even openly began to scorn her. Yet the dreaded prophecy had indeed already begun. It had surfaced in Australia, a far- away place undreamt of by the villagers. A ship named ‘Venus’ sailed into the east coast of Australia with supplies of grain, flour and salt pork, the stores intended for the new settlements.

The Captain went ashore to deliver some government dispatches and was appalled on returning, to see the ship was already underway. Five loyal members of his crew had been set adrift in a boat and told him that convicts had taken over the ship.

The ‘Venus’ made for the Bay of Islands in New Zealand, but faster ships carried the news of the piracy to the authorities at Kororareka. When the ‘Venus’ sailed into the port, though half of the crew were captured, the ship made its escape.

A mulatto seaman, Joseph Redmonds, was in command. A pitiless sadistic man, he was reported as ‘having a corpulent belly, being accustomed to wearing large ear-rings.’ He sailed down the coast to Whangarei. At the entrance to the harbour, the convicts enticed an attractive young girl aboard with a promise of bright cloth. Unfortunately for all concerned, they had captured a niece of Te Morenga, a most powerful Nga-puhi chief from up in the North.

Once on board, she was grabbed from behind and wrestled below decks. How foolish the act, for she would happily have given her body for pleasure and a little cloth, but no one forces a niece of Te Morenga to do anything against her will.

She was a healthy, strong girl and when she kicked and fought, she left many a bruise as the convicts attempted to subdue her. She was tied to a bunk and repeatedly raped by all the crew.

By the time the ship reached Mercury Bay however, the lust had waned. They had two choices; either to kill this difficult girl, who screamed and spat and bit whenever she got the chance, or perhaps sell her off to anyone that would take her.

They anchored off the steep palisades of the Ngati- Hei Pa in the Whitianga Harbour. The blood was washed from her body and cotton pants put on her to hide the worst of the abuse. Her arms were bent back so her exposed breasts were thrusting forward and the crew laughed and tweaked her nipples, as she was tied to the rigging in sight of the Pa.

The girl was then offered to the local natives. A number of lesser chiefs came and inspected the girl, but it wasn’t till a handsome young man called Awaru saw and recognised her, that a move was made, that would echo long in the country’s history.

I will buy her. How much?

Three pigs later and the girl was unceremoniously thrown overboard, just missing the lip of the canoe below. She surfaced gasping for air and began to sink again, unable to swim with her hands tied. Awaru reached down as her head went under yet again and pulled on the glossy black hair. He heaved her bodily upwards and she splashed into the bilge of the canoe. He slapped her hard, once, across her face.

You behave, ei?

The girl glared angrily but nodded as the hand rose again and she lay back in the bilge water. Aching and sore, with abuse marks all over her body, she mulled at the worth of a captive slave. One moment she was native royalty, respected and admired by her people, with slave servants of her own, the next she was the lowest dreg of a community, lower even than the pigs and children.

She may have been used and fearfully treated by the white people, but now she took comfort that at least she was alive and perhaps Te Morenga would be able to rescue her or trade for her. But until that happened, the best she could hope for was a life of menial, back breaking servitude as a slave. Yet, she was with Maoris and the customs and morals were easier to comprehend than the disgusting white men she had so recently fallen in with. She tried to move her comely body closer to the good looking young warrior who had just bought her, but he gave no indication of any desire for her and instead kicked her back down into the bilge of the canoe.

They reached the shore and the canoe was dragged up on to the beach and the girl was pulled out roughly. Her hands were kept tied and she stumbled up a steep path towards the gates of a very well made Pa. On the ground near the gates was a miserable hovel, with an old harridan sitting in front. The creature glared up at her and rattled a flax bag and the girl instinctively shuddered.

She was taken into the Pa centre and made to stand while her fate was settled. That she had a life of abject misery ahead she was absolutely certain, for her own slaves well understood their position in life. Behind, her captor was talking loudly. He was claiming her as his own slave. However, as soon as he ventured that she was the niece of Te Morenga of the Nga-puhi, there was a sudden change and loud chatter broke out all around them. The astute amongst her captors could see the possibilities for a peaceful liaison, or trade, with the savage Nga-puhi, for the return of the girl. Some were for eating her, until an ugly