The Parihaka Woman, Page 2

  ‘There was also the matter of Rimene. He had left Warea before the Niger’s shelling, and some people even said that he had probably given the Crown details that enabled them to target the community. Although, under Te Whiti and Tohu’s guidance, we rebuilt Warea, especially the mill, the people were suspicious of him. Whose side was he really on? He made several attempts to convince us that he loved us but, clearly, the assault on Taranaki placed all missionaries in a difficult position: they were shepherds with Maori flocks, but their masters were Pakeha. This was why, I think, many Taranaki tribes turned against the missionaries and also rejected the baptismal English names that had been given them.

  ‘Notwithstanding the suspicions about what Rimene did, or might have done, I will always remember him for a particular kindness. He must have had a soft spot for me. On the last occasion I saw him, he gave me a gift, a book of German phrases, and he stroked my chin. “Leb wohl, mein Herz,” he said. “Go well, sweetheart.”

  ‘I never forgot the words or him. But when Rimene abandoned us, we had already learnt to fend for ourselves.’

  3.

  The situation between Maori and Pakeha escalated to full-scale war, and the Pakeha soon discovered that the love of Taranaki iwi for the land was greater than their own desire to steal it.

  In 1860 Maori fought battles at Puketakauere and Omukukaitari and faced bombardment at Orongomaihangi. In 1861 they faced off troops under Major-General Thomas Simson Pratt for almost three months as he advanced by a series of trenches and redoubts.

  Facing strong Maori resistance, however, and the huge costs of maintaining his troops, in May 1863, Governor George Grey declared the abandonment of the Waitara purchase and renounced all claims to it. At the time, Grey was in control of all military operations in New Zealand; he was in his second term as governor.

  The troops may have retreated from the Waitara but they appeared within weeks to occupy the Tataraimaka Block and were closing in on Warea again.

  Erenora was seven years old by then, and Te Whiti and Tohu had stepped into the gap left by Rimene’s desertion and become the people’s leaders.

  4.

  ‘We had already faced bombardment three years earlier by the Niger. This time, under supporting naval fire from the Eclipse, forty of our warriors died at the outer trenches of our pa. They had been protecting the rest of us; as was our practice we were sheltering within.

  ‘Te Whiti and Tohu kept us at prayer in the darkness but I saw Huhana stealthily leave our huddled congregation. “Where are you going?” I asked her. She replied, weeping, “You stay here, Erenora. I have to see what has happened to my husband. If Wiremu is dead, I must find out what the soldiers have done with his body or where they have taken him.” Even though Huhana told me to remain, I followed her. When she saw me dogging her footsteps she said, “’aere atu, go back, you’ll only get in the way.” But I wouldn’t listen to her.

  ‘The bodies had been laid out in a long row in front of the trenches and rifle positions where they had fought. Two important-looking men came to inspect them. I didn’t know it at the time but I later found out that one of them was Governor Grey. He seemed like a king on his white horse; it was such a pretty horse, stepping lightly along the trenches as, from his saddle, Grey inspected the dead warriors. Then he nodded to the soldiers and left.

  ‘Poor Huhana was distraught when she saw Wiremu’s body being dumped into a pit with all the others; some of the warriors were still alive, and one arm appeared to reach up before the dirt covered it. Our hearts were thudding as we waited for the soldiers to leave. Some of the bluecoat sailors stayed to have a smoke; how I wished they would just go. But once they had departed, Huhana called to me, “Kia tere, Erenora, quickly!” We ran to the pit to dig the men up. From all around, other villagers, having ceased their praying, were also running to dig, dig and dig with their hands. Huhana began to wail loudly when she found Wiremu; she hugged him close to her chest.

  ‘Among those who were kua mate, gone, I saw a twelve-year-old boy; his was not the only young body among the warriors. I recognised him as the same one who, three years earlier, had soothed my fears. I had come to know him as Horitana and had grown accustomed to seeing him from the schoolroom window, sometimes waving to me as he worked in the potato plantations.’

  Erenora cleared the earth from Horitana’s face. He was still and wan with the waxen pallor of death.

  ‘When we first met,’ she said to him, ‘my heart opened to your aro’a, your love, but now you are dead. And every now and then I have seen you watching me in Warea to see if I am all right. How will I live without you?’ She lowered her face to his and wept and wept.

  All of a sudden, Horitana coughed dirt from his mouth … then more dirt. He was alive! He began to take deep breaths and, once he had recovered, looked into her eyes and smiled weakly. ‘God has saved me for some purpose,’ he said. ‘He took me down into death so that I would get the taste of the land in my mouth and, behold, I am resurrected. Now that I have savoured our sweet earth, I will always serve it.’

  Erenora cried out to Huhana, ‘Kui! Help me!’

  Other women hurried to her side. They lifted Horitana from the earth. ‘We must keep digging out our other men, Erenora,’ Huhana said. ‘You take Horitana to the stream and wash the dirt from him.’

  Erenora led him away but, when they reached the waterway, Horitana was embarrassed. ‘No, I can wash myself,’ he said.

  Afterwards, when he was huddled in blankets, Erenora sat with him as he ate bread and drank some water.

  5.

  The following days were a blur of men digging graves for those who had died and women wailing at tangi’anga, the burial rites. In the aftermath, Horitana stayed with Huhana and Erenora, chopping wood, gathering potatoes and catching fish for the cooking fires of other villagers. Huhana may have hoped that, now that she was a widow, Horitana would stay and become as a son to her. Every now and then, however, she saw him looking at the faraway hills; she knew he was restless.

  A few days later, Erenora saw Horitana talking to Huhana. Then he knelt before the old woman. ‘What’s going on?’ Erenora asked.

  ‘Horitana has asked my blessing,’ Huhana answered. ‘Maori chiefs are fighting to the south, and he wishes to join them.’

  ‘What about us?’ Erenora was panicking.

  ‘Erenora!’ Huhana reprimanded her. ‘We can look after ourselves.’ Ignoring the young girl, she began a prayer for Horitana’s safety.

  At the end of the karakia, Horitana saw that Erenora was still disconsolate. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back,’ he assured her.

  That evening, he said his goodbyes to Te Whiti, Tohu and the villagers. He asked Erenora to walk with him to the perimeter of Warea. Although he was tall, he was still a boy and not yet a man.

  They stood watching the moon, and then Horitana turned to Erenora with his shining eyes. ‘Will you wait for me?’ he asked.

  Erenora was much too young even to know what he was talking about. She knew, however, that she couldn’t say no.

  ‘If you want me to,’ she answered.

  She watched with sadness as he melted into the bush and headed north.

  Not long after that, Te Whiti and Tohu decided to take leave of Warea. They called upon those who had always followed them, and any others who wished to join them, to trust in another journey.

  ‘When I brought you here from Waikanae,’ Te Whiti said, ‘I thought we would be safe. But we have already been attacked twice. What happens if the soldiers come again? We have lost enough of our people. It is time to leave.’

  At his words, the followers began to weep. Abandon the village they loved? But Te Whiti was adamant. He had already begun to fashion a remarkable new fellowship in God, a Maori brotherhood of man. After all, while the beliefs taught him by Minarapa at Waikanae and Riemenschneider at Warea had been based on Christian brotherhood, the offer of true fellowship to Maori was often lacking. But did not Christ also love the Maori? If He did
, better to interpret the Bible and its many promises to the Chosen People from a Maori, not Pakeha, point of view. Better to act for themselves.

  ‘We are the more’u,’ Te Whiti continued, ‘the survivors, and God will succour us as we continue our travels. Although we may die many times, we will rise again in the face of adversity. Let us leave Warea for another sanctuary, another haven, our own Canaan land. Therefore gather our belongings, our children and our livestock, all that we can carry.’

  He led the people swiftly away, and their pilgrimage in the wilderness began.

  ‘Me ’aere tatou,’ he said. ‘Let us go.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Te Matauranga a te Pakeha

  1.

  As for Horitana, he was soon in the midst of the fighting.

  Like many young boys of the time, he was simply a foot soldier. His young mind scarcely comprehended the traumatic machinations of the Pakeha as they established their settler society in Aotearoa. All he knew was that, although he was only thirteen, he was needed in the fight against them.

  Alas, the Maori throughout Aotearoa found themselves facing increasing odds: government forces, local militia and, propelling it all, more and more Pakeha wishing to settle in New Zealand. They also faced an arch manipulator in Governor Grey, who, with one piece of legislation, achieved two goals: punishing Maori for fighting against Pakeha; and obtaining more land for Pakeha settlement. Thus his New Zealand Settlements Act enabled him to confiscate land from Maori because they had rebelled against what he considered to be his legitimate government.

  Here’s how historian Dick Scott describes what took place:

  In 1863 all of Taranaki except the uninhabited hinterland was proclaimed a confiscation area. From Wanganui to the White Cliffs this involved a million acres and with that bonanza, fortune hunters, younger sons without prospects and Old World failures of all kinds need moulder no longer in the colonial dustbin to which they had been relegated.1

  What else could Maori do except continue to defend the land?

  We know from eyewitness accounts that Horitana fought with such defenders, led by Te Ua Haumene, the founder of the Pai Marire religion, at the battle of Kaitake Pa in 1864. Te Whiti and Tohu acknowledged Te Ua who, two years earlier, had been visited by the Angel Gabriel, bringing a message from God. The angel, whose Maori name was Tamarura, told Te Ua to battle the Pakeha and cast their yoke from the Maori people. Some say that Te Whiti and Tohu inherited the mantle of Te Ua as a cloak, which combined with theirs in creating Parihaka.

  Let’s imagine Horitana running, with other boys — bearers — along the trenches: older warriors are firing at the government troops and calling urgently for more ammunition. The battle is not going well for the Pai Marire; the ground shakes with the sounds of exploding shells and gunfire.

  Horitana is passing one warrior to supply another with bullets when the man slumps down, a bullet through his head. Horitana picks up the dead man’s tupara — his double-barrelled shotgun — loads and, sighting above the trench, fires. What are his thoughts as he watches a fresh-faced young soldier fall, his chest blossoming red?

  The record shows that 420 redcoats and eighty military settlers, together with supporting bombardments and devastating artillery fire, finally triumphed over the Maori defenders. ‘Come, boy, time to go,’ one of the warriors tells Horitana. ‘You’ve earned the shotgun, bring it with you. Live to fight another day.’

  Blooded in the battle, Horitana flees. On the way he stumbles over a dead warrior with a tattoo on his buttocks — a spiral rapa motif. Later it would catch the eye of one of the redcoats; sliced from the body it was made into a tobacco pouch.

  Once, Horitana had been a boy. Now, before his time, he is a man. Fighting a desperate rearguard action through the enemy lines, he goes on to further guerrilla action against the Pakeha soldiers at Te Morere, Nukumaru and Kakaramea.

  2.

  You know, a lot of people are unaware that at one time there were more British troops in New Zealand than in any other country in the world; that’s how great the odds were against Maori.

  Michael King offers some details:

  In 1863 Grey used the opportunity provided by the second outbreak of fighting in Taranaki to prise further troops from the British Government. By early 1864 he had as many as 20,000 men at his disposal — imperial troops, sailors, marines, two units of regular colonial troops (the Colonial Defence Force and the Forest Rangers), Auckland and Waikato militia (the latter to be rewarded with confiscated land after the fighting), some Waikato hapu loyal to the Crown and a larger number of Maori from Te Arawa.2

  The Taranaki Military Settlers were also formed, in 1865. Many were recruited from Australia, attracted by the prospect that they would be settled on the land, once they had gained it.

  Under the command of Lieutenant-General Duncan Cameron, an imperial field force of some 3,700 men descended in what we Maori call the murderous Te Karopotinga o Taranaki, the slaughtering of the people and the encirclement of Taranaki. Yes, 3,700.

  Imagine Horitana again, now a fully fledged warrior. War had made a hardened killer of him. Whenever he pressed the trigger of the tupara, he no longer wondered about the soldier or settler caught in his sights.

  As for the people of Warea, they were on the run, trusting completely in their two prophet leaders.

  3.

  ‘You want a description of Te Whiti?

  ‘Aue! Well, he was the son of Honi Kaakahi, a chief of Te Ati Awa. His mother, Rangikawa, also came from a rangatira line and was the daughter of a Taranaki chief. His height was similar to Horitana’s as an adult, so that must mean he was around 5' 10''. His forehead was narrow and his face was marked by piercing eyes. He had a strong build and his movements were always dynamic, agile and spirited. I can remember that one of his fingers was missing; I think he had an accident at the mill at Warea. In all his life he was humble and gentle and, you know, he lived as part of the people and not apart from them. His wife was Hikurangi, a lovely woman. Actually, it was her sister, Wairangi, who was the wife of Tohu Kaakahi. Although he was Te Whiti’s uncle, Tohu was only three years older than him.

  ‘Our patriarchs likened our situation to that of the descendants of Joseph, the same Hohepa of the Old Testament who was sold into Egypt by his brethren. In some respects Te Whiti and Tohu saw in Joseph’s story a parallel with what the Treaty of Waitangi had done: some “brothers” signed it and others, like Taranaki, did not. They were thus enslaved by Pharaoh without their consent but, just as Hohepa and his descendants had done, the two prophets and their followers kept strongly to the belief that, one day, would come their deliverance from the Pakeha.’

  Te Whiti and Tohu took the more’u along the coast.

  There were around 200 of them, a rag-tag bunch of pilgrims: old men — the young having gone to fight — women and children. Te Whiti and Tohu and some of the men scouted ahead, carrying the very few arms they possessed. The main party was in the middle, the old women on horses, but the others on foot pushing handcarts or shepherding a few milking cows, bullocks, horses, pigs and hens before them. The rest of the men brought up the rear.

  They were spied by a gunship at sea, probably the Eclipse, which was still in the vicinity. Next moment there was a small puff of smoke from the ship and its first shell exploded close to them.

  ‘We are too exposed,’ Te Whiti yelled. ‘Quickly, strike inland.’ The sound of cavalry pursuit followed them as, crying with alarm, they ran into the bush and climbed to higher ground where the cavalry’s horses couldn’t go and where they wouldn’t be easy targets for rifle fire.

  They were all exhausted by the time they came to Nga Kumikumi, where Te Whiti thought they would be safe from the dogs of war. There they raised a kainga. Well, it was more like a camp really, with the scouts patrolling the perimeter, ready to tell the people to go to ground whenever soldiers were nearby.

  The more’u didn’t stay there very long. A small band of other Maori trying to flee
a pincer movement of the field forces came across their camp, and it was clear to Te Whiti that the soldiers would not be far behind. ‘Time for us to move again,’ he said.

  Huhana woke Erenora. ‘Quickly, rouse the tataraki’i.’ Women were helping the men on sentry duty, and Huhana had a rifle in her hands. ‘We must leave before dawn.’ Her eyes were full of fear.

  The word tataraki’i referred to the many orphan children in their ranks. It was the word for the cicada, which rubbed its legs together and made a chirruping noise. The great chief Wiremu Kingi Te Matakatea was credited with the symbolism surrounding the tataraki’i. ‘Watch the cicada,’ he said, ‘which disappears into its hiding places during winter but reappears in the summer.’

  The children were the embodiment of Matakatea’s concept, always reminding the people to look beyond their current troubles to when the sun comes out. There must have been about seventy tataraki’i in the pilgrim band.

  As the more’u departed Nga Kumikumi, Erenora was given a special job: Huhana told her to take charge of the young ones. ‘If we are attacked,’ Huhana said, ‘take them into the bush, and don’t come out with them until everything is clear.’

  Erenora nodded, and crept around the tataraki’i, waking them and warning them. ‘Not a sound, all right?’ She even cocked her head at the dogs. ‘That goes for you too! No barking from any of you either, you hear me?’

  Those dogs were good; they obeyed her.

  With smoke rising behind them as the cavalry torched the camp, the survivors embarked again on their pilgrimage. This time their convoy included horse-drawn wagons as well as bullock sleds. They set down their belongings at Waikoukou, where they made another kainga, another makeshift camp; this was in 1866. However, their cooking fires gave their position away and when they were attacked there — Major-General Trevor Chute had taken over from Lieutenant-General Cameron in this, the last campaign of the Imperial forces in New Zealand — the running battle through the bush forced them to leave the protective embrace of Mount Taranaki and move to the foothills beside the Waitotoroa Stream.