Boundary

Chapter 4

A male Māori, at comfort in the clothing of an English gentleman, walked slowly along the deck towards them, deep in thought. He was oblivious to the young couple at the bow.

"What ails you, Ngaiti?" inquired Andrew as he approached. "Is everyone in despair aboard this fine vessel today?"

Ngaiti looked up in surprise and offered a friendly smile.

Eleanor detached herself and leaned against her husband, linking her arm through his as she greeted the young man. "Don't listen to him, Ngaiti, I believe he is the only person here who enjoys this horrid place."

"Good morning, Miss Eleanor, Andy. And since you ask, yes, I am worried."

"Oh, can we help in any way?" Eleanor inquired with some concern.

"I've been trying to make the colonel see reason and have him understand that his plan won't work." Ngaiti paused, leaned on the rail and looked out across Te Awaiti as if searching for something. "He wants to buy land from Māori, but this is something that is unknown to us."

"Nonsense," replied Andrew, "Everyone is familiar with the notion of buying and selling."

"That is what the colonel believes too, but you are both wrong."

"If you go ashore now, you will see Māori selling potatoes to anyone with money."

"Potatoes aren't land, Andy."

"I still don't understand Ngaiti, why is this a problem?" asked Eleanor.

"What do you think will happen when the New Zealand Company goes to Māori chiefs and says to them, 'I want to buy this land, what is your price to sell it to me?' Money has no meaning, so the colonel will offer trinkets, weapons and blankets. Those things will interest the chiefs and of course they will want them. But, as Māori do not believe in land ownership as you Europeans do, they will agree to his terms without fully understanding what will happen next. The chiefs will still believe they are free to roam the land, travel through it and live wherever and whenever they want, just as they've always done." Ngaiti turned to face Eleanor, the conviction of his belief evident on his face. "I have seen the fences in England. You are forbidden to walk on your neighbour's property without asking him first. Māori will not know of this and when they are refused permission to travel across the land or to use it, there will be trouble."

"Ngaiti, Colonel Wakefield has the support of many learned and educated men, they are politicians, doctors and academics, and I do not believe that these men haven't considered these implications you speak of. My friend, I think you concern yourself needlessly," offered Andrew.

"Thank you, Andy, I wish you are right, but you don't know Māori."

Ellie looked up at Andrew, her face betrayed the unease she felt.

"And about time too," Ngaiti said, as he observed a small rowboat that was making its way towards the Tory, carrying a single passenger.

"Who is that?" Ellie asked.

"That is Dickie Barrett, the gentleman we've been waiting for," replied Ngaiti.

The small rowboat pulled alongside and within moments a small, round man clambered aboard the Tory, met by Colonel Wakefield. The two men disappeared below deck to the colonel's cabin.

"With luck, now that the whaling season is over, we shall be leaving here, as soon as the colonel has decided where we are going," laughed Ngaiti.

"Not soon enough," quipped Andrew.

"What do you mean, they've sold one million acres?" shouted Colonel Wakefield, as he began pacing in his small cabin, the low ceiling height forcing him to bow his head.

"Jackson and Guard, sir, two whalers, purchased one million acres from local Māori," replied Dickie Barrett amiably.

"And what prompted them to purchase this land?"

"I believe they knew that was your intention, why you are here in New Zealand; they wanted to beat you to it."

Wakefield continued pacing, ignoring Dickie, who sat quietly watching.

"The land around here is too hilly for our needs, those whalers can have it. I don't want it." Turning to face Dickie, Wakefield continued, "We can't dilly-dally here any longer Barrett, where do you suggest we should go? I want a suitable harbour and flat land, lots of it."

"I agree, sir, and if I may? I think we should head to Port Nicholson, where there is a large amount of flat land on the north side of a large protected harbour."

"Show me."

Wakefield pulled a chart from his writing desk and Barrett stabbed with a grimy finger at the area he spoke of. Wakefield studied the area carefully.

"Yes, yes, this will do nicely, Barrett. I suggest you get your family aboard as soon as is conveniently possible."

"They will be aboard by tomorrow afternoon, sir. If the weather holds, we can leave on the morning tide, the following day."

Wakefield nodded in assent, "Are you acquainted with the Māori chief of that area?"

"Yes, sir, there are many chiefs, but I do know a senior chief; we have met on a number of occasions. I'm sure you will find him agreeable to any reasonable offer you make," said Barrett with confidence.

Wakefield raised his eyebrows at the turn of good news. "Does he speak any English?"

"No sir, perhaps a word or two, that is all."

"And how well do you speak the language Dickie?"

He shrugged. "I get by reasonably well, sir."

Wakefield looked closely at Barrett, weighing his options.

"Perhaps you should be my interpreter."

"I thought you had an interpreter, that young Māori bloke?" said Barrett.