‘I have always had a facility with the English language and, noticing that she wore a crucifix on a chain around her neck, responded to her with sharp words of my own. “Madam,” I answered, in my deep male voice, “you would do well to say three Hail Marys when you next see your priest for your uncharitable and unchristian behaviour, particularly during the holy Advent.” It was worth it to see her grow scarlet — she was in polite company — and step back to make way for us.
‘It was satisfying, too, to note that the pavement suddenly opened to us as if God had parted the Red Sea. “Let us go back now and seek the Valley of the Kings,” I said to my sisters.
‘Aue, Te Wheoro was not at Parliament. “Come back in two days’ time,” his secretary, Anaru, said. “The House will be in session and Wiremu will return to Wellington for it. When he arrives, I will let him know you seek his help to visit your men in Mount Cook Prison.”
‘Two days … and then what?
‘I made a decision. Whether Te Wheoro could help us or not, my sisters and I would still carry on to the South Island.’
3.
The following morning the three sisters again ventured into Wellington but this time they headed to the port to book passage on a vessel across Raukawa.
‘Be careful down at the docks,’ Rupi warned them. ‘They’re all robbers and cut-throats there. Watch out that you’re not overcharged for your billets of passage either. If anybody tries it on, just tell them Rupi will come and cut their balls off.’
During the night, Erenora had discovered why the old kuia had so much influence, and how she seemed to know, well, everybody. In the changing world of the Maori she was a new breed; a black marketer, her network extended not only among Maori like her nephew Aperahama — she had a lot of ‘nephews’ — and, possibly, Te Wheoro, but also among Pakeha down at the capital’s port.
‘And you, boy,’ she said to Erenora, ‘you should have known better than to encourage your sister to come with you.’ The way Rupi said ‘boy’ made Erenora wonder if the old kuia had twigged to her disguise. But after all, people escaping from the law or with secrets to hide often said they were one thing when they were really another.
The women made their way to the port through the tangles of warehouses and commercial buildings, public houses and other drinking places. Meri clung to Ripeka as drunkards called out to them, ‘You got time for a poke, girlies?’ At the dockside, it was bedlam. Cargo was being loaded or unloaded from an array of coastal ships: ‘Watch out below!’ The quays milled with shouting sailors and workers, ‘Clear the way!’ Darting among them, gentlemen shepherded their ladies, ‘Come, Millicent,’ before they were soiled by the salty language and terrible odour of sweat and labour.
Erenora found a number of offices selling billets of passage. ‘Do you have passage available to Hokitika?’ she asked.
Rupi had been correct: sharks were indeed masquerading as agents. They named exorbitant rates and then leant back, folding their arms. Even though Erenora tried to bargain, the lowest offer for deck space was still more than she and her sisters could afford unless … Well, Erenora ignored all the lewd suggestions made to Ripeka and Meri about alternative ways of paying to cross the strait. ‘All your girlies would need to do’, one scrawny ship’s agent sniggered, ‘would be to make the trip on their backs.’
Despondent, the sisters returned to Kaiwharawhara where Erenora mulled over the problem.
‘The art of forbearance, Erenora,’ Ripeka reminded her.
‘I should have come by myself,’ Erenora muttered. ‘If no solution offers itself, I’ll go on alone and send you and Meri back to Parihaka. It’s the only way.’
Ripeka showed some spirit. ‘You reckon?’ she flared. ‘Not without us you don’t.’
When the time came to set off again for Parliament, however, Erenora saw a small schooner moored at a makeshift jetty off Kaiwharawhara.
‘Quick, boy,’ said Rupi, ‘some pounamu hunters have just arrived from Auckland where they’ve been trading. They’re on their way back home to the South Island for Christmas. So I’ve spoken to Whai, their chief, and he says you and your sisters could cross over Raukawa with them.’
Oh, that was such lucky news! The sisters immediately went down to the schooner, the Arikinui, and presented themselves to Whai. He had strong links with Taranaki. ‘The old blackmailer tells me you need a passage across the strait. Well, if I don’t take you, she’ll spill the beans on me! As long as you’re ready to leave tonight I’ll take you as far as Arahura.’
Tonight? ‘Let’s hope Te Wheoro can help us by then,’ Erenora said to her sisters as, without hesitation, she leapt at the offer. ‘We’ll be ready,’ she answered. Arahura was just a few miles short of Hokitika.
‘Okay then,’ Whai continued. ‘After all, if I don’t help you the gods could get angry. Wasn’t it a woman from the North Island whom my ancestor Poutini abducted and turned into pounamu? If that hadn’t happened I might not have a livelihood today, eh?’
The sisters hastened to Parliament where they were welcomed again by Te Wheoro’s secretary, who ushered them through the corridors to the public gallery.
‘Right now, the House is debating the findings of the Confiscated Lands Inquiry,’ Anaru explained. ‘Te Wheoro and other Maori members have taken the floor to ask why Te Whiti, Tohu and their men are still being held without trial. Wiremu will see you once the debate is over.’
Anaru opened the door to the gallery and immediately the sound spilled over them. It was the sound of rage, the sound of hostility, the sound of people baying for blood. The object of their ire was a short, heavy-set man, who had taken the floor. Wiremu Maipapa Te Wheoro was speaking in Maori, and the other members of the House were roaring their displeasure at his translated words.
‘Behold, Daniel in the lion’s den,’ Anaru said to Erenora.
The roaring of the lions was so great that the walls shook from it. Te Wheoro happened to look at the public gallery and, seeing three figures, two of whom wore white feathers in their hair, inclined his head to them. Yes, pilgrims of Parihaka, witness my humiliation that day after day I must come here with my fellow Maori members to be eaten alive.
Despite the hostile debate, Te Wheoro was in a buoyant mood when the session ended.
‘The lions were hungry today,’ Anaru said to him as he made the introductions.
Te Wheoro laughed. ‘Perhaps they’ll eat me tomorrow,’ he jested. He turned to Erenora. ‘Are you the boy and his sisters who want to go to Mount Cook Prison?’
‘Yes,’ Erenora answered. ‘If there’s any way you can help us …’
Te Wheoro’s eyes twinkled. ‘Although, in the Parliament, I haven’t yet been successful in overturning the laws inflicted on your two prophets, some compensation can be taken from smaller victories. Come! A carriage is waiting to take us to the prison where my good and faithful servant Anaru has made arrangements with the superintendent to admit us.’
‘You will do that for us?’ Ripeka asked, shedding tears of gratitude. ‘And you are coming too?’ Meri added, kissing his hands.
‘One lion’s den is like another,’ Te Wheoro answered in good humour, ‘and the lions of Mount Cook perhaps do not roar as loudly as the ones here in Te Paremata o te Pakeha.’
4.
‘It was three days before Christmas, 1881. The weather had turned cloudy and cold. The Wellington streets were packed with horse-drawn vehicles of all kinds; men on horseback squeezed through the gaps. Te Wheoro’s driver, oblivious of the shouted oaths, navigated expertly through the traffic, sometimes with only inches to spare between his vehicle and the next.
‘“Bob’s showing off for the country constituents,” Anaru whispered to Te Wheoro.
‘As the carriage turned up Taranaki Street, Te Wheoro pointed out a rise ahead. “Ah, we are approaching Pukeahu,” he said. Mount Cook Prison crouched on the top of the small mounga. I caught glimpses of an encircling palisade topped with viewing platforms and sentry boxes. G
uards holding rifles patrolled the walls.
‘My sisters became nervous. In an attempt to calm them, Anaru engaged them in conversation. “Did you know,” he began, “that the palisade was built by the very first contingent of prisoners from Parihaka? When they arrived they were put to work converting the original military barracks into the prison. They repaired and altered the buildings, put in the gas and water fittings, gravelled the yard and built the prisoners’ wing — and then they moved into it.”
‘The carriage clattered up to the main gateway, interrupting him.
‘“Ah, here we are,” Te Wheoro said. He showed our credentials to the guard, and we were admitted. As Bob drove through, we saw that another guard was waiting at the steps to the administration block. He gave a snappy salute as we stopped. “Rank has its privileges,” Te Wheoro continued.
‘My sisters clung to me as we were led to the office of the prison superintendent. On the walls of the corridor were sketches of similar prisons in Tasmania and Norfolk Island. One showed a prison at night, its outer walls lit up and guards on constant patrol.
‘“Let me speak for you,” Te Wheoro said. It was fortunate that he did so because the prison superintendent was not helpful. No sooner had Te Wheoro introduced himself than that officious man responded by saying, “While I am forced to entertain your presence, I am not required to assist your enquiries.”
‘Te Wheoro almost lost his temper, but he maintained admirable self-control. “Sir, I quite understand your position. I am here on behalf of three of my constituents. Won’t you help them? All they request is that you consult the manifest for the month of August 1879 …”
‘“That information is classified.”
‘“… and advise them if the names of three particular prisoners appear on it. The men were transported here with the original 170 sent from Parihaka. They were not, however, among those who returned and my constituents understand they may have been transferred instead to prisons in the South Island. Once they know that destination they will thank you and be on their way.”
‘“I repeat,” the superintendent began again, “that that information is …”
‘At his words, Meri gave a sob and, well, my sister had her uses: she could melt a heart of stone, even if it did belong to a prison superintendent. After a while, he coughed. “I will make an exception to the rules in this case,” he said, and reluctantly called one of his men to bring him the relevant records.
‘“The names of the fanatics?” he asked us. Fanatics? We gave him Horitana’s, Riki’s and Paora’s names. He thumbed through the manifest. “Yes, we have their names entered in the register among the misguided men who were sent here.”
‘I could have hit him for his abusive words. “This prison follows the Pentonville model,” he continued, “and therefore, for infractions, felons are subjected to the normal punishments. From the very beginning the fanatics you refer to were sullen, morose, refused to work and were disobedient. The ones named Riki and Paora were punished for insubordinate behaviour and the third, Horitana, was placed for seven days in isolation and solitary confinement.”
‘My heart lurched with fear. “The first two men were detained from transportation with their fellow fanatics to the South Island because they were undergoing punishment. The same applies for their misguided leader, Horitana. Upon completion of their sentences, however, the fanatic named Paora was conveyed to Hokitika …”
‘“Those prisoners have already returned to Parihaka,” Ripeka interrupted.
‘The superintendent ignored her. “… and the fanatic named Riki was sent to Christchurch.”
‘“What was the date of their release?” Te Wheoro asked.
‘“On 14 August, at 6.15 a.m., the fanatics were presented for transfer while the streets were still empty, so as not to disturb the harmony enjoyed by the citizens of our peaceful city.”
‘“What of the prisoner Horitana?” I asked.
‘The superintendent thumbed through the register. An expression of puzzlement appeared briefly on his face. “His name appears to have been erased. There’s no indication of his movements. Certainly, he’s no longer imprisoned at Mount Cook.”
‘Te Wheoro asked the question I dared not ask. “Is it possible that the prisoner Horitana died in solitary confinement?”
‘My heart skipped a beat as the superintendent turned the pages. Finally, he shook his head, “No, I have no record of his death. I do have the name of Tami Raiha, however. He was so ill he could not be sent with the others.”’
5.
Te Wheoro turned to Erenora. While the prison superintendent looked on, he whispered to her, ‘Young man, I think we have the information you and your sisters seek, yes?’
Erenora nodded. She felt drained and numb. Oh husband, where are you?
‘So we are finished here?’ Te Wheoro asked again.
‘Yes,’ she answered. She could not help the bitterness that flooded into her words. ‘Let’s get out of here and away from this disgusting man.’
Te Wheoro was more polite. ‘I thank you, sir,’ he said to the prison superintendent, ‘for your assistance.’
They were just about to leave — Te Wheoro, Anaru, Erenora and her sisters — when the superintendent coughed for attention. ‘We don’t have many members of Parliament visiting us,’ he began. ‘Perhaps you might like to make an inspection of the fanatics so as to reassure your colleagues that they are well cared for by Her Majesty’s prison officials?’
Te Wheoro looked at Erenora: this was manna from Heaven. ‘Of course,’ he answered.
The superintendent led them all toward the prisoners’ wing. ‘The fanatics are all at work,’ he began, ‘in our brickyard. Thus they serve a useful purpose during their confinement by making bricks to erect the proud edifices of our country’s government. The current batch is destined for the Wellington courthouse.’
Even before they reached them, Erenora could hear the men singing:
‘Fly, our thoughts, on golden wings! Alight upon the slopes of Taranaki Mountain, the slopes and hills where the soft and sweet breezes blow warmly over Parihaka! Oh, our beloved people! Our beloved country!’
Suddenly, there they were, toiling in the yard. Erenora’s heart went out to them. Fanatics they were not, but fine and good men. Some were filling the moulds with clay. Others stooped at the kilns, stoking the fires. Even more were stacking bricks onto sledges.
All the prisoners were sweating. They wore the familiar prison garments with their broad arrows. Most looked in good health but a few were coughing and clearly ill from their incarceration. Ripeka and Meri recognised some of them and, before they could be stopped, called out to them, ‘E nga ’oa, tena koutou! Titiro ki nga roimata o o koutou tua’ine o Parihaka!’
‘No,’ the prison superintendent cried, alarmed, ‘don’t do that.’
It was too late. ‘Women of Parihaka, here?’ the prisoners cried. Flinging down their tools, leaving the kilns, they rushed to the bars behind which Ripeka and Meri were standing and pushed their hands through the gaps to touch them. Tears flowed down their gaunt faces.
‘How are our wives? Our children? Tell them that we think of them and yearn to be with them.’
Whistles were sounding. Prison guards rushed toward the men. ‘Back! Back, fanatics! Get back!’
One of the men Erenora knew well. It was Ruakere and, despite her disguise, he recognised her. ‘Erenora! Wait!’ His eyes were wide with shock and desperation.
Te Wheoro and Anaru looked at Erenora, puzzled. ‘You are a woman?’ Te Wheoro asked.
She nodded, then turned her attention back to Ruakere. She saw him reach into his shirt pocket and try to thrust something through the bars to her. Too late — he was brutally herded away with the others. ‘No! Please, I …’
All too soon the brief encounter was over.
6.
The three sisters returned with Te Wheoro to Parliament.
‘What will you do now?’ he asked Erenora. He
and Anaru had accepted with equanimity her confession that she was not a boy.
‘My sisters and I will go on to Te Wai Pounamu,’ she answered. ‘We came to find our husbands and we will not rest until we do.’ She thanked him for his assistance. ‘Keep fighting the lions,’ she said.
She turned to Anaru. ‘I will never forget your kindness.’
They hastened back to Kaiwharawhara. Had Whai and the greenstone hunters left without them? With relief Erenora saw that the Arikinui was at the jetty.
‘You’re just in time,’ Whai called.
There was hardly a moment to say goodbye to Rupi and others gathered on the beach. Rupi patted Ripeka’s stomach, gave her a kiss and Erenora and Meri a stern look. ‘Look after your sister,’ she said.
The schooner was casting off when Erenora heard a shout. Who was that? It was Te Wheoro’s carriage, and Bob the coachman was still showing off his skills. He drove straight through the crowd and right up to the jetty. Rupi had to leap to one side and into the water. When she got up, she gave Bob an earful, ‘A new dress is going to cost you a pretty penny.’
Anaru jumped out of the carriage and ran along the jetty. ‘Erenora! Wait!’ He was just fast enough to thrust something into her hands; any later and it would have fallen into the sea. ‘A letter, Erenora,’ Anaru panted, ‘under the parliamentary crest, to whomever it may concern. Who knows, it might come in handy.’
The wind belled the sails and the Arikinui surged away.
‘And I have a message.’ Anaru was panicking. ‘From Ruakere, who recognised you in Mount Cook Prison. It’s about your husband.’