Rich Man's Coffin (34 page)

April 1843:

         
Robulla stepped out of his canoe at Te Pukatea following rumors that the white man had been extremely active in the area.
 
Pakeha ships had been pulling into a port at the top of the South Island, and white men were seen carrying on strange activities all down through the Waitohi valley to Tua Marina, just inland of Te Pukatea.

The Chief was met by Reverend Ironside, a missionary to the area Maori since the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi.
 
He learned the native tongue well, and he was a deft interpreter between the Pakeha and Maori.
 
He told the Chief, "Do not be alarmed, but there are two gentlemen here under contract from the Crown to survey and name all desirable tracts of land."

Robulla replied, "But they already have names.
 
Does that not matter to them?"

The Reverend responded, "I mean that the places are receiving English names.
 
For example, they have named Te Pukatea, 'White's Bay'."

Robulla scoffed, "Well, now, isn't that creative!
 
They're not short on modesty, I'll give the white men that much."

The Reverend replied, "No, no, Chief.
 
They have named it after Black Jack White, the American Negro.
 
Do you remember him?
 
The Maori here have told me much about him."

Robulla replied, "Ha! The boy from Mississippi?
 
Remember
him? He is like a son to me!"

The Reverend said, "Perhaps I should warn you before you travel inland."

The Chief simply glared at the reverend as he departed.

Moving over the hills from the shore, Robulla and his warriors reached the flat floor of the wide Waitohi valley.
 
They could scarcely believe what they encountered.
 
Spread out in all directions for as far as they could see were white stakes stuck in the ground at regular intervals, knee-high, like small grave markers.
 
It looked like the entire basin had been turned into a massive cemetery.
 
The fact that it had all been done without Robulla's consent did not quickly escape him. He was hopping mad. He ordered his men to pull up each and every baton blanche.
 
Satisfied that he had stopped the current encroachment upon his
sovereignty
, as the white man had so nicely put it at the treaty signing, the Chief set up camp at White’s Bay.
 
He wanted to stick around for a while and head off any further trespasses.

Within days a team of indignant, self-important investigators stood upon his doorstep at White's Bay, demanding an explanation for his vandalism.
 
He simply replied that no permission had been sought to survey the land; and certainly nothing had been paid to the Maori of Cloudy Bay for the acquisition of any new lands.
 
The men were adamant that he had signed a deal which encompassed the Waitohi valley. Recalling no such entitlement mentioned in the Treaty of Waitangi, the Chief was equally vociferous in expressing that he had not.
 
The argument heated and spread to many more parties, coming and going, over the next few days. Finally the order was issued that a constable with armed assistance be sent to arrest and shackle the great and illustrious Robulla for contempt of the Crown's orders.

What ensued was a showdown. It occurred at a little patch of flat, grassy land right next to the gentle river flowing through the middle of the serene valley being fought over.
 
The Maori called it Wairau.
 
Some say that it was merely an incident, causing the death of only a few people.
 
Other accounts claim that it was a massacre involving hundreds. Regardless, the legend lives on in the annals of New Zealand history and is retold many ways by different people. Perhaps only the tall Titoki tree, which stands there still today by the stream for which the site is named, knows the full story. The following is written with excerpts taken directly from a newspaper clipping held at the Picton Historical Museum, right down the road from where it happened:

Cloudy rays fell on the tattooed face of an old man as his eyes yearned skyward.
 
With outstretched and uplifted arms, he cried, "Farewell, oh Sun, farewell thou world of light, come, oh night, come on, oh Death!"
 
He stood on a flat plain near a stream.
 
Beside him lay the sprawled body of a dead white constable from town, still in uniform clutching the handcuffs and leg irons that he had brought to capture the Chief.

Several feet away, a Black man in whaling clothes held his Bible overhead, and proclaimed, "Have faith, Robulla, have strength.
 
Not a hair on your head will be harmed, by the grace of God.
 
Believe that, and you will be saved!"

The old Chief continued to tremble and chant heavenward, a revolver in one hand.
 
Around the perimeter of the clearing lay strewn the bodies of four Maori and twenty-two Pakeha.
 
Countless others, weaponless or wounded, cowered in the bushes along the small river.

         
Something happened to both of them at Wairau.
 
It was a transcendental transformation for both Black Jack and Robulla.
 
Exactly why or what is hard to explain. Beyond the sheer magnitude of the event around them and its ramifications, something big occurred inside each man that changed them forever.
 
On the surface, one man recoiled at the sight of the shackles; and the other found Jesus for the first time.

For Black Jack, the shackles held ominous significance.
 
Seeing them along with the horrible tragedy ripped open wounds and laid bare parts of his soul that caused him to reconsider his returning to America.
 
The possibility of being sold back into slavery entered his mind. He also saw the cuffs and leg-irons as evidence of what the British were planning for New Zealand, with evil intentions after all.
 
The ordeal roused a sense of higher purpose and duty toward this new land that he loved, evoking ideals of loyalty and commitment.
 
He suddenly felt as though his place were here, and that he was morally obligated to stay and fulfill his destiny in this country.
 
That destiny, he concluded, included standing by the vulnerable Maori. He wanted to stand for truth and justice in the face of the white threat, standing up for the land itself along with its native people.

Ironically, Robulla got saved by the white man's Savior.
 
From the short time that he spent with Reverend Ironside and the Maori converts at White's Bay, Robulla learned enough about Jesus Christ to believe.
 
In his heart now, he knew Who had kept him from coming to harm at Wairau. The old chief’s faith was prompted along by Black Jack’s vociferous sermonizing and enthusiasm as well.

Miracle or no, the experience at Wairau was powerful enough to convince Robulla to accept the Lord as his personal savior.
 
This spiritual awakening in the midst of a life-threatening crisis helped the two to form a brotherhood that dispelled any mistrust that may have arisen between them stemming from Black Jack's previous deeds or words.
 
That is to say, Robulla was not inclined to accuse Black Jack of giving bad advice on the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, or of being in cahoots in any way with the white man; even if he had lived long enough to somehow influence them to name a bay after him.
 
All of that palled in comparison to Robulla's new soul.

Even greater than their newfound peace and joy was their rekindling of good will.
 
All mistrust between them was laid aside in light of their shared belief in The Lord.
 
At Black Jack’s suggestion, they agreed that an offering of disarmament to the whites would be a good idea.
 
In return, he thought, the whites would probably offer to exchange goods and services for the relinquished rebel guns as a show of good faith.
 
Robulla was not thrilled by the idea, but he relented to the wisdom of the prospect.

Furthermore, Black Jack suggested that Robulla move away from the white whaling settlement of Kakapo, owing to his involvement at Wairau and the problems his involvement there may pose for him in the near future.
 
He said to Robulla as they strolled White's Bay a few days after the massacre, "Chief, I have a plan.
 
First, we're gonna go back to Kakapo, just you and me.
 
Now you know and I know that those are good folks, and they've always treated me and your people reasonably well.
 
They didn't have anything to do with this latest land grab, and they've certainly been there long enough to belong.
 
Let them be the first one’s that you make an offering of peace to.
 
Take that rusty old revolver that you shot that constable with and offer it to them for some blankets or tobacco.
 
See how that strikes them!
 
Surely, word of that will make it around the white settlements.
 
It's bound to have an effect."

The old chief looked perplexed at first, then finally relented. He said, "All right.
 
You have been right about most things so far.
 
Let us go and do this thing.
 
What do we have to lose?"

         
June 22nd, 1843:

         
They seem scared
, thought Robulla.
 
They got two ships and a slew of sailors in the bay, and still they are standoffish.
 
He set the six-barreled pistol upon the table.
 
Several of his women counted shillings, saying that the shore whalers should sell them something.
 
Our money is as good as anyone else's,
thought Robulla.
 
Besides, this family should be grateful for me saving them from that shipwreck years ago.
 
And for selling them this damn land afterwards!
 
Why are they so nervous?
He wondered.
 
I didn’t start anything at Wairau
, he thought.
That dumb constable didn’t listen when I told him to keep his damn hands off me.
 
What was I suppose to do?
 
I didn’t know that old piece of crap was gonna go off. They made the damn thing, now they are acting like they are doing me a favor to buy it back
.
 

Robulla felt he was showing a real effort to make total peace.
 
What more could he do than sell them his gun? He asked himself.
 
What good was money if it did not seal a bargain with trust? He wondered.
 
The entire experience left a bad taste in his mouth, and he departed the whaler's house disgusted.
 
The only man who seemed to have any respect for Robulla, he thought, was the man who had married Kueka.
 
This Pakeha was now busy running back and forth between the house and the ships in the bay.
 
Robulla stopped him coming up the hill and asked, “Are you scared? Or is there some other reason that you can’t stop to talk to your uncle for a moment?”

Mr. Wynen swallowed hard. He said, “Everyone is real busy giving their account to the authorities on who was responsible for Wairau. That’s all. No worries.
 
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got more stores to roll out from the hold.”

Later that day at White's Bay, Robulla said, "Black Jack, I just don't trust them. They all seem to be bothered by something, and totally uninterested in resolving the differences between Pakeha and Maori.
 
They were all running around like they each had a bug up their ass.
 
It was driving me crazy, so I left."

Black Jack chuckled. "Well, did you discuss disarming with them?
 
You know, calling a truce and getting back to the goals of the Treaty of Waitangi?"

         
"I showed them my gun and tried to talk with them.
 
I even tried to use some of their kind of money to buy some stuff. You know, to show that I could deal on their terms."