Isle of Tears (3 page)

To Isla, it felt as though they had been walking for hours. She didn’t know where they were, but she did know they were heading more or less west because the sun, glimpsed through the trees and tall ferns of the bush, was dropping in the sky slightly to her left.

She felt sick with fear and her feet were starting to hurt, and every time she thought of her parents, the shock made her dizzy. It all felt so horribly…
wrong
, and she couldn’t quite believe what had happened. At times she wondered if she might be asleep in her bed and having some sort of terrible dream. How could her parents be dead? They’d all shared a meal only a few hours earlier, so how could they be in their graves now? It just couldn’t be. But then she would recall the blood pooling beneath her father’s chest and the cooling, waxy feel of her mother’s skin, and knew in her heart that it was.

Her terror at her initial assumption that they were all going to be led into the bush and killed had subsided slightly, but now she was wondering whether they were being taken as slaves. Niel, Jean and Jamie were trudging ahead of her in single file, with one of the Maori men in the lead. The Maori were carrying three guns—a carbine and a rifle, plus the gun that had belonged to Donal McKinnon—so trying to run away would be foolhardy and pointless. And Isla was extremely worried about Jamie; he hadn’t said a single word since they’d discovered their parents, and he seemed so exhausted that he was barely able to pick up his feet as he walked. He could often be rather timid, but now he seemed almost to be in a stupor, and she knew he wasn’t in a fit state to run.

Suddenly Isla tensed with a spasm of fresh fear as, ahead of her, Niel stopped and slowly turned to face the bush at the side of the track. For an awful second she thought he might be contemplating making a dash for it, but he fumbled for a minute with his flies then began to relieve himself, obviously not caring who was looking. Jean squatted next to him and soon the sound of her urine splashing onto the ground echoed Niel’s. Isla felt her face grow red, and realized how desperately she needed a wee herself, but knew she couldn’t bring herself to do it in front of anyone. And there was something else she needed to attend to, as well.

She turned, pointed through the bush towards a stream she could hear more than see, and announced to the man behind her: ‘I’m going over there’, embarrassment giving her a brashness she didn’t feel. ‘And you’re no’ gonnae stop me.’

The man raised his eyebrows at the bearded Maori, who appeared to be the leader. He responded with a couple of curt words.

Isla set off through the trees, determinedly stepping over fallen branches and clumps of undergrowth, aware all the same that someone was following her.

When she reached the small stream, she turned and angrily waved away the man who had taken up sentry several yards distant, the barrel of his rifle resting on his shoulder.

‘Go on wi’ ye, get oot!’ she shouted, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor of fear in her voice.

If he could, he didn’t acknowledge it, and neither did he retreat.

Isla picked up a clod of dirt from the bank of the stream and
threw it at him; it hit his thigh and scattered at his feet. Again, he remained resolutely mute and still.

Isla glared and demanded, ‘Will ye no’ at least turn away?’ She made a spinning motion with her hand, and this time, to her surprise, the man obliged and turned his back.

Working as quickly as she could, Isla lifted her skirt and tucked it under her chin, then untied the laces that held her drawers together. They fell around her feet, stained with blood that had leaked through her menstrual rags. She stared for a moment, shocked at the starkness of the brownish-red against the white cotton, not having realized that there would be so much of it. And now she had no mother to ask whether this was to be expected or not. She clenched her jaws, but it wasn’t enough to stem the tears that began to trickle down her face.

So, while she worked, she let them come. She removed the belt holding everything in place, then let her skirts fall, gathered everything together and crouched at the edge of the stream. One by one she submerged each piece of cloth and rinsed it in the lazily flowing water until most of the blood had sluiced free. Then she wrung everything out, relieved herself and put the belt and drawers back on. The thin wet cotton stuck to her backside and her legs, but she felt a little better now for being clean.

She turned defiantly to face her Maori guard, but saw, with a disconcerting jolt, that he was no longer there. For a moment she stared at the spot where he’d been standing, then, before she even realized what she was doing, she had splashed halfway across the stream. And there she hesitated, knee-deep in water, the soles of
her boots unsteady on slippery, mossy stones.

Where did she think she was going to run to? There was New Plymouth out on the coast, and she knew there were soldiers in the town, but she had no idea how to make her way there. She didn’t really even know where she was now. And she had such an awful fear of getting lost in the bush. Her father had warned each of them on many occasions not to venture too far from home, and certainly not alone, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fend for herself if she set out for New Plymouth on her own. And what would be the point in running anyway, without her brothers and her sister? She was as bound to her captors as if they had used actual ropes, and she suspected they knew it.

So, her legs leaden with despondency, she waded out of the stream and made her way back to the track. They were all still there, and turned to look at her as she emerged from the trees, only Niel was flat on his belly on the ground and one of the Maori men had his foot firmly on his back, holding him down.

‘Isla!’ Niel cried, and struggled to get up. After a moment the man removed his foot.

Jean dashed over to Isla and hid her face in Isla’s sopping skirts, wailing, ‘Niel said he’d kilt ye!’

‘What?’ Isla said, yet another wave of shock buffeting her.

‘Him,’ Jean exclaimed, pointing accusingly at the man who had followed Isla to the stream. ‘Niel said he kilt ye.’

His face blotchy, Niel wiped his hands—trembling with anger this time—on his breeks. ‘When he followed ye, I thought he wis gonnae harm ye, so I fought.’

Isla saw that he’d been crying, and felt embarrassed for him because she knew he hated weeping in front of anyone. ‘No, he…he didnae do anything,’ she replied quickly, terrified that her brother would do something else foolhardy.

Niel gave a small, measured exhalation of relief. ‘I was sure when ye didnae come back wi’ him, ye were deid. Like Mam and Da,’ he added, bitterness sharpening his voice. ‘I
am
gonnae kill them, Isla, I mean it. I’ll make them bloody pay.’ Then his lips made a moue of incomprehension. ‘But why’d ye no’ run for it? Ye could’ve got away.’

‘And leave ye?’ Isla said vehemently. ‘I would
never
leave ye, Niel, or the weans. Ye ken?
Never
.’

Niel gave a curt nod, relieved by the intensity of her response, and ashamed that he’d needed confirmation of it. His voice suddenly bereft of bravado, he said, ‘What’s gonnae happen tae us, Isla?’

Trying to sound far less apprehensive than she felt, Isla replied, ‘Well, we’re no’ deid yet, so I’m thinking we’re tae be taken as slaves, maybe?’

Niel made a disgusted face. ‘Slaves? I’d rather die.’ Abruptly he inclined his head towards his little brother. ‘I’m worried aboot Jamie. He’s gone awfu’ quiet.’

‘Aye, so am I,’ Isla agreed.

She glanced at the Maori leader, who was watching their exchange very closely, a perplexed expression on his face. Then he pointed along the narrow track and said hesitantly, but very distinctly, in English, ‘Walk on.’

Isla and Niel exchanged horrified glances, Isla feeling her stomach clench painfully with dread. But surely he couldn’t understand much English—think of the things Niel had said, and he hadn’t reacted! She met the man’s steady gaze for a long moment, searching for a sign that he knew what they’d been saying, then turned and began to walk. As quietly as she could, she muttered to Niel, Jamie and Jean, ‘Na bruidhinn ach a gaelic.’
Speak only Gaelic from now on.

As she trudged, concentrating dispiritedly on placing one waterlogged boot in front of the other, she thought about her captors. She’d seen Maori people before, of course; not much in the bush, but more often when she’d gone into New Plymouth with her father. They came into town to trade, and evidently to drink, and more than once she’d seen men, and sometimes women, lying about in the pot-holed main street overcome by hard liquor. Her father had told her to keep clear, and that they couldn’t help themselves, being an uncivilized race. But that had always made Isla wonder: if that
were
the case, were some of the white settlers also uncivilized? Because she’d seen plenty of them rolling around in the mud and the dust as well.

She also knew that they fought a lot, the Maori, among themselves especially. Given that they were the same race, Isla couldn’t understand why they couldn’t agree on anything. But then she’d thought back to all the different clans in Scotland, and knew that they often didn’t get on either, and supposed it was the same sort of thing. There had apparently been a big feud over land at Puketapu near New Plymouth a few years before the McKinnons
had arrived in Taranaki, which had resulted in the government stationing several military regiments in the town. It had been a concern when Isla’s father had been considering the move from Australia to New Zealand, but the emigration agent he’d spoken to had assured him that the native unrest in the country had been eradicated. But when they’d arrived, they’d discovered that the troops were still in New Plymouth; and the following year, just after Donal purchased Braeburn, there had been an episode of revenge by a Maori chief for the death of another Maori leader at Puketapu, then all the awful stories of cannibalism and mutilation that followed. And now there was the problem at Waitara over the Peka Peka Block, although there the Maori were opposing the settlers and the government, not just each other.

But Maori clearly didn’t spend all their time fighting. They’d been very successful at growing various crops and trading, something for which her father had had considerable admiration. She also knew that there was a mission school in the area for Maori children, and her father had said that some Maori could probably speak at least a little English. But not too much, Isla hoped nervously.

Directly in front of her, Jamie began to slow, his boots catching on roots and clumps of leaves and making him stumble.

Isla patted his shoulder encouragingly. ‘Trobhad cum a dol.’
Come on, keep going.

But Jamie didn’t. Instead he stopped, swayed for a moment, then fell flat on his face, not even bothering to put out his hands to break his fall.

Isla crouched beside him and wiped the dirt from his chin and mouth. She turned him over onto his back and saw with alarm that his eyes had rolled up into his head. And his skin was cool and clammy, even though the air was very humid.

Niel made a move forward, but she raised her hand. ‘Ni, mi fein
à.’ No, I’ll do it.

She gathered Jamie in her arms and slowly stood, the tired muscles of her thighs trembling in protest. Hefting him slightly to get a firmer grip, she set off again. The boy’s head was lolling and his mouth hung open; his eyes, however, remained closed.

In silence the line moved off with her, but after ten minutes or so Isla herself stumbled. When it happened again she very nearly lost her hold on Jamie.

‘Beir misc leam è,’ Niel offered.
I’ll take him.

Forgetting to use Gaelic, Isla snapped, ‘No, I
said
I’ll do it!’

Watching this, the Maori leader passed his rifle to one of the others, stepped up to her and held out his arms.

Isla stared up into his face for a long moment. He was sweating slightly in the early evening heat, small beads of moisture collecting on his tattooed brow, and she could smell him. He didn’t smell much different to her da after a hard day’s work, and his scent was a dagger-sharp reminder that she would not see her father again.

The man stared patiently back, his hooded brown eyes blinking occasionally. In her arms, Jamie gave a feeble whimper. Reluctantly, Isla nodded, and the man took the child from her.

‘No!’
Niel shouted, and darted forward.

One of the other men casually swatted him out of the way. Niel fell, but he scrambled back to his feet immediately, his fists up, ready to fight. But no one took any notice of him.

Isla watched as the leader hoisted her brother’s limp little body over his muscular shoulder so that Jamie’s head hung down his back. She saw the damp patch staining the seat of Jamie’s breeks and realized with a stab of compassion that he’d wet himself.

Niel’s face was red with rage and frustration, but Isla said nothing, knowing that neither she nor Niel were strong enough to carry Jamie very far. Silent again, they moved off once more.

It was night now. The moon was rising behind them and Isla supposed they were still heading towards the coast. She was very hungry. They had stopped several times for water from the small streams that ran through the bush, but there had been nothing to eat. Jean was grizzling constantly and clutching her stomach.

Jamie had woken after about an hour and was walking again, trudging along and falling over with regular monotony. The Maori leader had tried to pick him up, but Jamie, conscious this time, had shrieked and panicked and fought, so had been put down very quickly. Between them, Isla and Niel were managing to carry him for short distances to rest him, but for such a little boy he seemed to weigh a lot.

When the moon was well up in the sky, one of the men in the rear barked out a command and the others stopped immediately. Isla, trudging along with her eyes half-closed with exhaustion,
walked into the back of Jean, who was so tired herself that she didn’t even grumble.

There was a muttered, urgent exchange of words in Maori, and Isla heard the distinctive sound of a rifle being cocked. A heavy moment of silence, then the brutal crash and snap of something charging through the bush at the side of the track, and suddenly a dark shape exploded out of the undergrowth. Shouts of alarm, a scuffling panic and a rifle went off.