Quinn was released on bail to return to the Auckland District Court for a trial by jury. He was perturbed to find his wife and son departed and his first impulse was to follow after them but Kelly explained that they would likely return within a day or two as the tangi and the three days of mourning would have finished. Quinn acquiesced rather dejectedly and consoled himself that evening with several glasses of whisky. Kelly imbibed moderately and discussed business matters, which put Quinn’s mind at ease on that front at least. Kelly prepared a meal for them both, and on the subject of business he reckoned that he had cleared his debt and would now be entitled to draw a decent wage and could save the price of a ship’s passage to New Zealand for Annie. Quinn agreed that this was so and shook Kelly’s hand and he continued drinking and smoking, lighting his pipe from the candle on the table.
“Drink up lad,” said Quinn. “It’s the good stuff.”
And indeed it was quality single malt Irish whisky imbued with the smoky, peaty tastes of the land where it was distilled. Kelly had a night cap and went to bed, leaving Quinn to continue indulging his vices on his own in the gloom of the dining room. Without a woman’s touch about the house, dust had settled in the rooms and spiders had spun their Irish curtains in the corners.
Quinn was pining and fretting for another two days till Ᾱwhina and Rawiri returned home from Peria, travel weary, saddle sore and care worn. Ᾱwhina spoke with great sadness of the settlement and the tangi. “Most of Ngāti Hauā land has been confiscated. The church at Peria is destroyed, the school is gone, Wiremu’s house is in ruins, many houses broken and deserted.”
Ᾱwhina was resting in the arm chair and looked as though she was dozing off but she collected herself and continued. “Wiremu died with his Bible in his hand to the end, two days after Christmas, just as he had foretold. His last words were, “Obey the laws of God and man.” Hundreds of mourners on the marae were weeping and wailing.”
Awhina’s own eyes were filling with tears as she recounted the scene. “On his last day he called his two sons to his side and asked them both how they would respond to the Pākehā, the Tauiwi. Hoto, the elder said he would continue to make war. Tupu, the younger was for peace. “That is well, Tupu,” Wiremu said. “You shall be the head of the tribe, to follow after me.”” There followed a long pause and Quinn and Kelly left Ᾱwhina to rest.
“Wiremu Tamihana is a great loss,” Quinn said to Kelly, as he fetched a bottle from the cupboard. “If Grey and the ministers had just listened to him in the first place all that ghastly warfare could have been avoided. Instead they called him a rebel and a murderer. It broke his heart to see all the Waikato confiscated and he tried repeatedly to negotiate the return of the land. He petitioned Parliament for an enquiry into the true causes of the war and to clear his name of the false accusations of evil deeds against him.” Quinn paused to pour two glasses of whisky. “In his last week before he went home to Peria he went to Government House to meet with Grey and try again to negotiate the return of the land. Grey showed him the land had already been covenanted to military settlers. Two thousand men are already settled on it, he said. Tāmihana said at least let the land be given back as promised to those who did not fight. But all that land was kept to pay the cost of the war.”
“Well,” Grey says, “Is there any piece of land you really want in the Waikato?”
“I want it all,” says Tāmihana.”
“Appeasement and division,” Kelly said.
“Aye,” said Quinn. “It’s a tactic the British employed in Ireland and Scotland. Redistribute tribal land into individual titles and create new landowners who help to put down rebellion. But Tāmihana couldn’t be bought.”
“You know what the feckin ministers did then?” said Quinn. “They put on a special reception to honour Tāmihana, to finally treat him with some respect. He’d been treated so shamefully on his first visit to the Native Office in Auckland. He was kept waiting for two days, while all the Europeans who came and went and were attended to. He finally left in disgust and said, “We are treated like dogs.” A lot of fighting and bloodshed could have been avoided if the government had listened to his proposals.” Quinn paused to sip and savour his drink.
“So at this grand banquet Tāmihana says, “I would like to reciprocate your hospitality gentlemen but I am now very poor and my people have to borrow money to buy food.”
“Then,” said Quinn, laughing despite the tragedy of the situation, “Tāmihana challenged Whitaker to a game of draughts for the Waikato. Whitaker laughed off the proposal of the Waikato as the stakes for the game but played him all the same. Tāmihana beat him and then proceeded to beat the other superintendents, Featherston and McLean.”
*
The Quinn household rose on the day of the trial to steady rain falling from a darkly brooding sky. In the carriage Quinn had rented for the occasion they made their way up Queen Street, which, fortunately had been freshly gravelled. Muddy water gushed along the open drains on either side of the street and past the courthouse. They made their way into the dilapidated wooden building, negotiating a path through the buckets placed at several strategic points to catch the rainwater that fell from the leaking roof. When all were seated in whatever dry spots they could find they rose again to the orders of the bailiff as the judge entered. The judge himself was obliged to sit at a desk brought in for the purpose as the magisterial bench was getting a drenching. He apologised for the state of the building and assured the gallery that a new courthouse was soon to be built. He had seen the plans himself for the splendid new courthouse of brick and imported Bath stone.
Counsel for the prosecution outlined the case for murder and called Mr Smythe, the father of the victim, to the stand, as well as a few other witnesses to the incident on the wharf. As the trial proceeded, Quinn’s barrister, Mr Pugmire, refuted the charge of murder on the grounds that it was actually a case of justifiable homicide. He argued cogently that the defendant had used reasonable force to protect another for whom he was responsible. More eyewitnesses to the incident were called to give corroborating testimony.
The prosecutor argued that it was a case of culpable homicide as the defendant unreasonably used lethal force to protect another who was not certainly in mortal danger. He added that in any case the life being protected was of lesser value than the life taken. Pugmire objected on Quinn’s behalf before he could say anything. The jury of twelve Pākehā men were divided on this point but agreed unanimously, eventually, that the defendant had acted reasonably in the circumstances and they delivered a verdict of not guilty to the charge of murder. Voices were raised in anger but they had been raised from the start anyway above the noise of the rain on the tin roof.
The verdict was greeted with cries from the gallery of Murderer and Bastard directed at the defendant and the judge. Quinn left the court and stood outside, relieved the trial and the rain had ended. He was joined by Pugmire and they both filled and tamped their pipes. A petrichor odour hung in the air and carriage horses stood by dropping dung onto the muddy ground. Mr Smythe approached Quinn and struck him across the face with an open hand and challenged him to a duel. Quinn said he was sorry his son had to die but he was protecting his own son, and he would accept the challenge if he insisted, for the sake of his honour, and the terms were set. The court gradually emptied and people picked their way through the mud and made their way home in carriages, traps and on horseback. For the Quinn family the gloom of the trial had lifted but now the dark cloud of a duel was filling the horizon. Ᾱwhina had seen the challenge and knew what it meant.
“Well, I have to go through with it but I’ll be all right,” Quinn said, trying to reassure Ᾱwhina. Little else was said as the carriage rolled down Queen Street past the ‘street Arabs’ who had come out from the slums of Shortland Street and Chancery Street to play and make mischief. The whores would soon be out as well from over the back of High Street as the evening grew dark and the new gas lights were lit.
The Quinn household rose before dawn on the day of the duel. Ᾱwhina prayed for divine protection in the name of Jesus Christ, for “the covering of the blood of the Lamb” and committed her husband to the care of her God. Kelly accompanied Quinn as his second and they met the challenger and his second at the appointed time at Saint Mary’s Bay. The sun rose in a clear sky and the only sounds in the still morning air of the deserted beach was of the waves slapping and hissing on the sand and gulls screeching in the distance. The seconds loaded the single shot pistols and the duellists faced each other at twenty-five paces. At the signal given by Smythe’s second, Smythe fired quickly and missed. Quinn held his aim without firing. Smythe shifted his stance to full front, raised his arms from his sides and awaited his fate. Quinn had already established his prowess as a marksman. He raised his pistol and fired into the air, so honour was satisfied without the shedding of more blood.
Ᾱwhina’s relief at the safe return of her husband soon turned to consternation when Quinn celebrated the occasion by pouring three glasses of whisky. “We are all survivors,” he declared, and toasted his survival, Kelly’s and Rāwiri’s.
“It’s still early morning,” Ᾱwhina reproached, “and it’s the Sabbath. We’d all do better to go to church and thank God for answering our prayers.”
*
While it could not be said the country was at peace, there was less fighting and life was becoming more settled, at least in Auckland province, and Ᾱwhina had resumed her habit of attending Saint Mark’s Anglican Church in Remuera.
She had also become involved with a number of other Christian women devoutly dedicated to campaigning against the evils of alcohol. Whether it was the work of the devil, as they claimed, was debatable but alcohol was undeniably causing grievous social problems in the fledgling community. It was a great embarrassment to Ᾱwhina that her husband provided for his family by dealing in alcoholic beverages, but what most concerned her was that Rāwiri was now also partaking of the demon drink. She had accepted that Quinn had no interest in attending church but could not continue to tolerate all the liquor in his business and in their home. Quinn’s drinking had increased to where he was seldom completely sober. Tension simmered in what had previously been a haven of tranquillity in troubled times and things came to a head when Ᾱwhina presented Quinn with an ultimatum. He could be an honest merchant without the trade in liquor, he could moderate his own drinking, and she would not have him corrupting Rāwiri with alcohol. She would rather leave and return to her own people in Peria, or what was left of it, and take Rāwiri with her.
“You’d be better off staying here but go if you must,” said Quinn solemnly, “but the boy can make up his own mind as to what he wants to do.”
“I have,” said Rāwiri. “I want to go with her.”
It was no great surprise to Quinn that Ᾱwhina was ready to leave but he hadn’t expected Rāwiri to join her. He sank into despondency after they left and drank himself into a stupor. Kelly was left to run the business on his own, which he did quite capably, but there was little else he could do for Quinn in his present state.