"I'll send someone to notify the nearby Maori tribes at once and tell them that you wish to negotiate with them. The negotiations should be held on neutral ground. Where do you think would be best?"
Militia commander George had already begun seriously considering how to cooperate with Palmerston, but his approach clearly could not satisfy the diplomat, who was bent on returning to London.
In truth, George was only the militia commander because he had once been a retired low-ranking officer. The problem was that he had bought that rank solely to make his retirement look respectable.
Although George had spent more than a decade muddling along in the army, he had commanded no more than ten men at a time.
Actually send him to war? What a joke.
"Neutral ground? Why?"
Faced with Palmerston's question, the militia commander was completely baffled.
"That would avoid unnecessary misunderstandings."
"Misunderstandings? What do you mean, misunderstandings? Were them killing our herdsmen and wounding our tax officials misunderstandings too?"
George did not want to stir up unnecessary trouble. He only wanted to farm his land and tend his sheep in peace.
"Viscount, those Maori see us as invaders."
George had not even finished speaking before Palmerston cut him off.
"Invaders? Who are the invaders? We live and work on land legally purchased within Britain. What right do they have to call us invaders? Because of their shortsightedness? Or because of the guns and blades in their hands? Remember this, my friends: negotiation is not begging—it is a transaction. Concessions will only be seen as weakness! We must take up our weapons and defend our homes! Bring the wine and the sheep! Bring a few rifles as well. They can accept our goodwill, or have a taste of our bullets!"
The moment Palmerston finished,