Though the other man had not said a word, Potatau felt as though he had been seen through.
"We pledged our loyalty in the Treaty of Waitangi, but you took our land, polluted our rivers, drove us to the edge of the world, and made our children sick!"
In the eyes of New Zealand's natives at the time, New Zealand was the whole world, while the strange illnesses their shamans could not cure were the work of the British.
Though the reasoning was somewhat absurd, the conclusion could not exactly be called wrong. The British had indeed brought many diseases that New Zealand had never known before, and the wastewater from British life had indeed harmed Maori health.
"You pledged your loyalty, and then what? You never honored it. Instead, you openly attacked citizens of the British Empire. Do you realize that is a betrayal of faith?"
Palmerston said coldly. He disliked such hollow negotiations.
"Potatau, you are a clever man. Before Britain's absolute military might, you will either submit—or be forced to submit.
"If you are willing to abandon those unrealistic actions now, I can guarantee the land you currently possess and, on that basis, secure as many rights for you as possible and protect your culture.
"But if you continue to choose armed resistance, or choose to ally yourselves with those tribes opposing the British Empire, then we will eliminate you."
Faced with this naked threat, Potatau wanted nothing more than to draw his dagger and stab the old man before him to death. But he knew the other man was no ordinary person. If he killed him, not only would he fail to escape, he would also drag down his entire tribe.
Before Potatau could answer, Palmerston rose to leave. In his eyes, these natives were trash,