A Canoe In the Mist (6 page)

A
ll that week the Maori children made a big thing out of dodging Tuhoto. Those who got past him without being seen told their stories with enough exaggeration to make out they’d scored a victory. As the days went by and nothing much happened, they grew bolder. On Saturday they went to play near his whare at the deserted flour-mill, Mattie and Lillian and Kanea among them. They made up some daring plans about what they’d do if he came out. But he wasn’t seen all that day; and although this spoiled the game, it seemed to make their victory complete. If Tuhoto was hiding away it was because the disaster he predicted hadn’t taken place, and nothing terrible was going to happen.

And among the Pakehas at the hotels and the two stores and the school, nobody owned up to believing it in the first place.

On Sunday morning it rained. Mattie helped Mr Hensley carry her mother downstairs and make her comfortable on the drawing-room sofa. With Lillian for a fourth they were playing ludo when Mr Hensley glanced through the window and exclaimed, ‘Hullo! Who’s this coming? He’s dripping like a waterfall.’

A slender, straight-backed young man was leading his horse to the stables—and a fine-looking horse it was. His saddle, saddle-bags and oilskins were smart and new. Mr McRae’s black-and-tan dog Lollop had already spotted a sporting rifle in its case, and was dancing a welcome.

‘A traveller,’ said Lillian. ‘I’ve never seen him before.’

‘Some fresh company will be welcome,’ said Mrs Hensley.

She had won the ludo from Lillian in a fast finish before the new guest was dried out, warmed and changed. He came into the drawing room with Mr McRae, followed by the young maid Nora and the tea-trolley fragrant with hot scones.

‘Good morning, ladies; your servant, Mr Hensley,’ he said with a courteous bow. Ladies! Mattie and Lillian winked at one another. ‘Let me introduce myself. Edwin Bainbridge at your service, from Newcastle upon Tyne, and lately from Auckland. I’ve come to Te Wairoa for two reasons. The first of course is the fame of the Pink and White Terraces. The second is the fame of our landlord here, and that’s why I’ve chosen the licensed hotel, although I’m a temperance man.’

Lillian looked up in surprise at the familiar figure of Joe McRae, his back as straight as the other’s but his frame more solid, and his blue eyes giving nothing away at this unexpected tribute.

‘To what do I owe this claim to fame?’ said Mr McRae.

‘Come now sir, don’t be modest. You’re a crack shot and you have won prizes in shooting contests, isn’t that so?’

‘Aye, that’s true enough. You’re expecting some fine shooting from me, is that your purpose?’

‘I noticed your Gordon setter as I came in. Those are first-rate gun dogs. You must know the best places for game.’

‘Well,’ said the landlord, drawing out the word as if pondering, ‘you’ll be seeking something larger than pheasants, and there’s no grouse or partridges here. Now up in those hills yonder’—he looked upwards through the misty windows—‘there’s a terrible taniwha that makes havoc with the Maori pigs. For all my experience in these matters I cannot catch more than the sight of his tail. Would an expedition up that way be of interest to you?’

‘Excellent, Mr McRae. What did you say the creature was?’

‘A taniwha.’

‘Has it an English name? Could you describe it to me?’

Up till now, the four listeners had managed to keep
straight faces like the story-teller; but their solemn expressions made the leg-pull all the funnier and Lillian couldn’t hold herself any longer. ‘It’s—a—water monster,’ she spluttered.

‘A water monster? In the hills? Is there another lake up there?’ asked Mr Bainbridge seriously.

The whole audience collapsed. ‘Ah, Lillian, you’ve shot me down,’ said Mr McRae with a pretence of sadness. ‘Spoiled my best story, you have.’

Mr Bainbridge joined happily in the joke against himself, accepted Mr McRae’s assurance of a shooting trip together, and went on to ask about the prospects for seeing the Terraces.

‘There’s enough for the boat with the new guests upstairs, and Mr Stubbs, who’s come to stay at the other hotel,’ said Mr McRae. ‘That’s if the weather clears and there’s no other hitch.’

‘What sort of hitch could there be?’ asked Mr Bainbridge.

‘Twice last Tuesday a big wave rose up all over Lake Tarawera. An underground earthquake no doubt, but the Maori crew were nervous, as you’ll understand. If that should be repeated they’ll not take the risk.’ He looked straight at the girls as he said this, but he didn’t need to warn them to keep silent about the other source of fear. ‘There’s a leading man from Te Ariki gone up to Rotomahana this week with all his family—Te Rangiheuea. He stays on the
islet of Puwai and takes the hot pools for his rheumatism. He’s to send word of any unusual activity.’

‘I’ve got all week and my own horse,’ said Mr Bainbridge. ‘Could I ride over? Is there a bridle track?’

‘There is, but they won’t let you.’

‘Who won’t? The Maoris? Why?’

‘It’s their land and their lake, Mr Bainbridge,’ Mr McRae explained. ‘To begin with, it’s dangerous to go without guides. And then there’s your gun. They keep a rahui on the lake because it’s full of waterfowl. They don’t even allow Maori guns near the place. In February they snare the birds, cook them in steam on the spot, pot them in the old way in calabashes, and feast their friends on what’s left.’

‘You lucky man, to live here and see that! I assure you, Mr McRae, I wouldn’t transgress against their rules. I’d leave my gun behind as a sign of good faith.’

‘I’m willing to believe you, Mr Bainbridge, but I’m afraid they’ve lost their faith in “good faith” long since. I’ve been shocked myself at the desecration of the Terraces. Tourists have come into this hotel with bags full of crystals broken off, and birds and insects petrified by the mineral water. They scrawl their names on the pure white sinter—’

‘Eleanor Fazackerley did that,’ Lillian interrupted. ‘We tried to stop her and she got wild with us. Her parents did it too.’

‘It looked awful,’ said Mattie.

‘I wish they were all like you girls.’ Mr McRae looked
approvingly at them both. ‘Too much of that kind of vandalism and the Terraces won’t be worth seeing. In the busy season they put up warning notices and set guards on watch, but they can’t stop it all.’

‘I’m a good Christian man,’ said Mr Bainbridge. ‘You could tell them I respect the handiwork of God.’

‘There’ll be no need for that if it’s fine tomorrow,’ said Mr McRae. ‘The boat is by far the best way.’

‘It’s worthwhile just for the crossing of Lake Tarawera,’ Mrs Hensley said.

In the afternoon the Pakehas of Te Wairoa came together at the Rotomahana Hotel for their regular prayer meeting and social gathering. Everybody came: the Haszards and the Humphreys and the Perhams; McRae’s brother-in-law Willie Bird who kept the store beside the hotel, with his Maori wife Kiekie and their young baby, and Sean Falloona who kept the other store; the cook George Baker and the maids Bridget and Nora; and any tourists, waggoners or workmen who might be around. Today there were two surveyors, John Blythe and Harry Lundius, who were staying in the cottage attached to the schoolhouse. It was Mr Haszard’s turn to lead the service. Ina Haszard played the piano for the hymns, and afterwards complimented Mrs Hensley on her beautiful singing.

‘I didn’t know she
knew
those hymns,’ whispered Mattie. ‘We don’t pay much heed to religion. We’ve seen so many churches and mosques and temples, Papa says he can’t tell
which is the right one.’

‘But people
have
to have a church,’ said Lillian. ‘Listen to Mr Bainbridge telling them about this.’

The newcomer had an interested audience listening to his life story. Edwin—and he’d like them all to call him Edwin, not Mr Bainbridge—was twenty. He had lost both parents when he was seven and was raised by his grandparents, who sent him to a boarding school, encouraged him in sport and athletics, and found him work in a business firm. But in the year just past, the family had met with tragedy. His elder brother was accidentally shot and his sister died of illness a few weeks later. The double loss had weakened his own health and the doctor had advised a journey; so he’d come out to see a friend of his schooldays who lived in Auckland.

‘It must have done you good already,’ said Mrs Hensley. ‘You look the picture of health.’

‘Oh, I’m all right now!’ said Edwin. ‘I came to myself on the beaches of Fiji. I know that my loved ones are happy in Heaven. And this beautiful country gives a lift to my heart.’

‘If you want to see more of the countryside, you’re welcome to ride out to the place we’re surveying,’ said John Blythe. ‘Do you follow astronomy? On Wednesday night there’ll be a conjunction of the moon with the planet Mars, at a very good time, about ten past ten. We’re a little too far south for a complete occultation, unfortunately. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a fine night.’

‘What’s an occ-ul—what was it?’ Lillian broke in. Sometimes she couldn’t hold back her questions, even when her mother was present to remind her that it was rude to interrupt.

‘An occultation? The moon passes in front of the planet. Or putting it another way, the planet hides behind the moon. For us, the two will simply come together.’

‘We must see that, Mattie,’ said Mr Hensley enthusiastically.

‘Mumma, can I watch it too?’ asked Lillian.

‘You are never up so late,’ said Mrs Perham doubtfully.

‘I can see Mars from my window. It’s the red planet, it rises above the hill. I wouldn’t have to be
up
, Mumma.’

‘There’ll be nothing to see if the weather’s like this,’ said her mother.

‘The sky is already lighter. It will clear tonight, I think,’ said Harry Lundius. He was a young immigrant from Sweden and spoke his English words very carefully.

Edwin Bainbridge was in luck. The trip to Rotomahana followed its usual course with Guide Kate in charge, and a grandson of Te Rangiheuea paddled out in his canoe to greet the visitors. Nobody wrote their name on the White Terrace. The air was clear from dawn to sunset and they saw nothing on Lake Tarawera except fishing canoes returning to Moura. According to Mr McRae and Mr Humphreys, this was final proof that the waka wairua was only a trick of the mist.

On Wednesday Edwin went on his promised shooting trip. He and Joe had a long ride before sighting any game, but Edwin brightened the morning by proving his horse Monarch the equal of Joe’s big mare Rosinante. Their pace was rather hard on the dog Lollop, who got that name from the easy way he lolloped along; and Edwin had to pet him afterwards. In return, Lollop flushed out a solitary pheasant which Edwin knocked over with his first shot. He returned in high spirits, although soaked for the second time in a squall of rain. He took his trophy to the kitchen and asked the cook to see that everyone had a taste, staff included. ‘Delighted!’ he said when Bridget asked if the feathers could go to decorate a Maori cloak.

Mattie and Lillian ran home from school through that same squall of rain, shouting to the clouds to keep it up, please keep it up, long enough to turn the road to mud so that the coach couldn’t get through. For the Hensleys were to go tomorrow and the two friends would be parted. But the clouds weren’t listening. The rain stopped before Mattie had her taste of Edwin’s pheasant.

The friendship wouldn’t finish, of course. Mattie and Lillian had made codes so they could write secrets in their letters. Guide Sophia would tell Lillian when Mattie’s piece of whareátua became a jewel, and whether the spell worked for another girl to find it. If it was an English girl, Mattie might even learn where she lived.

Bewitched by the Maori music and rhythm, Mattie had got Kanea to teach her in the intervals at school, with an equally fascinated circle of other children watching or joining in. She had learned two easy action songs and two poi dances, after a fashion, and put English words to them while memorising the Maori. And she had packed away a pair of pois with a red pattern woven into the flax—a gift from Sophia, who had made them with her own hands.

‘Hang them on your bedroom wall and you will never forget us,’ said Sophia. ‘They will speak to you of our happy days together.’

B
y evening the sky was clear and the air cold and still. This was the night for the conjunction of the moon with the planet Mars; and Edwin and Mr Hensley went happily up the hill, to join Mr Haszard and the two surveyors. Mattie and her mother stayed cosy in an upstairs room with the best window, through which Bridget and Mr McRae took a peep from time to time. Lillian was sent to bed, but never to sleep during the long slow movement of the moon towards the planet. The moon was in the first quarter, and Mars brilliant. The whole sky, now that she was looking at it so intently, was beautiful.

Lillian tried to imagine the millions of miles that separated the two in reality, according to Mr Haszard; but she couldn’t. They looked like close companions. She let her gaze wander among the stars and when she looked back again, it seemed as if Mars, not the moon, was on
the move. If only she could share this peaceful watching with Mattie!

Her mother was in the kitchen, ironing. Now and again the thud of the iron sounded through the quiet night, marking the time as they edged up closer, Mars and the moon. Then, quite suddenly, the red planet appeared to glow more proudly before it disappeared. But did it really disappear? Or only skim across the left horn of the moon? Oh, thought Lillian, if only we had a telescope!

She struggled with her sleepiness until Mars stood clear again; and then she slid down under the blankets. Over in the Rotomahana Hotel an equally contented Mattie was getting into bed, while below her the rattling of doors and the chatter of voices signalled the return of her father and Edwin.

‘And how does that compare with what you’d seen in Newcastle upon Tyne?’ inquired Mr McRae as he served them hot coffee, knowing very well what the answer would be.

‘We’d hardly see the moon for the pall of smoke, let alone the planet,’ said Edwin. ‘It was perfect, and the lake gleamed so peacefully under its guardian mountains. You’ve chosen a well-favoured land, Joe McRae.’

‘Mars was a bonus before we leave tomorrow,’ said Mr Hensley. ‘That was another experience I never expected to have.’

‘Satisfaction all around,’ said Mr McRae. ‘That’s what I
like to see. It makes a good end to my day.’

In the deep of the night, Lillian awoke. Her need for sleep was fighting with a force far stronger. Her bed was shaking. Earthquake! Of course, it was an earthquake, her very first. She was the only child in the school who hadn’t been in one before.

Bone tired she lay there full of curiosity and waited for it to stop. She’d been told if things weren’t falling off the shelves it was only a tremor. Nothing was falling, but doors were rattling wildly and there was a steady rumbling sound, and the tremor didn’t stop.

She was wide awake now. Mattie! Oh, Mattie would be terrified! Lillian groped for her clothes in the dim light that filtered through from the moon. A sharp jolt showed that it was more than a tremor. Her mother came to the door in her nightdress, carrying a lamp.

‘Oh good, you’re getting up,’ she said, trying to sound ordinary though her voice was shrill. ‘We all are, in case the quake gets worse. Just in case.’

‘I’m not scared, Mumma,’ Lillian said. ‘I don’t need a light.’

Hers was a tiny room meant for a housemaid. She was lacing her boots when another jolt sent the chest of drawers sliding towards her. She let out a throaty gasp which was almost a scream and pushed against it with both hands and feet. The chest slid back, knocking against the wall;
things flew off it and the hairbrush hit her knee.

So now it’s a real earthquake, she thought, and I wish I knew what’s happening to Mattie.

She got downstairs. Beside the grandfather clock in the hall, which said one o’clock, were Mr and Mrs Humphreys and Mr Stubbs—a middle-aged man with sticking-up hair that made him look surprised at any time. Now he looked completely bewildered.

Mrs Perham came down clinging to the banister. ‘Are you warm enough, Lillian?’ she asked anxiously.

Mrs Humphreys took a shawl from the hat-stand drawer. ‘Here,’ she said as with trembling hands she folded it cornerwise over Lillian’s shoulders. Another sharp jolt was followed by a thud and a crash from upstairs. ‘Every ten minutes,’ said Mr Humphreys. ‘That’s it then. We’ll be off to McRae’s. He’s got more experience of these things.’

‘Charlie, the clock,’ said Mrs Humphreys, placing her hand on its jewelled face.

‘It’s all right, dear, it’s wired to the wall. The place is prepared for earthquakes, remember? The ledges in the cupboards—’

‘Oh yes. I mustn’t be silly,’ she said.

‘Everybody set to go? Steady on your pins?’

‘Yes,’ they chorused, although Mr Stubbs was really quite tottery. Mr Humphreys opened the door to a noisy night. Over the rumbling of the earthquake came the frantic cackling of fowls and the whinnying of horses. Their
distress went to Lillian’s heart. How could they possibly understand what was happening to them?’

‘McRae’s are expecting us,’ said Mr Humphreys. ‘They’ve raised the blinds.’

The light streamed from the smoking room, the largest room in the hotel, where Lillian had never been because it was the men’s place. It had a rakish look with pictures askew and empty chairs at all angles. Mr McRae was standing and rocking gently backwards on his heels, as he often did. It was reassuring to see him like that.

‘Come in and welcome,’ he said.

Guests and staff were all there together, and with them Johnny Bird the carrier from Tauranga, who had come up that day with a four-horse waggon loaded with supplies. He was astonishingly like his brother Willie who kept the store. Both were small of build and soft of voice, steady workers who made no fuss. Their sister was Mrs McRae.

Mattie was sitting on one arm of her mother’s chair and her father on the other. All three had solemn faces; but Mattie’s broke into smiles as Lillian appeared and bumped into a table in her unsteady haste to get across the room.

‘You need your earthquake legs,’ said Mattie. ‘I’m not moving from here till it’s over. Mr McRae says it won’t last long.’

‘But he made you all get dressed,’ said Lillian.

‘Yes, in case we have to go outside.’

‘We’ll follow his orders,’ said Mrs Hensley. ‘It’s a comfort
to have a man who
knows
.’

Mr Hensley fetched a chair for Mrs Perham, and Lillian set a hassock for herself between her mother’s feet and Mattie’s. Nobody said much except when another jolt came at the end of ten minutes. ‘I hate this earthquake,’ said Mattie angrily. ‘It’s one experience I could do without.’

‘Lollop hates it too,’ said Mr Hensley. ‘They had to bring him inside, he was howling so horribly. He needs to be comforted.’ The dog was lying under a table which Edwin kept steady with his knees while he reached under it with caressing hands.

Mrs Perham stroked Lillian’s shoulders to comfort her too. We’ve all put on our clothes for the morning, Lillian thought; I’m ready for school, Mumma for work and the Hensleys for travelling. And here we are sitting together in the middle of the night, pinned into place by an earthquake. It looked so odd that she giggled a little.

Joe McRae kept watch at the window. The only person on the move was the housemaid Bridget O’Hare, who always had to be doing something whether it needed doing or not, like fixing cushions and making off to the kitchen. The young maid Nora said she was ‘earthquake sick’ and lay down on a rug by the wall. ‘She takes fits sometimes,’ whispered Bridget, ‘we’ll leave her be.’

At half past one, out of the unceasing rumble of the earthquake came three or four distant bangs. Lollop leapt to his feet and growled, tipping the table over, while
Edwin exclaimed, ‘Oh, look! There’s lightning on Mount Tarawera!’

Lillian and Mattie rushed to the window. From a small black cloud hovering at the northerly end of the ridge, quite clear in the moonlight, forks of silver lightning were flashing.

‘That’s Wahanga peak,’ said Joe McRae. ‘Yon’s no common lightning, it shows an uncanny brilliance. I’m for seeking a closer view.’

‘Could we go up by the old church?’ asked Edwin eagerly.

‘Aye, we could that. There’s a good light from the moon, and I’ll fetch a pair of lanterns. Will you be coming, Charlie?’ he called to Mr Humphreys.

‘Can we go, Mumma?’ begged Lillian. ‘The earthquake’s not so bad outside and that’s
true
, Mattie.’

‘I’ll come myself,’ said Mrs Perham promptly.

In the end the whole room emptied out, except for Mrs Hensley and Bridget who was in her element looking after her, and Nora, and George Baker who kept the fires going. They hadn’t gone far when a voice cried, ‘Hey there, wait for me!’ and Willie Bird who lived at the store caught up with them. After him came the other storekeeper, Sean Falloona, who had slept through the earthquake right up to those bangs from the mountain.

The mood of dismal waiting had gone completely now there was action. Talking wasn’t easy as the procession
climbed through the night, but still it was cheery. They were going to see a spectacle.

But how great a spectacle they could never have dreamed.

John Blythe and Harry Lundius were already watching from the lookout by the church. The lightning played like fireworks, fast and vivid. ‘This puts the occultation of Mars to shame,’ said Mr Blythe in great excitement. ‘Who’d have thought I’d be out of doors twice over on a mid-winter night just to look at the sights!’

‘Listen to the kiwis,’ said Harry Lundius. ‘They are making, what do you call it? A performance.’

The shrill cries of the nocturnal birds filled hardly a minute before a black column of smoke shot far into the sky from the second peak, Ruawahia, followed by a tremendous roar. Immediately a red glow spread beneath it with a brightness that drenched the moonlight.

‘The sky is on fire!’ cried Mr Stubbs.

‘An eruption,’ said Joe McRae in his calming way, as if an eruption, like an earthquake, was nothing out of the ordinary. But it was, it was! ‘It’s
awesome
,’ said Mattie, clinging tight to Lillian, who couldn’t think of a word to say—even if she’d be heard above the roaring of the volcano. Only Mr Blythe was bellowing out the answer to someone’s question: ‘It’s far enough away not to worry us. A good five miles as the crow flies.’

The red underside of the black column seemed at first
to hang in the sky like a huge Scottish bonnet, the sort of round cap that Mr McRae sometimes wore. And then it burst into balls of fire which rose high in the air and curved over, as sky rockets do, to scatter down the mountainside or fall into the lake.

Never was a fireworks display like this. Flares of orange and saffron glowed in the crimson cloud. Silver lightning darted about unceasingly. The lake was a copper mirror reflecting the mountainside and the fiery sky.

The noise dropped a little. ‘It’s the most magnificent thing I’ve seen in all my life,’ said Edwin in the reverent tones he’d used in prayer. ‘Altogether beautiful. To think New Zealand could show me this!’

‘I can see lights on the lake,’ said Mrs Humphreys. ‘Like a fleet of little boats. Oh! They’ll be coming from Moura and Te Ariki, of course!’

‘They’re escaping!’ cried Lillian. She hadn’t thought of them before, but now those villages rose to her mind’s eye like pictures, the way she’d seen them only ten days before. Oh, the poor people,
they
weren’t five miles away, they lived right under the mountain.

‘But those lights are moving all ways and going nowhere,’ exclaimed Mattie.

‘No, they’re not canoes,’ said John Blythe. ‘That’s lava flowing off the mountain and rolling over the surface. Isn’t that right, Harry? Reflected light, perhaps. Extraordinary!’

‘But the
people
!’ cried Lillian in a pleading voice, as if someone there could save them.

‘We can only trust they’ve found shelter,’ said Joe McRae. ‘Who indeed would want to be out on that lake in any sort of boat tonight?’

The waka wairua!

The thought came to Lillian like a blow. The ghost canoe, the omen of disaster, Tuhoto and his predictions, Kira standing up in school and saying ‘That means we all going to die.’ Were Te Ariki and Moura to take that punishment?

Then she thought of something else. She’d learned from the children’s talk that people from Te Ariki had been rebuked for taking wild bees’ honey from the bush that fringed the tapu mountain. To break tapu was to ask for trouble—but no, no, it couldn’t be.

She didn’t dare speak a word aloud. It was too dreadful to talk about, and if she did her mother would only say ‘Nonsense.’ Secure in their distant view, the knot of people was quite fascinated by the spectacle. Mattie was hanging on to her father’s arm, asking something, but Lillian couldn’t hear his reply. Was he saying, ‘Another new experience, my dear?’

Lillian couldn’t hold back a giggle. How could she see anything funny at a time like this? But she couldn’t help it, and felt better for it.

Although the watchers had grown used to the shaking of
the ground, which seemed a small thing compared with the eruption, they remained close together for mutual support. And now came a shattering roar with a bang that reverberated as far away as Auckland, where people thought a ship had gone on the rocks and was firing distress signals. With that incredible blast came a jolt that threw everyone together on the ground in a single heap.

Cries, gasps, curses and nervous laughter came from the tangled mass. Lillian was so winded she couldn’t utter a sound—but was that her own mother, swearing? And Mr Bainbridge was crying out, ‘Tarawera! Tarawera has gone up!’

When at last Mr Humphreys got her to her feet, and held her steady as Mr Hensley was holding Mattie, the third peak was in full eruption. The display was more dazzling than ever. Lightning flashed and blazed all over the massive smoke cloud and fiery balls went as far above the mountain as the mountain stood above the lake, curving out and falling like rockets of incredible size and power.

But nobody wanted to stay any longer. ‘We’d better go back home,’ Joe McRae bawled into the roaring night. ‘I can see a storm coming on.’

‘We’re off back to Haszard’s,’ yelled John Blythe. ‘God bless and keep you all.’