A Canoe In the Mist (11 page)

W
hen Lillian saw the Haszard girls come in with the two surveyors and Mere Hamiora to be settled quietly in a corner without fuss, she expected every minute to see Mr Haszard and the others. But her attention was taken by Mrs Hensley, and then by Willie Bird making up his mind to go with his wife, and then the rush of goodbyes to the group setting out for Rotorua. Now, looking round, she realised there were still only five from the schoolhouse and her heart went cold.

Who could she ask? Sophia had not reappeared and Miriam seemed to be asleep with the old people. Mr McRae was outside. No! Here he was coming in again and he was coming purposefully towards her.

‘How is your mother, Lillian?’ he asked in a confidential sort of way. ‘She wasn’t too good last night, but she showed her spirit just now.’

‘She was hit by a stone but she’s got over that,’ said Lillian.

‘And what happened to your foot?’

‘I lost my boot and cut it. It’s not very bad,’ she said bravely.

‘Would you and your mother keep an eye on the Haszard girls and Mere, till Johnny and I get back? They might want something and I don’t want to disturb Sophia. They’re shocked and exhausted as you’ll well understand.’

‘Mattie will help me!’ Lillian felt good to be asked. ‘Are you going to find the others now?’

‘The other Haszards?’

‘Yes, Adolphus and Edna and Mona and their cousin Charlie—’ The look on Mr McRae’s face stopped her. ‘Did they get burnt up?’ she faltered.

‘No, Lillian,’ said Joe gently. ‘The school’s burnt down but they were in the old building. Its roof fell in and crushed them. There’s not a hope of getting in till help comes from Rotorua. Johnny and I are going to look for Edwin Bainbridge.’

‘Him too!’ cried Lillian. Tears started in her eyes.

Mr McRae put his hand on her shoulders. ‘Now, Lillian, bear up. We can’t spend time grieving when we’ve the living to think of. We haven’t given up hope for Edwin. He’s young and fit. He could easily be trapped somewhere. Now I must go, Johnny’s out there waiting.’

Alone and bewildered, Lillian was left standing in the
middle of the whare. She did want to help, but where to begin? And how should she tell Mattie and the others that nearly all the Haszards were dead? She was trying to decide when someone gently touched her shoulder, and she found Miriam standing there.

‘You’ve been hearing bad news,’ she said softly. ‘It must be the Haszards. Only the girls have come.’

‘The house has fallen on top of them,’ said Lillian. ‘Oh, Miriam, it nearly happened to us. But they had nowhere to go and nobody to help them.’

‘I must tell my mother,’ said Miriam. ‘We have great love for our teacher family.’

‘Mr McRae said not to disturb her—’

‘She always knows when she is needed,’ Miriam said, moving off.

And now Mattie was on her feet, saying, ‘What’s up?’ just loud enough for the others to be awake and aware. The Haszard girls and their companions began to stir, some of the ageing Maoris were sitting up—but all were waiting for somebody else. For Sophia.

And then she came, deeply upset but perfectly calm.

‘What should we do?’ whispered Lillian.

‘Follow me,’ said Sophia. ‘Give them your aroha as I do.’

First Clara, then Ina, then Mere, she greeted with a pressing of noses, an embrace and a kiss, and a soft keening; then she greeted the two surveyors. Lillian and
Mattie followed, and their parents, and all of the Maoris present who were able to stand. Three men who had just entered paused before joining the line; one was the chief, Wi Keepa. Nothing was said until he came to the last of the group, the surveyor John Blythe.

‘We have two strong men here who will go out with you when you are ready,’ said Wi.

‘I want to go now!’ cried Clara passionately. ‘It’s all gone, our home, our school, everything—this place is hateful and horrible now!’

‘Clara, we’re in Sophia’s house,’ said Ina.

‘I don’t mean the house, I mean out there, you understand, don’t you, Sophia? You understand everything.’ She clambered to her feet, throwing off weariness.

They had nothing to gather up and carry except the two blankets they’d brought down the hill, which they tore into halves to cover their heads and shoulders. Farewells were brief as they set out with their Maori guides.

‘It is better that they didn’t linger,’ said Sophia. ‘Our aroha has given them strength. Now we must talk with Wi Keepa. He has been all night at Hinemihi.’

It was a long conversation in Maori, through which the names of all the people in Te Wairoa were checked, breaking off into English when there was something to tell. Thus Mattie and Lillian were assured that Kanea and others from the school were already on their way to Rotorua. The names of those still missing were noted,
and Wi Keepa went out, as Joe and Johnny had done, to continue the search.

‘There are not many lost,’ said Sophia. ‘The very young and the very old have found it hardest to withstand the storm.’

‘The very oldest is Tuhoto!’ exclaimed Lillian.

‘You know where Tuhoto lives,’ said Sophia. ‘His whare stands apart and is difficult to reach. He will use his own powers if he wishes to live. Some are blaming him for the eruption but he did not cause it, he only foresaw it. We know from our traditions that the waka wairua was seen at other times, before Tuhoto was born.’

‘Guide Sophia,’ said Mattie. She paused uncertainly and went on. ‘Guide Sophia, I suppose it’s awful of me to think of this when people are dead—but I can’t help thinking of it—the whareátua I put in the pool at the White Terrace to be magicked so that some other girl would find it. I’ve thought about her often, that girl I’d never see. But can it—can it ever be found?’

‘No,’ said Sophia, firmly but kindly. ‘E hine, the Terraces are gone. No one will ever see them again. When Tama-o-hoi broke out of his chasm he made many craters, and Rotomahana is one.’

‘You mean it’s blown up, as well as the mountains?’ cried Lillian.

‘How can you possibly know that?’ exclaimed Mattie.

‘We call it the matakite, the power to see what is unseen.
When the volcano sleeps again the Pakehas will send their men of science, and they will write it in their reports.’

‘Te Rangiheuea was up there with his family!’ cried Lillian.

‘Yes,’ said Sophia quietly. ‘We have many to mourn, many who could not be saved. Moura and Te Ariki are buried deep. Nothing will ever be seen of those villages again. They have gone together into the long night where their ancestors are gathered. They will not grieve for each other, but all of us had relatives and friends living there.’

‘And you have lost all your land and the lake,’ said Lillian through her tears. ‘Miriam talked about that. It’s bad for us, losing our job and our things, but you, what will you do?’

‘We go from here like the children of Israel, bereft of everything; but we have a promised land. It is the aroha of the Maori, which means love and pity and caring and the warmth of the heart.’

Sophia paused and then went on. ‘Rotomahana has been a source of wealth for many generations. Of food, shelter, clothing and healing, years before we knew about Pakeha money. It has also been the source of great trouble. Long ago there was fighting between the two hapu of this district, and Tuhourangi secured the lake. It is because of these old quarrels that they couldn’t agree about land to build a bigger school. Then the Pakehas fixed their greedy eyes upon it. They are very skilful at getting what they want,
and Rotomahana has no sanctity for them, no memory of ancestors who have set their mark on the place before departing for the long night. You have seen how they scrawl their names over the Terraces. Well, no one is to have it now. Perhaps Tuhoto was right. It is a judgment.’

‘And I am selfish, thinking of my little piece of magic,’ said Mattie.

‘E hine, no. You are one who would make and preserve a thing of beauty while others would be greedy and destroy. You are right to mourn your gift that will never be found.’

‘But people are more precious than things! What will happen to all these homeless ones?’

‘We are all part of the great Te Arawa tribe, and Te Arawa will look after their own. Though I came from the north I am one of them too, through my husband and children. Mattie, Lillian, you must come to us at Ohinemutu on the shores of Rotorua lake, when we tangi for the dead. You must give us your aroha.’

‘We’ll come,’ said Mattie and Lillian together.

Sophia smiled gently. ‘Your parents have fallen asleep, I see,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you can sleep too, now. It may help the others if you settle down.’

By the others she meant the remaining Maoris who were feeling their own helplessness along with their hurts and their ailments. Two old men were moaning softly, comforting one another. One of the women was chanting
what might have been an ancient song—or it might have been a lullaby; for this was the last sound that Mattie and Lillian heard for the next two hours.

W
ith a single lantern Joe and Johnny worked their way round the hotel and explored every brokendown porch, verandah or shed where an injured man might be lying. The ash continued to fall. The volcano sounded more unearthly than ever in the darkness that should have been daylight. No other sounds came through, no dogs barking, no roosters crowing, no birds calling. The only human voices were their own, shouting for Edwin.

From under the hotel near the ruined kitchen, a faint whimper came through the boards. In a burst of hopeful energy Joe tore a plank away and looked into the eyes of his dog.

‘Lollop!’ he said. ‘I thought the crying was
human
.’ He was disappointed and glad at the same time. Lollop gave small yelps of pleasure as his master touched him, but showed no wish to come out. ‘You’re a wise old fellow,’
said Joe affectionately. ‘Stay there till it’s time to go.’

‘Is he hurt at all?’ asked Johnny.

‘He’s thoroughly scared, I’d say,’ said Joe.

Lollop whined miserably as they left him and ploughed their way round to the yard where the waggon had been left standing. In front of it were two humps, not four. ‘The leaders have got away,’ said Johnny. ‘I don’t know if that’s good or bad.’ It was his turn now to talk to his animals, but if they heard they gave no sign. Mud plastered their ears and eyes and kept their heads bowed over their immovable legs. When the mud was scraped away they remained listless, and only their breathing seemed to work properly.

‘Blossom and Patchwork must have broken loose early on,’ said Johnny. ‘If we find them could we ride, d’you think, Joe?’

‘We might find better than draughthorses,’ said Joe.

But the stables were in a shambles and the horses gone. Joe thought of the one he’d seen bogged down and dying at the height of the gale and storm. Rosinante could have suffered the same. Where
could
they have gone to be safe?

A whinny sounded from the rear of the stables. Pushing their way round and watching always for any sign of Edwin, they found the horse half sheltered by a jutting piece of roof, sharing it with a huddle of birds which did not twitch a feather as the humans came near.

‘It’s Monarch,’ said Joe heavily. ‘Edwin’s horse. Luckily he’s kept his head clear. We’ll only have to free his legs.’

They began working at the mud which encased them. ‘Lend us a leg, Monarch,’ said Johnny. The horse responded at once by jerking his left foreleg. ‘You’re a brainy beast,’ said Johnny. ‘Try the other one.’ To his surprise, Monarch obeyed again. It wasn’t long before he was free and drinking gratefully from a water-barrel which Joe managed to uncover, hoping that the water wasn’t poisoned.

After finding two bridles they pressed on, leading Monarch. They had done a complete circuit of the hotel and outbuildings when they were hailed in Maori: ‘Is that you, Joe McRae?’

‘T
n
koe, Wi Keepa!’ answered Joe in the same language. ‘What do you want me for?’

‘The Haszard girls and Mere have gone with the surveyors and two of my men. I thought that was best. They were anxious to go.’

‘That’s right, that’s good! But what brought you from Hinemihi? You had plenty to do there.’

‘All our fit people have gone, except for the young men who have stayed on purpose to help me.’

‘You are not going, Wi?’

‘This is my land, my hapu. I will not go until all are counted up, whether living or dead. The light of day comes late, but when it comes we will dig into the whares. The young men are searching for spades. Our old and sick people will need food and drink and clean clothes until the rescue parties come.’

‘Have you seen another horse around that’s fit to ride?’

‘There’s a cart-horse over by Falloona’s store, Joe.’

They found Johnny’s Blossom standing as Monarch had done, close to a wall. Being solidly built she had managed to keep her legs free. They had little hope now of finding Edwin, but nothing was said about that when they paused at Sophia’s place to say they were riding out.

Travelling on horseback was hardly any faster than walking. The horses balked whenever a mud shower fell. It needed extra care to see they didn’t step into a hole or stumble over some hidden obstacle. The foggy half-light and the scattered heaps of embers revealed a little of the desert that had once been Te Wairoa. Apart from the skittering of unseen animals on the loose, the breathing of the horses was the only sound that told of living things.

When they came at last to the Tikitapu bush both Monarch and Blossom had had enough.

Johnny and Joe stared in dismay. The ferny forest that the tourists always raved about was utterly destroyed. The road had disappeared under fallen and leaning trees. Into the ghostly tangle of smashed branches and undergrowth went the tracks of the refugees, weaving over and around the obstacles in the craziest way.

The determination that had kept Joe McRae going all through the dreadful morning began to sag.

‘I’m done, Johnny,’ he said with a sigh. ‘No horse can get through that and I doubt if I can, either.’

‘Nor I,’ said Johnny. ‘But I don’t fancy going back.’

‘If I told Mrs Hensley we couldn’t get through, she’d lose faith in everything I say.’

‘It’s faith in you that’s kept them on the level, Joe.’

‘Aye, and that makes it hard to admit a failure. We’d better stay here.’

‘At least we’ve got a seat on a horse. Poor old Blossom, what a mess your mane’s in!’

‘I’m combing the mud with my fingers. Hey, Monarch, don’t toss your head about like that!’

But Monarch tossed his head again, and snorted loudly, and was answered by a shout.

‘Who’s there? Somebody there?’

‘It’s my very own brother!’ whooped Johnny. ‘What are you back for, Willie?’

‘Returning with the police,’ came Willie’s cheerful voice. ‘Who’s with you?’

‘Joe McRae and two balky horses,’ boomed Joe himself.

‘Horses?’ came another familiar voice—Charlie Humphreys.

Through the ghostly bush they appeared, Willie and Charlie, John Blythe, and the first of the rescuers from Rotorua, Constable Moroney and Ned Douglas.

Joe looked at John Blythe with amazement. ‘How have you left the girls and Mere so soon?’ he exclaimed.

‘Soon? It must be hours, Joe! Clara’s fretting about
her family. She brightened wonderfully when I offered to come back. They’ll be all right with Harry Lundius until the coaches meet them.’

‘Who?’ exclaimed Johnny. ‘Who’s going to meet them?’

‘Edwin Robertson’s on the job. The boss himself,’ said Ned Douglas proudly. Joe knew Ned already, a wiry, stocky Englishman who’d done some carpentry up at the mission house. ‘I tell you, there’s a fair panic back in Rotorua. People rushing out in droves on the roads to Hamilton and Tauranga. One crazy idiot rose from his bed with the first big bang and rushed through the town yelling, “Sulphur Point has blown up! Rotorua is sinking!” They believed him, the silly fools. They should have seen it was Tarawera and the wind blowing away from Rotorua. When Robertson called for volunteers outside the Lake Hotel, a big crowd was there looking for news, but he couldn’t get a single taker. He told me he’d asked all round the town and there wasn’t a soul would go with him. So here I am.’

‘Did he bring the
coach
?’ Joe said, unbelieving.

‘No, it was a light buggy with two of his best horses. We didn’t know how far we’d get. The ashes were falling so fast, the horses could scarcely face it. And the further out we got, the harder it was to keep the wheels grinding through the muck. The first people we met were three bushmen from Tikitapu and they said we’d never get to Te Wairoa, and anyway everybody there must be dead. “Have
you been there?” I says. “Oh no, we’ve had quite enough, thank you,” says they. And Robertson he says, “
We
won’t have had enough till we
know
.” ’

‘You know now,’ said Johnny.

‘We knew as soon as we saw the first refugees. Proper done up they were, but carrying on. They were Maoris, saying, “Haere mai, haere mai, how is it in Rotorua? Has it blown up or gone down?” When we said it was all safe they hugged one another and cried. They put on a regular tangi, and asked us to look out for people missing. Everybody we met was the same. Nobody was giving up on the way. When we got to the bush that was as far as we could get and still they were coming through.’

‘Too many for one small buggy,’ said Johnny.

‘Right, but Robertson’s going to send the coaches out, now that he knows how far they can get. He took Mrs Humphreys and the two maids from your hotel, Joe, and left no seat for himself. He drove away standing on the shafts. The Haszard girls and Mere won’t have long to wait, as sure as God made little apples.’

‘Your news gives a lift to the heart and no mistake,’ said Joe. ‘What’s your story, Constable?’

‘I rode my own horse and caught up with them at the bush,’ said Constable Moroney briefly. ‘What will you two do now?’

‘Come back with you, of course,’ said Johnny.

‘Round you go, Monarch,’ said Joe.