A Canoe In the Mist (12 page)

O
n their way back the rescuers passed Wi Keepa and his team busily digging into the buried whares. In some of them people had clung to life in spite of the stifling air. One old man, Rawiri, had dug his own way out and was found sitting on the frozen mud with a terrified cat in his arms. Dazed by his ordeal he kept saying he had to stay there and look after his home, until at last the promise of food and drink persuaded him to go to Hinemihi. Anything useful found in the whares had been taken there.

The Pakeha rescuers bypassed Sophia’s place, helped themselves to drinks through the hole already made in the hotel wall, and got some tools out of Willie Bird’s store. That was a dangerous business for Willie. The hole they made in the wall with the combined weight of six men gave that same shaky wall an extra tilt and wobble. But Willie was the one to go through since he was the smallest man
and knew where things were. Crawling into that black cave which might collapse at any moment was all the harder because he must do it alone. At every twist of his body, things around him creaked and cracked as if ready to fall. But he kept to his purpose; what else could he do? One by one the tools were passed outside, spades and shovels and axes, brand new, never to be sold to those customers who once liked to gossip in his store.

‘Wi Keepa could do with some of these,’ said Joe. ‘They’ve only got two spades, one shovel and a few bits of board.’

‘When we get back,’ said Constable Moroney. ‘Haszard’s first. There
might
be someone still alive.’

Joe didn’t argue. They got up the hill much faster this time, using the tools as walking sticks, although the ten o’clock daylight was no brighter than dusk. Lightning continued to play amongst the volcanic cloud that hid the mountains, and the showers of ash came and went. It was very cold. The fire at the schoolhouse had died to embers without softening the sticky mud which in places had frozen solid.

They were seven weary men, all of them lacking sleep and worn out by the emotions of that terrible night; but they had seen the eyes of Clara and Ina Haszard. Taking great care that nothing should fall inwards, they cleared the outer wall of the drawing room where the family had been gathered. Mud and stones had poured through every
gap where the roof and walls had collapsed, and piled up inside. How could anyone have survived in there? And yet they went on probing, and pulling out of the mess the filthy relics of a once comfortable home—books and pictures and cushions and broken vases.

‘I hate to think what the inside’s like at my place,’ said Joe. ‘Thank God we left when we did, and got out with only one man missing.’

‘We could be wasting our time at that,’ said the constable, ‘I’m beginning to think we’d have done more good helping Wi Keepa, after all.’

‘Wait,’ said Joe. He was feeling his way along something woollen, a scarf. It wouldn’t come loose, it was being held tight—by the fingers of a hand!

And the fingers moved.

Mrs Haszard was alive. A beam from the room had fallen against the sideboard and pinned her to the chair, but it had also sheltered her body. Her head hung down into a small clear space which allowed her to breathe. But Mona, Edna and Adolphus, the three children who had clung to her, had been without that small protection and she was powerless to help them. They had died one by one. As for her husband and their small nephew Charlie, the fall of the roof had killed them outright.

Dreadfully cold and stiff, Mrs Haszard remained perfectly calm and was able to follow the instructions of her rescuers as they eased her out. Indeed, it was she who said,
when they found it so difficult to dislodge her, ‘Why don’t you saw the legs off the chair?’ And once in the open she exclaimed, ‘Oh, it’s you, Joe McRae! And Ned Douglas! Oh, John Blythe, you’re here—did you take Clara out?’

‘Harry did,’ said Mr Blythe, ‘and Mere took Ina. They’re safe and well, Mrs Haszard.’

‘Praise the Lord for his mercy,’ she said. ‘I know my husband is dead, and the little ones. I’m sorry, I can’t help myself. My leg is hurt somehow, and I’m bruised all over, I think.’

‘We will carry you down to Sophia’s,’ said Willie Bird gallantly, though she was a big woman, much bigger than he was.

The descent was slow with all the care they must take, not to stumble.

Lillian clung to Mattie in the midst of a terrifying dream as she awoke. No, the roof wasn’t falling on top of her; the bumping and clattering sounds were from men coming into the whare. No, she wasn’t lost in the devil’s rain, following a voice that kept moving further off; it was Mr Humphreys she heard, telling her mother to wake up, there was work to do.

She sat up. How had Mr Humphreys come to be there? What did he mean about work when the Temperance Hotel was wrecked? ‘What’s going on, Mattie?’ she asked, seeing her friend already on her feet.

‘They’ve brought Mrs Haszard,’ said Mattie, in pleased wonder. ‘They’ve put her down where Clara and Ina were resting.’

The women and girls gathered round Mr Humphreys. ‘We found her held down by a fallen beam,’ he explained. ‘It’s a miracle she survived. She was the only one alive in there. But she’s numb with cold and you’ll need to rub the circulation back into her body; you’ll do better to take some of her clothes off. There’s something wrong with her left leg and she’s got a lot of bruises. We’ll leave her to you ladies while we rig up a stretcher.’

‘I’ll help with that,’ said Mr Hensley.

‘Is it better out there?’ asked Mrs Hensley.

‘Much better. No ash falling now, and the cloud seems to be moving away to the east, and the day’s a little lighter. Come along, Hensley.’

Mrs Perham took charge. ‘If only we had some hot water and clean clothes!’ she exclaimed. ‘Look at that mud, it’s set solid on her neck and all down her jacket.’

‘Mumma, I’ll get water!’ said Lillian.

Sophia and Miriam were nowhere about. Lillian ran outside. She was thinking of the water-butts that collected water from the roof of the stables for the horses. If the covers had stayed in place it would be clean enough for a wash. In her eagerness she forgot that her feet were bare and one of them cut and grazed, until the harsh cold mud set them stinging. Perhaps the cut was bleeding again; it
was dreadfully sore. She paused with her weight on the good foot and looked about her.

It was a different world she stood in, utterly unfamiliar, a weird and lonely desert with no colour but grey. The Temperance Hotel, where was it? These bootprint lines through the mud, where did they all go to? Lillian had no sense of direction with the sun completely hidden. She chose the most likely track, stretching her short legs to reach the bootprints of grown men, and put up with her sore feet. The mud was wet and sticky in some places, cold and hard in others, horrible all the time. If anyone had called her back she would have obeyed gladly; but they left her alone.

At least she had guessed correctly. It wasn’t long before she stopped in amazement at the sight of the Temperance Hotel.

It couldn’t be! It wasn’t real! It was like a cardboard house that a small child had pasted together, and a big bully had squashed it down and thrown bucketfuls of dirt over it. The verandah was a crazy jumble of sticks.

Lillian began to cry. She didn’t want to go any nearer to that ruin where they’d made their home. The stables were behind it and the horses, where were the horses? What if they were trapped in there, knocked down, crushed and suffering? And if the cover of the water-butt was loaded with mud like everything else, how would she ever get it off? No, it was useless.

She turned back. Now she could see part of the Rotomahana Hotel and Sean Falloona’s store. They were no different; cardboard toys, squashed down by a giant hand and deluged with dirt.

She didn’t realise how loud she was bawling until Wi Keepa appeared beside her.

‘E hine, why are you out by yourself?’ he asked.

‘I wanted to get water for them to wash Mrs Haszard.’

‘They have found her?’ he said in pleased surprise. ‘Any others?’

‘No, just her, and she’s in a mess. I thought I could get water from the butt by the stables to wash her face, but I don’t know how I’d get the cover off.’

‘If you did, what would you carry it in?’

‘Oh! I didn’t think of that either!’

‘Your aroha is greater than your sense. I’ll take you back and then bring water for you.’

‘I can get back by myself.’

‘Then why are you weeping?’

‘Because our valley is all smothered and our homes are gone.’

‘Au-e! I also weep for the land. It is our mother, and without that mother we would not be born. But we cannot let living people die because of the death of the land. Go back, wait on the porch, I will follow.’

She had scraped her feet clean when he arrived with a tin of water that smelt peculiar. And her mother didn’t
scold her for running off like that. They all rinsed their hands with a feeling of great luxury, while Lillian dampened the corner of Mattie’s towel and began wiping the mud from Mrs Haszard’s face and neck.

The patient had little to say, but smiled and murmured her thanks. To Lillian it didn’t seem right to be treating a dignified lady like a big floppy doll to be undressed and sat up and laid down by other people’s hands. But they took off her boots and her jacket and her blouse, and Mrs Perham massaged the left arm while Mrs Hensley did the right. Then they gave the arms and shoulders a rest while they began on her feet. ‘Snuggle up to her, girls, and keep her warm,’ Mrs Perham said. ‘Your body heat will keep the circulation up.’ So Mattie pressed close to one shoulder and Lillian to the other, looking outwards, so as not to be breathing over her face.

It was hard getting circulation back into the feet. The left leg must not be touched, the right one was bruised and tender. Mrs Perham took a firm grip on the ankle while Mrs Hensley rubbed the foot without touching the legs, and soon the warmth was returning.

‘Will you put my clothes back on, please?’ asked Mrs Haszard. ‘That’s much better. But please let the girls stay.’

‘I’ll tuck blankets around all three of you to keep the heat in,’ said Mrs Perham.

‘Is it safe to come in yet?’ called Mr Humphreys. He
was bringing wonderful things: lime juice, raisins and a tin of crackers; and a man they had never seen before was helping him carry them.

‘Where did you spring from?’ exclaimed Mrs Hensley.

‘From Rotorua,’ said the man.

‘From Rotorua!’ repeated Mrs Perham and Mrs Hensley in surprise and delight. ‘Rotorua!’ echoed a very old Maori in a voice loud and strong, rousing his sad companions into excited chatter. What a tonic it was, to have this living evidence that the other world remained, only eleven miles away! And any time now, said the new man, Ned Douglas, more rescuers were sure to arrive.

Mrs Haszard took the food and drink gratefully, ate slowly and said little. The raisins gave the dry crackers a lift and there were plenty of them.

‘Did you get these from our place?’ asked Mrs Perham.

‘Not a chance,’ said Mr Humphreys. ‘They’re from Willie’s store. We had a mint of trouble getting a bed wire out of a shed. We can’t get near any bedrooms. You’ll all have to travel in whatever you stand up in.’

‘I lost one boot in the mud when we came over,’ said Lillian.

‘You’ll have to hop all the way, then, in the one you’ve got left, or is it the right one that’s left?’ said Mr Humphreys, making a light-hearted attempt at joking.

‘The left one’s right,’ Lillian favoured him with a giggle.
And Mr Humphreys went off without saying anything more.

‘What
will
you do?’ said Mattie. ‘He said travel but he meant walk. It must be time to go. And what did he mean about a bed wire?’

‘I’m bothered if I know. They’ll have to find me something. I hope it fits, that’s all.’

She looked at the one boot hanging on its nail and realised that if its partner appeared by magic it wouldn’t fit over her swollen foot. She began to laugh.

‘I’ll be going clomp, clomp like a peg-leg,’ she said.

‘I envy you,’ said Mrs Haszard unexpectedly. ‘To think I have to be carried! But there’s no help for it, is there?’

F
our of the men came in with their contrivance for Mrs Haszard.

‘Gracious heavens!’ exclaimed Mrs Hensley. ‘Is
that
a stretcher?’

‘It’s the best we can do,’ said Mr Humphreys. He sounded huffed.

‘I think we’ve produced a marvel,’ said Mr Hensley proudly.

‘That’s the bed wire,’ whispered Lillian with a giggle.

They had taken the frame with its wire mesh from one of the narrow beds put aside for an overflow of summer guests, and lashed it to two square poles. It was heavy and clumsy but would easily take Mrs Haszard’s weight.

‘Mama was thinking of the things they use in hospitals,’ Mattie whispered back. ‘The rescuers can’t have brought one after all. Will we have to wait till they’ve taken Mrs
Haszard and come back?’

‘I’ve seen a stretcher made with broom handles stuck through coat sleeves. One of those would do for your mother. She’s only half the size of Mrs Haszard,’ said Lillian.

‘But they’d still need men to carry it. Hey! Lillian, I’ve got a better idea. Mr McRae and Mr Bird were riding! Mama can ride.’

Mrs Hensley didn’t need any persuading, and they were ready to suggest it when Joe McRae came in.

‘Why, that solves a problem!’ Joe was relieved and pleased. ‘We won’t need to find another horse, because I’ll be taking my share of the stretcher. You can have mine as far as the Tikitapu bush. There’s no saddle, but you’ll go at a walking pace with the rest of us, and he won’t stumble. He’s been there and back already.’

‘I’ll have to ask you to help me mount,’ said Mrs Hensley. ‘Your Rosinante is too big! A real man’s horse.’

‘It isn’t Rosinante,’ said Joe ruefully. ‘I couldn’t find my mare alive or dead. It’s Monarch, Edwin’s horse.’

‘Edwin’s horse! Oh! How dreadful, I shall be thinking of Edwin all the way.’

‘No, Mrs Hensley, you must
not
. Assure yourself that Edwin would gladly lend you his horse and then concentrate on looking after yourself. Each one of us must do that,’ said Joe.

‘
You
haven’t been looking after yourself! You’ve been in the thick of the danger.’

‘Oh, but I have. I’ve done what I had to do, but I’ve been careful all the way. I have a wife and six daughters to think of, remember. Now, you two lassies—could you look after Lollop for me?’

‘Lollop!’ cried Lillian. ‘Is
he
alive?’

‘Aye, he is, but he’s lost his spirit. We found him cowering under the floorboards. You might have to coax him to follow.’

‘I’ll make him a lead,’ said Mr Hensley.

‘Oh, I’m so glad, I’m so glad! I could almost dance,’ said Mattie.

Lillian wasn’t thinking of dancing. But when Mr McRae had gone, and she was considering how she could hold Lollop even with a lead when she found it so hard to walk, Sophia came in with a large thick towel.

‘Sit down, Lillian, I’m going to make you a boot,’ she said. ‘I thought we’d find something in one of the whares. We’re bringing in everything we can use.’

She folded the towel into a thick pad and bound it firmly in place with strips of flax. Lillian giggled as her foot grew like a big puffball.

‘I look like those funny pictures of crusty old men with gout,’ she said.

‘I wish you were coming with us, Guide Sophia,’ said Mattie.

‘I still have guests in my house,’ said Sophia. ‘And we’re still hoping to find more survivors. I will wait until Wi Keepa has finished his work.’

‘Won’t we ever see you again?’

‘Have you forgotten already? You promised to come to me at Ohinemutu. I hope your parents don’t hurry you away.’

‘I won’t let them! Besides, Mama will need to rest in Rotorua, and buy us new clothes,’ said Mattie.

To buy new clothes!

That remark so lightly tossed away was a blow in the face for Lillian. How would
her
mother buy new clothes? Mr Hensley had a cheque book, a mysterious thing whereby writing on a slip of paper got money from the bank. Mrs Perham had only the wage in her hand every week—and how delighted she was to get it!—but that was hardly enough to buy the material for a single dress. As for buying a dress ready-made, that was unheard of.

Charity. They’d have to go for old clothes to the charity people. To be brought down to the charity level, that was the lowest rung of existence, so Mrs Perham had said when she had trouble finding a job. Now they’d have to go through all that again, looking for work and a home.

But the Maoris were destitute too, and they did not talk of charity. What was it Wi Keepa had said? ‘We cannot let living people die because of the death of the land.’ And Sophia? ‘Te Arawa will look after their own.’

‘You’re off on a daydream, Lillian.’ Sophia gave the puffball foot a friendly tap. ‘Now put your boot on the other foot, and stand up and tell me how it feels. You won’t
find walking so hard now the day is lighter, and nobody has yet failed on the way.’

‘How do you know that?’ said Mattie.

‘By the ones who come to us from Rotorua. Two more have arrived, and that makes four, and they all tell us what they’ve seen.’

Sophia stood on the porch to watch them go. It’s hard for Pakeha women in those long skirts, she thought, but much harder for the men, with that heavy stretcher to carry.

The stretcher as it happened presented more problems than its weight. With two men walking on each side, they couldn’t keep to the track already tramped out by people in single file; and they were all of different heights themselves. They had to keep changing places, with one man leading to watch out for obstacles, and another to keep the end of the line. Mrs Hensley walked her horse a safe distance behind, with Mrs Perham beside her, and Mattie and Lillian following with Lollop on his lead. Poor fellow, his name didn’t suit him any more. He plodded along looking wretched, but grateful for their fondling and friendly words.

‘It might be the smells that upset him,’ said Lillian. ‘Dogs are like that.’

‘I don’t want to remember Te Wairoa like this,’ said Mattie. ‘It looked so pretty when we came and people were everywhere. Now there aren’t any people.’

‘Yes there are. I can see Wi Keepa and three others.’

‘Looking for dead bodies!’

‘No, for live ones, he told me so. But who’d want to live here now? Even the trees are skeletons,’ said Lillian. ‘Oh! Look up there, that house all tumbled in, it’s worse than the hotel—that’s Wi Keepa’s place. It’s all gone and he didn’t say a thing about it.’

‘But Hinemihi looks just the same,’ said Mattie.

Hinemihi was standing proud. Plastered with mud as it was, they could see the outline of the tekoteko at the point of the gable, while the maihi boards reaching down like sheltering arms were in place, and the carved panels stood upright on the porch.

‘Those golden eyes must be watching us,’ said Lillian.

‘Real eyes are watching too,’ said Mattie.

Two women stood on the porch and waved. At Hinemihi, as at Sophia’s, healthy people had stayed behind to take care of the frail ones.

But after that there were only the animals, and not many of those. Two horses wandered about where the Wairoa stream should have been and wasn’t. The water had ceased to flow and its bed was filled with muck. Rats and mice scurried over the ruined whares. A pig rushed about with its hair singed off and an ugly red wound on its back. Lollop took no notice of the pig, nor of the birds which flew down before them, quite without fear, hoping the humans would give them food. He seemed to have
forgotten he was a gun dog. He snarled jealously, though, when two Maori dogs fell in behind, and made sure they trailed at a fair distance.

The humans were quiet as the animals. The stretcher-carriers had no energy left to talk, though at each change-over they assured Mrs Haszard she wasn’t too much of a burden.

‘I don’t hear you going clomp, clomp like a peg-leg,’ Mattie said to Lillian.

‘No, I’m going bump, squelch, bump, squelch. I can’t feel the cuts, though, with all this padding. Don’t make me think about my feet,’ said Lillian.

‘I’m only thinking about getting there,’ said Mattie, ‘and the coaches waiting at the other side of the bush, like Mr Douglas said.’

That was a thought to keep the grown-ups going, too. But when they came to the Tikitapu bush, although they’d been warned what to expect, the sight of it was enough to make anyone weep, both for the obstacles to be gone through and for the sight of beauty ruined.

Mr Hensley helped his wife to dismount. ‘I’m stiff all over,’ she confessed as she stretched her arms and eased her back, and then cried out with pain from her cracked ribs. ‘It’s not so easy riding bareback.’

They all needed a rest. The stretcher-carriers had shoulders badly chafed and some of them bleeding, making scars that would show to the end of their days. Now they would
have to take the weight on their arms to manoeuvre the stretcher through the tangled remains of the bush.

‘It’s as well I brought this,’ said Constable Moroney, patting the tomahawk at his belt. ‘It’s a proper jungle of twisted twigs in there, but we won’t let them slap you in the face, Mrs Haszard.’

‘What about you, Mrs Hensley?’ asked Joe.

‘I don’t want to be carried,’ she said. ‘If some of you will push or pull me over the fallen branches and logs, I think I can manage.’

‘We’ll help you, Mama,’ said Mattie. ‘Won’t we, Lillian?’

‘Another new experience,’ chuckled Mr Hensley.

And then something wonderful happened.

The grey cloud shifted further to the east, and out of the west came a blaze of clear sunlight, amazingly brilliant, heralding life as it ought to be and lighting up every face with surprise and joy.

Mrs Hensley burst out laughing.

‘You men look as if you’ve been through a lime kiln,’ she said.

‘Your milliner would collapse if she saw your hair, my dear,’ said her husband. ‘And our daughter has a lip like a mushroom.’

‘I think I have a whisky nose,’ said Mrs Perham.

‘Oh Mumma, you have, you have!’ said Lillian.

‘And you’ve got a gouty foot,’ retorted her mother.

‘We’ve all got a touch of the sun,’ laughed Willie Bird.

That touch of the sun saw them through the battle with the bush, and on the other side, as promised, two coaches were waiting.