In the Land of the Long White Cloud

by Sarah Lark

  “In that broth the clothes only get dirtier,” she complained, eyeing the water that had collected in the bottom of one of the lifeboats.

  Gwyneira shrugged. “At least you don’t have to drink it. And we’re in luck with regard to water, says the captain. Although we’ve been making our way slowly through the…the calm belt, thus far there have been no lulls. The wind doesn’t always blow here as it should, and sometimes ships run out of water.”

  Helen nodded. “The sailors say this place is also called the ‘horse latitudes’ because people used to have to slaughter the horses on board to keep from starving.”

  Gwyneira snorted. “I’ll eat the sailors before I slaughter Igraine,” she declared. “But like I said, we seem to have been lucky.”

  Unfortunately, the Dublin’s luck soon ran out. Although the wind continued to blow, a pernicious malady suddenly threatened the lives of the passengers. At first, only one sailor complained of fever, but the ship’s doctor recognized the danger when several children were brought to him with fevers and breakouts. The disease spread like wildfire throughout steerage.

  At first Helen hoped her girls would remain unscathed since they had little contact with the other children outside of the daily school lessons. Thanks to Gwyneira’s generosity and Daphne’s regular forays into the cow stalls and chicken coops, they were also in considerably better health than the other immigrant children. Then, however, Elizabeth broke out in a fever. Laurie and Rosemary followed suit shortly thereafter, and Daphne and Dorothy became mildly ill. Surprisingly, Mary did not catch it at all, despite the fact that she shared the berth with her twin the whole time, her arms tight around Laurie, mourning her ahead of time. Laurie’s fever passed without doing much harm, but Elizabeth and Rosemary hung between life and death for several days. The ship’s doctor treated them with the same medicine as he did every other illness—gin—and the parents of the affected children could not make up their minds whether it was to be taken internally or applied externally. Helen decided on baths and compresses, and actually managed to cool her patients somewhat. For most of the families, however, the booze ended up in the patriarch’s belly, and the already tense atmosphere became even more explosive.

  In the end, twelve children died of the contagion, and weeping and moaning once more dominated in steerage. The captain held a very moving funeral service on the main deck, which all passengers attended. Gwyneira played the piano, tears streaming down her face, her good intentions clearly greater than her talent. Without sheet music, she was helpless. Finally, Helen took over, and a few of the passengers in steerage fetched their instruments too. The music and wailing of the people sounded far over the ocean, and for the first time, rich and poor came together as one. They mourned together, and for days after the service, the mood was somber and peaceful. The captain, a quiet man wise in the ways of the world, held the remaining Sunday services for all the passengers on the main deck. The weather no longer presented any obstacle; if anything, it was too hot rather than too cold and rainy. Only when they rounded the Cape of Good Hope did the seas become stormy again; after that the journey continued without incident.

  Meanwhile Helen rehearsed church songs with her schoolchildren. When the choir’s singing one Sunday morning had been particularly successful, the Brewsters drew her into their conversation with Gerald and Gwyneira. They praised the young woman at length on her students, and Gwyneira used this opportunity to formally introduce her friend to her future father-in-law.

  She only hoped that Gerald wouldn’t blow up again. However, he did not lose his temper this time and instead proved rather charming. He calmly exchanged the usual pleasantries with the young woman, even commending her for the children’s singing.

  “So you want to marry, then,” he continued when there was nothing left to say.

  Helen nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir, God willing. I’m trusting the Lord to show me the way to a happy marriage…perhaps you even know my fiancé? Howard O’Keefe out of Haldon, Canterbury. He’s a gentleman farmer.”

  Gwyneira held her breath. Maybe she should have told Helen about Gerald’s outburst, after all. Yet her concern proved unfounded. Gerald remained perfectly composed.

  “I hope you retain that faith,” he remarked with a lopsided smirk. “The man plays the strangest jokes on those innocent sheep of his. But as for your question…no. I do not know of any ‘gentleman’ by the name of Howard O’Keefe.”

  The Dublin was now sailing across the Indian Ocean, the penultimate, longest, and most dangerous leg of the journey. Though the waters were rarely rough, the route led them far across the deep sea. The passengers had not seen land for weeks, and according to Gerald Warden, the next shores were hundreds of miles away.

  Life on board had settled down once again, and thanks to the tropical weather, everyone spent more time on deck instead of in their claustrophobic cabins. This led to a further unraveling of the strict division between first class and steerage. In addition to Sunday service, communal concerts and dances now took place as well. The men in steerage improved their fishing skills and became more successful. They harpooned sharks and barracudas and caught albatrosses by dragging a fishhook baited with fish from the aft of the ship. The scent of fish and fowl being grilled wafted over the whole deck, and the mouths of the families not participating watered. Helen received some of the bounty as a gift. As a teacher, she was highly regarded among the passengers, and now that she had taken charge of lessons, almost all the children in steerage could read and write better than their parents. Daphne could almost always sweet-talk her way into a bit of fish or bird meat as well. If Helen did not watch her like a hawk, she would sneak over to the men while they were fishing, marvel at their artistry, and attract their attention by fluttering her eyelashes and pouting. The young men especially courted her favor and let themselves get carried away with sometimes dangerous tests of courage. Daphne applauded, apparently captivated when they would lay their shirts, shoes, and socks aside and let themselves be lowered into the water by the hollering crew. However, neither Helen nor Gwyneira got the impression that Daphne cared much for the boys.

  “She’s hoping that a shark gets him,” Gwyneira remarked as a young Scot bravely sprang headfirst into the water and let himself be pulled along by the Dublin like bait on a hook. “What would you bet that she wouldn’t have any reservations about gobbling up the beast even if?”

  “It’s about time for this journey to end,” Helen sighed. “Otherwise, I’m going to go from teacher to prison guard. These sunsets, for example…yes, they’re beautiful and romantic, but the boys and girls find them so as well. Elizabeth is swooning over Jamie O’Hara, whom Daphne turned down long ago when all the sausage had been eaten up. And Dorothy is pressed by three lads a day to come view the phosphorescent sea with them at night.”

  Gwyneira laughed and played with her sun hat. “Daphne, on the other hand, isn’t looking for her Prince Charming in steerage. Yesterday she asked me whether she couldn’t watch the sunset from the upper deck, since the view would be so much better. During which she eyed the young Viscount Barrington like a shark does fish.”

  Helen rolled her eyes. “We should marry her off soon. Oh, Gwyn, I’m scared to death when I think that in just two or three weeks I have to hand the girls over to total strangers, maybe never to see them again!”

  “You just said you wanted to get rid of them!” Gwyneira cried, laughing. “And anyway, they can read and write. You can all exchange letters. And we can too. If I only knew how far apart Haldon and Kiward Station were from each other. Both are in the Canterbury Plains, but where are those? I just don’t want to lose you, Helen. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could visit one another?”

  “We can most certainly do that,” Helen said confidently. “Howard must live close to Christchurch; otherwise, he wouldn’t belong to that parish. And Mr. Warden must have a lot to do in the city. We’ll definitely see each other, Gwyn!”

  7

  The jo
urney was finally drawing to a close. As the Dublin sailed through the Tasmanian Sea between Australia and New Zealand, the passengers tried to outdo one another with rumors about how close they were to their new country. Many were already camping out on deck every morning before the sun rose to be the first to catch sight of their new homeland.

  Elizabeth was torn when Jamie O’Hara woke her for that purpose once, but Helen ordered her sternly to remain in bed. She knew from Gwyneira that it would still be two or three days before land came into view, and then the captain would inform them right away.

  It finally happened, though, in the bright light of late morning: the captain had the ship’s sirens wail, and within seconds all the passengers had assembled on the main deck. Gwyneira and Gerald stood in the front row, of course, unable to see anything but clouds at first. A long, drawn-out white layer of cotton obscured the land. If the crew had not assured the passengers that the South Island was hiding behind it, they would not have paid any attention to that particular cloud.

  Only as they neared the shore did mountains begin to emerge from the fog, jagged contours of rock behind which were more clouds. It looked so strange, as though the mountains were floating on a sea of luminous, cottony white clouds.

  “Is it always so foggy?” Gwyneira asked, sounding unenthused. As lovely as the view was, she could well imagine the damp and chilly ride through the pass that separated Christchurch from where the deep-sea ship would be landing. The harbor, Gerald had explained to her, was called Lyttelton. The area was still under construction, and there was a laborious climb to even the first houses. To reach Christchurch proper, people would have to walk or ride. The path was at times so steep and difficult that horses familiar with the path had to be led by the bridle. Hence the path’s name: the Bridle Path.

  Gerald shook his head. “No. It’s rather unusual for travelers to be offered such a view. And it’s surely a lucky sign.” He smiled, obviously happy to see his home again. “That is to say that the land revealed itself to the first travelers, who came by canoe from Polynesia to New Zealand, in the same way. That explains New Zealand’s Maori name—Aotearoa, ‘Land of the Long White Cloud.’”

  Helen and her girls gazed, awestruck, at nature’s theater.

  Daphne, however, seemed concerned. “There aren’t any houses,” she said, puzzled. “Where are the docks and the harbor buildings? Where are the church steeples? I only see clouds and mountains. It’s nothing like London.”

  Helen attempted to laugh encouragingly, although at heart she shared Daphne’s fears. She too was a city girl, and this abundance of nature seemed eerie to her. Still, she had at least seen a variety of English landscapes, whereas the girls knew only the streets of the capital.

  “Of course it’s not London, Daphne,” she explained. “The cities here are much smaller. But Christchurch has its steeples too, and it will be getting its own great cathedral, just like Westminster Abbey! You can’t see the houses yet because we’re not landing right in the city. We must…well, we must still walk a bit to—”

  “Walk a bit?” Gerald Warden had overheard Helen and laughed thunderously. “I can only hope, Miss Davenport, that your wonderful fiancé sends you a mule. Otherwise, you’ll wear out the soles of your city shoes before the day is out. The Bridle Path is a narrow, mountainous path, slippery and wet from fog. And after the fog lifts, it gets pretty darn warm. But, Gwyneira, look there, that’s Lyttelton Harbor!”

  The rest of the passengers shared Gerald’s excitement as the lifting fog now exposed a pear-shaped bay to view. According to Gerald, this natural harbor had volcanic origins. The bay was surrounded by mountains, and a few houses and landings were becoming visible.

  “Don’t worry,” the ship’s doctor reassured Helen. “Nowadays a shuttle service operates daily between Lyttelton and Christchurch. You can rent a mule when we arrive. You won’t have to hike the whole way like the first settlers.”

  Helen was hesitant. Maybe she could rent a mule, but what was she going to do with the girls?

  “How…how far is it exactly?” she asked unsurely as the Dublin rapidly approached the coast. “And do we have to bring all our luggage with us?”

  “As you like,” Gerald remarked. “You can also have it ferried by boat, up the Avon River. But that costs money, of course. Most New Zealanders haul their things over the Bridle Path. It’s twelve miles.”

  Helen decided only to have her beloved rocking chair ferried. She would carry the rest of her luggage just like the others. She could walk twelve miles—of course she could. Although it was true she had never tried such a thing before.

  Meanwhile, the main deck had emptied; the passengers had rushed to their cabins to pack their bags. Now that they had almost reached their destination, they wanted to get off the boat as quickly as possible. A tumult similar to that of their first day on board reigned in steerage.

  In first class, people went about things more coolly. Luggage was by and large picked up; the gentry would be taking advantage of the transportation company that carried people and their baggage to the interior on mules. Mrs. Brewster and Lady Barrington already trembled at the prospect of the ride over the pass. Neither one was accustomed to being transported by horse or mule, and both had heard horror stories about the dangers of the route. Gwyneira, however, could hardly wait to mount Igraine—and for that reason ended up in a serious dispute with Gerald.

  “Stay here another night?” she said, amazed, when he indicated they would be taking advantage of the humble but newly opened guesthouse in Lyttelton. “But why do that?”

  “Because we’ll hardly be able to unload the animals before late afternoon,” Gerald explained. “And because I have to requisition herders to bring the sheep over the pass.”

  Gwyneira shook her head, uncomprehending. “Why do you need help for that? I can drive the sheep on my own. And we have two horses. We don’t need to wait for the mules.”

  Gerald boomed with laughter, and Lord Barrington joined him.

  “You want to drive the sheep over the pass, little lady? On horseback, like an American cowboy?” The lord found this the best joke he had heard in a long time.

  Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t drive the sheep myself,” she remarked. “That’s what Cleo and the other dogs are for, the ones that Mr. Warden bought from my father. The pups are still little and haven’t been fully trained, but there are only thirty sheep, after all. Cleo could do that all by herself if need be.”

  The little dog had heard her name and immediately emerged from her corner. Wagging her tail and with bright eyes shining with eagerness and devotion, she stopped in front of her mistress. Gwyneira petted her and informed her that their boredom on the ship would come to an end that day.

  “Gwyneira,” Gerald said, annoyed, “I didn’t buy these sheep and dogs and have them shipped halfway around the world just to have them fall off the next cliff.” He hated it when a member of his family sounded ridiculous. And it infuriated him further when someone ignored or even questioned his directions. “You don’t know the Bridle Path. It’s a treacherous and dangerous trail. No dog can drive sheep over it alone, and it’s not as easy to ride over it as you seem to think. I’ve had pens prepared for the sheep tonight. Tomorrow I’ll have the horses ferried over, and you’ll take a mule.”

  Gwyneira tossed her head back imperiously. She hated it when people underestimated her or her animals’ abilities.

  “Igraine can cross any path and is as sure-footed as any mule,” she assured them with a steady voice. “Cleo has never lost a sheep, and she won’t now. Just wait, by this evening we’ll be in Christchurch!”

  The men kept laughing, but Gwyneira was determined. Why did she have the best sheepdog in Powys, if not in all Wales? And why had people been breeding cobs for nimbleness and sure-footedness? Gwyneira burned with impatience to show the men what she was capable of. This was a new world! She wouldn’t let herself be bound by the role of the well-bred little woman who foll
owed men’s orders without protest.

  Helen felt extremely light-headed when she finally set foot on New Zealand around three o’clock that afternoon. The bobbing landing platform did not seem much steadier than the planks of the Dublin, but she stepped across it courageously and stood at long last on solid land. She was so relieved that she would have liked nothing better than to kneel down and kiss the ground, just as Mrs. O’Hara and a few other settlers had unabashedly done. Helen’s girls and the other children from steerage danced and frolicked about and were subdued only with great effort in order to join the other survivors in saying a prayer of thanksgiving. Only Daphne still seemed disappointed. The few houses hemming the Bay of Lyttelton did not meet her expectations for a town.

  Helen had already commissioned the transportation of the rocking chair by ferry. Now, her travel bag in one hand and her parasol over her shoulder, she sauntered up the wide access path leading up to the first houses. The girls followed her obediently with their bundles. Thus far they found the climb demanding, but not dangerous or unreasonably difficult. If it did not get any worse, they could still conquer the road to Christchurch. For the time being, however, they found themselves in the center of the Lyttelton settlement. There was a pub, a general store, and a questionable-looking hotel. But that was there only for the benefit of the rich. The steerage passengers who did not want to leave straight for Christchurch could spend the night here in primitive barracks or tents, and many of the new settlers chose this option. A few of them had relatives in Christchurch and had arranged for them to send mules as soon as the Dublin had arrived.