by Sarah Lark
He’d said it in jest, but to everyone’s surprise, one of the women produced a tiny sewing kit from her little evening bag.
“A lady should be prepared for every possible inconvenience,” she said, and was rewarded with tense laughter.
“Then I would suggest that the men row and the women start constructing a sail,” Wallis said.
“And please don’t worry about propriety,” Paxton added. “It’s probably best if you sacrifice your petticoats, ladies.”
The following days were a long nightmare of cold, hunger, and thirst. The first night, it rained, soaking them all over again. The women huddled together for warmth, while the men rowed so hard they sweated in spite of the cold. But George Wallis was lucky with the occupants of the rowboat entrusted to him by the captain. The passengers were young and strong, and mostly optimistic. Only two young sisters from Auckland didn’t stop crying and praying, and the spoiled heir, Dunbar, refused to exert himself beyond making pointless complaints. The other young men committed themselves to the adventure and took turns rowing with the sailors. There were two accomplished seamstresses among the women, and thanks to his upbringing on Milford Sound, Bill turned out to be a skilled sailor of small boats. With his help, the women constructed an irregular, stiff sail made from hoopskirts and linen petticoats, which they put into service the next day when it stopped raining. When the wind was neither too strong nor too weak, it worked quite well. The main problem was that the board serving as a mast wasn’t strong enough to stand up against the wind. Two men had to brace heavily against it to keep it upright, which was almost as hard as rowing.
On the third day, the weather stayed dry and the sun came out. The women freed themselves from their clammy gowns, and Linda and Carol sat there in just their bodices and remaining layers, long past worrying about propriety. As the garments slowly dried on their bodies, they were finally able to warm up a little. But they still suffered from hunger and thirst. The latter would have been life-threatening if the castaways hadn’t been clever enough to collect rainwater in their bailing buckets the day before. At least the rowing men were saved from dehydration that way. There were only a few swallows left for the women, whose primary task was not to move very much and to save their strength.
Linda and Carol would have preferred to change places with the men. Being condemned to idleness only caused them more worry. Besides, the men needed help. By this point, the hands of even the most weathered sailors and farmers were cracked and bleeding. Nonetheless, the men still put their full strength into the oars, laughing off Linda and Carol’s offer.
At the end of the third day, everyone was exhausted. Linda and Carol dozed listlessly, and even the Auckland sisters’ crying and praying had given way to weak whimpers. In spite of it all, Bill Paxton goaded the men to keep rowing, and kept readjusting the sail to catch as much wind as possible. George Wallis’s most recent measurements were the only thing that gave the passengers hope.
“Only thirty miles now. If we can hold out for another night and perhaps a day, we’ll have done it.”
The men oriented themselves by the position of the sun during the day and by the stars at night. They made a great effort to guide the boat farther northwest, hour by hour.
Then, at dawn on the fifth day, Linda was startled out of a restless, feverish sleep and thought she must be hallucinating. In the early morning mist, she saw the silhouette of a mast and sails. It was still far away, perhaps only a dream. She shook Carol.
“A ship,” she whispered. “I think—I think I see a ship.”
Half an hour later, the women were wrapped in blankets with big cups of hot tea in their hands, aboard the Prince Albert. George Wallis had informed the captain of the brig about the sinking of the General Lee.
“We heard that the ship didn’t arrive,” the captain said. “We sailed from Campbelltown yesterday, and they’d been expecting you for days.”
“Didn’t—didn’t any other lifeboats arrive?” Carol stammered.
The captain shook his head. He was a kind older man who had organized the rescue operation quickly and efficiently, and had immediately turned his ship around to take the castaways back to Campbelltown.
“No, miss. The way it looks, you may be the only survivors.”
“That doesn’t mean anything yet,” Bill told the women. “The others could just as easily have been rescued as we were. Wait until we get to Campbelltown.”
“Were the others even able to find out where they were?” Carol asked. “Did they have a sextant, like Mr. Wallis?”
Bill looked questioningly at Wallis.
“The captain had the only other sextant,” he admitted. “But there are other ways to navigate. Not as precisely, of course. But you can still use the sun and stars.”
“Mamaca knows how to read the stars,” Linda said to Carol comfortingly. “The Maori were sea travelers a long time ago. And Chris—”
“Chris is a farmer, Lindy. He’s never been at sea.” Carol saw things more realistically. “And of course Mamaca knows the constellations, but would Te Ronga have taught her how to navigate by them? The Ngati Toa lived on a river. It’s been centuries since they traveled by sea.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Miss Carol,” Wallis said. “The captain didn’t assign an officer to every lifeboat for nothing. The sailors know what to do. Let’s take courage from that, and for now we should be happy about our own rescue. Once we’re in Campbelltown, we’ll find out about everything else.”
Bill Paxton reached for a bowl of the hot soup that the Prince Albert’s cook had made them. In spite of all their worries about Cat and Chris, Linda and Carol ate it just as hungrily as all the others. Shortly afterward, they fell asleep, finally safe and warm.
They awoke as the Prince Albert was entering the natural harbor of Campbelltown. The little city was located on the southern tip of a peninsula, surrounded by hills.
“This is the southernmost point of New Zealand,” Bill Paxton said.
The young officer looked much better than he had the night before. Like George Wallis, he had used the short trip not only to recover but also to bathe and shave. The sailors had provided the men among the castaways with clean clothes. Bill wore a wide-cut shirt and loose linen trousers. Instead of the grizzled adventurer of the last few days, Carol and Linda were seeing the man with the friendly, clean-shaven face again. The effect was just as comforting as his kind words. It was almost as though the disaster hadn’t happened.
“Perhaps the other lifeboats have already arrived,” Linda murmured.
That hope was not fulfilled. The residents of Campbelltown were shocked to discover that the General Lee had sunk. No other survivors had been found.
Chapter 20
The citizens of Campbelltown showed the castaways great kindness and sympathy. They provided them with clothing and room and board without reservation. Not much more was necessary. Aside from Carol and Linda and one young couple who had been traveling with the woman’s parents, none of the castaways were missing family members. Most could simply continue on their journeys as soon as they had replaced the personal items lost in the wreck. While waiting for friends or relatives to transfer money to the Campbelltown bank, the castaways stayed in guesthouses or private homes.
Things were different for Carol and Linda. The young couple, too, didn’t plan to leave before making every effort to find their missing relatives. The couple moved into a guesthouse, but Bill insisted that the sisters stay with his aunt. She was an elderly lady who was grateful for the company and who took care of the girls with great kindness. The girls spent the first few days in a kind of trance. Linda developed a fever, and Carol was so exhausted she could barely do more than eat and sleep. They asked constantly for news, and Bill contacted all the public authorities for them. He was staying with other relatives and had put off his recruiting duties for the time being. As before, there was no sign of the other lifeboats. However, there was no bad news either.
“
Neither wreckage nor bodies were found,” Bill told the sisters. “No trace of the General Lee at all.”
“How could there be?” Carol asked tiredly. “Just think how far off course the General Lee had gotten. No one even knows where it sank.”
The young couple, who were very rich sheep breeders from the North Island, initiated a search. They chartered a sailboat and had it follow the original route of the General Lee. But they had no success in finding the survivors.
“I should have insisted on joining Mamaca and Chris’s lifeboat,” Carol lamented. “We saw them. If they drowned—”
“No, Carrie,” said Linda. “I know she’s alive. If Mamaca were dead, I would feel it. She’s my mother—”
“She’s my mother too!” Carol said, offended.
Linda nodded. “Yes. But she gave birth to me. You know how the Maori see it. The entire tribe is your family, but there is a special tie to your blood relatives.”
In a Maori tribe, it was normal to call all men and women of the right age papa; mama; poua, meaning “grandfather”; or karani, meaning “grandmother.” The unusual kinship ties at Rata Station had made perfect sense to Te Haitara’s tribe.
“There’s aka between Mamaca and me,” Linda insisted. “I don’t know where Mamaca is, but she’s not dead!”
Aka was the Maori word for a spiritual connection between two people. The bond could stretch endlessly, but it couldn’t break as long as they were both alive. Carol nodded, and was comforted by the thought. After all, she felt such a bond between herself and her sister.
Linda’s confidence gave Carol new courage. They spent hours at the harbor every day, talking to sailors about the possibility of a rescue operation. They were constantly accompanied by the loyal Bill Paxton, who was just as plagued by guilt as Carol was. Carol talked to the harbormaster, the captains of ships anchored in Campbelltown, and finally an old whaler who was a bubbling spring of information.
The man spent most of his days in the local pubs, and was delighted by the company of a pretty young woman. “Stewart Island is just off Campbelltown. If they’d fetched up there, they would already have been found,” he said as he stuffed his pipe.
“In our lifeboat, we discovered we’d drifted a hundred and fifty miles southeast,” Carol told him. “Are there any other islands in that area that they might have gotten stranded on?”
The old man considered. “There’s nothing but open sea in that direction. But the Auckland Islands are about two hundred and fifty miles from here.”
“Are they populated?” Carol asked excitedly.
The old whaler shook his head. “No. There was a seal-hunting station until all the seals were gone. Then some Maori and a few white settlers came, but they couldn’t grow anything. It’s a cold, windy place. Not much thrives there but grass, scrub bush, and rata.”
“Are there any animals?” Carol asked, determined to stay positive.
“Goats, sheep, and pigs. Depends which island, and what survived. The animals were purposely left so they could be hunted later, as provisions for passing ships. And also for castaways. It’s happened before that people washed up there.”
“Really?” Carol asked excitedly. “Then shouldn’t we send a boat to search for survivors?”
The man shrugged. “The islands are very far away. No telling if the lifeboats could have drifted so far. And there are a lot of islands. Five or six are of a reasonable size, with lots of bays and inlets, and there are countless little ones. You’d be searching for years, little lady.”
“Then why do castaways keep being found there?” Carol asked stubbornly.
The old man shrugged again. “Coincidence, lass. Currents. The mercy of God. Take your pick. But sorry as I am, I believe you’ll have to accept facts. Your parents are no longer alive.”
Afterward, Carol waylaid the harbormaster and the captains of several departing ships. However, the Auckland Islands were far from all of their routes. Why would anyone be sailing toward the Antarctic? She also approached the young couple, and tried to encourage them to launch another search, but they’d given up. The Auckland Islands seemed too far away, and success was too improbable.
“My wife has to come to terms with it now,” the young husband said. “It’s senseless to cling to hope. We just found out that she’s pregnant. We will name the child after her father or mother, and keep their memory alive—but we won’t keep searching.”
Chapter 21
Eventually, Carol and Linda had exhausted every possibility, and no longer had a reason to stay in Campbelltown hoping for a miracle.
After receiving the girls’ letters, which they’d sent immediately after their rescue, Ida had advised them to go home. The sisters had also contacted the Hallidays, who had offered to finance their return trip.
If Cat and Chris do manage to find their way to Campbelltown, you will find out within a few days once you’re at Rata Station, Ida wrote.
In truth, she was inconsolable and wanted to rush to the South Island herself. Aside from her daughters and husband, Cat and Chris were the most important people in her life. Ida had a desperate urge to be as close to them as possible, and wished she could have seen what had happened with her own eyes. But some time ago, Karl had left with a government delegation to Taranaki. The government wanted to purchase new land from the tribes, and Karl hoped to make it a peaceful process. Ida was alone at Korora Manor and had no way of contacting her husband. A trip to the South Island was impossible.
Please understand: I share your hope of finding Cat and Chris safe and whole. I wish with all my heart that they are still alive. But they would never want Rata Station to be left to ruin. Someone has to take care of the farm, and at the moment that’s the best thing you can do for them. Stay strong. I love you, and my heart is with you. Mamida.
In the meantime, the new year had begun. Carol and Linda had stoically endured Christmas and New Year’s Eve, and Bill’s aunt had made a great effort to distract them with good food and gifts. Now January was drawing to a close, and Carol was supposed to be getting married in less than two weeks. But she couldn’t bear to think about celebrating, and was wondering if she should ask Deborah Butler to reschedule the wedding—but Lady Butler wrote to her first.
The Fenroys were only your adoptive parents, but it would be improper to proceed with the celebration so soon after your painful loss, Deborah wrote. We’ll postpone indefinitely. I’ve also told Oliver that, although he misses you terribly and is very unhappy about my decision.
“Her decision?” Carol cried in annoyance. “How can she think it’s suitable for her to make decisions for Oliver and me?”
“She’s probably thinking about the cost of the reception,” Linda said. “Our family is supposed to pay for at least part of it, aren’t we?”
“So what?” Carol said angrily.
Linda shrugged. “Someone has to transfer the money. Someone has to take over the business for Cat and Chris. Mrs. Butler is just worried. And I know you’re anxious to marry Oliver, but Carrie, you can’t leave me all alone with the farm! I can’t possibly handle everything myself—” Linda’s voice broke. For the first time since Cat and Chris’s disappearance, she wept bitterly.
Carol took her sister in her arms. “I certainly won’t leave you alone until everything has been sorted out,” Carol promised. “I was just angry at Mrs. Butler. Mamida is right. We have to go back to Rata Station before summer is over. We have to organize the return of the sheep from the highlands, the winter feeding . . .”
Linda gazed at her fearfully, her eyes still wet with tears. “Will we be able to do all that alone?”
Carol nodded encouragingly. “Of course! You and me, and Fancy! And maybe Oliver too. After all, he doesn’t have very many responsibilities at Butler Station. He could come over more often and help us out.”
Bill Paxton was heartbroken that it wasn’t possible for him to accompany Carol and Linda on their journey back to the Canterbury Plains. But he’d neglected his
recruiting work for too long. Still, he helped wherever he could. Since the sisters had no desire to get back on a ship, he organized a journey by land with a traveling merchant. Bert Grisham and his family supplied isolated farms along the coast with groceries and luxury goods. They traveled with two covered wagons and purchased their wares in Dunedin, Oamaru, and Timaru. The Grishams had been traveling the coast road for years and were pleasant, honest people.
Unfortunately, the journey seemed endless to the girls. The Grishams never covered more than five to ten miles a day. They spent more time in farmers’ large kitchens exchanging the latest gossip than out on the badly maintained roads. After three days, it was too much for Carol. At the next stop, she asked to buy two horses.
The farmer’s family and the Grishams looked at her aghast.
“Two young ladies alone on the road! That won’t do. It’s dangerous and absolutely inappropriate,” the farmer said.
“Lieutenant Paxton entrusted us with your care,” Mr. Grisham added.
“What’s so dangerous about it?” Carol asked. “Besides, Lieutenant Paxton has no say in it; he’s neither a relative nor engaged to either of us. We appreciate your help, but now we’d like to take our fate into our own hands. So, will you sell us two horses, Mr. Baker, or shall we ask somewhere else? We could find a horse trader in Dunedin, but that would cost us valuable time.”
Finally, the farmer gave up two young geldings for a small fortune. It was all the money Linda and Carol had. But that didn’t worry them too much. There was a telegraph station in Dunedin, where they could contact Ida and ask for travel funds. In the meantime, they took Linda’s necklace to a pawnshop. The chain had held through the entire ordeal, which meant a lot to Linda. The necklace made her feel connected to her mother.
“We’ll be coming back for it in a day or two,” she told the pawnbroker as he handed her a receipt. “I certainly don’t want to lose it.”
The valuable necklace gave them a substantial sum of money, which made their stay in Dunedin easier. Most of guesthouses refused to take in two women traveling on their own. But the best and most expensive hotel in town rented them a room without any moral judgment. The sisters discovered that, provided they had enough money, women could be accepted as independent.
