Portrait of a Pioneer

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVIII, Issue 13092, 20 July 1940, Page 3

Portrait of a Pioneer

& B y 5 ft JOYCE WEST ft Iff rS

CHAPTER XV' A n ight in the winter of ISBC a never forgot. L was awakened a little after ‘ : M b y an earthquake, and n again by gentle recurrent nck . that shook the windows. She lighted a candle, and called to Rick Roy in the next room. The „ came thunder, the most terrible thunder Selina had ever heard, ligantic cannonade of sound which 1 irlit the doors and windows in an ■ln fist and rattled them upon their frames and beat upon her deafened , ard r«ns in waves of recurrent son mi. She and Rick and Boy ran outside but there was nothing to see, on lv bright lightning flickering in the western sky, darting malignant forked tongues upward and downward in the murky darkness. njr’g not thunder,” she averred fearfully, as a fresh battery of sound shook earth and sky. "It’s in the ground, and everywhere.” "Perhaps it’s Russian men-o’-war bombarding Tauranga,” Rick suggested hopefully, “perhaps they mistook it for Auckland in the dark.” "Perhaps they’ll mistake Pleasant p,ay for Queen Street, and come marching in over our cowshed!” said Boy with scorn, let’s go to bed. I expect it’s Rotorua blowing up.” They went back to bed, Selina to lie watching the brilliance of t 1 lightning come and go, -waiting, fearfully. for the recurrence of that earth-shattering thunder, her brain thinking bewilderedly, in circles. Sh© remembered that Daisy, the new Shorthorn heifer, was sick, and would probably die, and that they had hoped great things from her. The noise had sounded like the biggest guns imaginable, under the earth, and exploding upwards. Probably it was Rotorua; a lot of people thought it was a silly plac.e to build a town. And then there was that bill at the store, from the time when been sick. It worried her; it was a dreadful thing to owe money. She had been poor for many years, but at least she could hold her head up. Nobody could ever point after her and say—■“ There goes Mrs Stratton. She doesn’t pay her debts.” Now she was ashamed to go to the shop. When the storekeeper said . . . “A fine morning, Mrs Stratton,” she thought he was gettiirg read to add —“Now, about this- little bill of mine.’’ And they needed more things all the time. She couldn’t seem to catch up. There was no hope of catching up until the cows were in at the end of July and August, and she could begin the butter-making again. All she could expect was to keep going level, and pay for the things she needed. They were just out of flour again. ■ Boy would soon he out on the spring ploughing; that "Quid help. The Humphreys still off ed him for work he had done for them last year. If only they would Pay, but it wasn’t likely they would uow. No good trying to sell stock in winter, the worst of the weather stil l to come, and prices down to zero. The noise couldn’t possibly have een a bombardment in Auckland, t was far too loud. You wouldn't ietlr gl,ns nil that way. The noise °uld be dull and muffled like the uns at Gate Pa had been that day “ the fog. it couldn’t possibly be 5,, ln Auckland, where Julie was. the earthquakes in the night . . . fat had been funny. Perhaps Boy j 3 an( t it was Rotorua blowUp ’ A queer steaming unstable P ace a t the best of times. clotn!! 6 1)0 lleed i n S some new to son 8 ] ° nly Slle had five P° un(is liked d T hei ’ t 0 buy 3ust what she ««W S ShaTby T areaa,Ul t 0 S 0 t 0 glrta aUtifUlly dot hes tnr r t a y LiZeUe though <?or « f her ’ anyhow, „ 5 had beSged to C rx oa juiie - u act g O J a “ bs ™ b6tler K Julie had V” ° Auck >und at all. She and a Bee a 8 accustome| l to luxury, and then 1 OU$e ’ and sood clothes, be a l«k 'an,, 4 , UP her Noughts with *». 'sa,!,. !. ,t y lnß « the winlight by no J 1 Sllould be getting Sliq * again. »uh f - ’’f thoughts away lu Bor, “. !?*• They must break spril fg. Oniv 16 fann this Col ning U took asß . Bee d*Wßs so dear, *i> u ld mak . ot of w °rk. and Boy “ ,k< ’ “»« utoney

out for other people with the team and horses. Rick made money too, handling and buying young horses for people, breaking them to saddle and harness. But it all took time from the farm. And the farm lay clamouring for work and money. It was like some supine monster, greedily swallowing gold and time and back-breaking work, and grudgingly spewing back a mere living pittance. There was the talk of the railway now, the railway that was to run through from Tauranga to Rotorua, and link up with Auckland, and make Tauranga and prosperous tbwn, and open the market for fish and timber and paper pulp, for butter and cheese, for the sub-tropical fruits that grew to perfection down by the sun-warmed harbour shores. When the railway was started land prices would run up. By the time it was completed she could perhaps sell this hundred acres; she could have a little farm close to town that she could manage herself, and the boys work out as much as they pleased, and they could have friends in and out, and it would be lively for Julie when she came home for good from Auckland.

Selina got out of bed, and groped her way across to the clock. It was still too dark to see the hands, and she had to strike a match, and hold it close to the face. Half-past seven. Selina stared at it incredulously until the match weht, out, and then sh© held the clock to her ear. It was ticking steadily; it had not stopped at half-past seven the evening before. Besides, it had been going in the night, when they got up to see what the noise was. Selina groped for her shabby coat, and pulled it on. She went stumbling through into the boys’ room. It opened on to the verandah; in summer the boys dragged their beds out there.

“Boy! Rick,” she called, groping by the light of a flickering match. “There’s something awful wrong, it’s half-past seven, and it’s not light.” “Go on!” Boy said, bouncing up in bed and showing a lean good-look-ing young face with tumbled hair and sleepy,eyes. “It’s only the middle of the night—you’re dreaming.” She had found a candle and lit it, and she showed him the clock. Rick was rolling around in bed; he got up, bringing his lean young body in rumpled pyjamas, his brown face and sun-bleached hair into the ring of the candle' light. Boy pulled the thin muslin curtain back from the window, and outside was darkness and blankness, not even a rim of grey to denote the dawn, Rick giggled a little nervously. “The sun’s forgotten to get-up or something.” •Selina was shaking. “It’s like the end of the world.” Boy padded barefoot across from the window, and took the candle, and opened the door, Selina followed him fearfully, holding .on to his shoulder, and looking out into the darkness. “What the dickens,” Boy said. He was bending down, and he scraped something up, and held it in the light of the candle ... a handful of grew dusty powder. Rick crowded close to see it, and they bent down and held the candle so that its rays shone on the verandah floor. The boards and the step, and as. far as the feeble ring of candlelight reached, was drifted over with the same powdery deposit. “Ash . . Boy said slowly. “I’ll be damned if it isn’t ash. It must be some volcanic stuff. Can you smell it?” Selina could smell it. The air seemed thick with it. It choked her nose and throat, and it came into the verandah and cast a grey film on them as they stood there, smudg-ng the candle and drifting into the hollow of the stick. They went back into the house, and closed the door. “White Island, perhaps.” Boy said. “I suppose it must be White Island.” “Then that was .the earthquake, and the terrible noises,” Selina said. She felt better to think that the darkness had some logical explanation.

(To be Continued)