A Touching Narrative.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XX, Issue 144, 18 June 1886, Page 1

A Touching Narrative.

The Rev. Mr Fairbrother, who . has lis|Hj at Wairoa for so long as a missionary, tflHWi over from Cambridge to visit his for_jnfi flock as soon as he heard of the misfort-^pj that had befallen them. He says — ThosVs"----who know what a big snow storm is, if they can imagine lava, instead of heaped up or drifted snow, can understand what Te Wairoa looked like. To get to the scene of the Hazards' catastrophe, we had to gothrough nine miles of it. The difference between the lava and snow ia the greater weight of the former, which, haa borne down whatever it rested on, and what was once the beautiful village of Wairoa is now a desolate plain of mud, with here and there skeletons of trees coated with lava. When I arrived, there was one old Maori lady there who threw her arms round my neck crying, " I must die here, I must die here." I afterwards persuaded her to leave and come to Ohinemutu. She then told me that Mary and her little boy were lying dead in Sophia's whare. I went inside, and when able to command my feelings, Mohi the husband of the dead girl, told me her sad history. He said they were in a chief's house when the eruption first commenced, but Mary was afraid to stay there, because of the noise of the falling boards of the house, and they then went down to their own whare, taking the two little boys. Then. Mohi said, "Well, Mr Fairbrother has taught us to pray, let us pray to God," and they prayed. The roof now was smashed in with the lava, stones, and mud. To save the life of the elder boy, he wrapped him in a shawl and knelt over the little one so that the boy should not receive any hurt from the falling la va and stones. The drift, however, gathered so quickly round his body that the little one was soon covered, and he had to keep throwing it aside with one arm to keep it away. The Maori had his hands on the ground, and was also on his knees, so as to provide an effectual shelter for the little one, who was on his hack, thus forming a resting: place for the increasing fall of lava. All the time the wife was trying to protect the other little boy. who was named after myself, but her efforts were in vain, and in the silent struggle with the elements the lava overpowered mother and child, killing both. Mohi. finding it getting dark, and the lava very heavy on his back, made a desperate effort to fling it off, and taking up his little one, called to his wife to be quick and follow when, to his horror, he found that both his

Sg M _____________________M__B ■_-_■!■ dear ones had silently died by his side. They were afterwards dug out. The mother was in a sitting posture, with her arms extended over her babe to protect it from the sand drift. This is but one of many sad narratives which oould be told of Maori devotion to their loved ones in danger.