The Runaway Settlers (3 page)

Nearly frantic with worry, Mrs Small sat watching from the window. If all three boys were lost, how could she call on the police for help? She herself was nothing but a fugitive, running away from her lawful husband!

It was quite dark when they returned. Jim and Emma were already asleep; but everyone else was in the parlour, waiting for the explanation, which had to be a good one—or it would be the stick for all three.

‘We’ve got donkeys,’ said Archie.

‘Remember that ship we told you about, the
Armenian?’
said Jack.

‘He’s a judge from India and he’s famous,’ said Bill.

When the story was disentangled there was no stick for the boys—only amazement and joy. There was a passage on this chartered ship, the
Armenian.
And more than that, there was work, both on the voyage and when they arrived in New Zealand.

‘New Zealand!’ Mrs Small repeated the name warmly.

This was what she had really hoped for—a country more like England, without the harsh dryness of New South Wales.

‘We’ve got to travel in the steerage, and they’ve got Indians, but they won’t hurt us. They’re black men but not like our blacks,’ said Jack.

‘They look at us like this,’ said Archie, turning his eyes from side to side without moving his head.

‘And where do
we
travel?’ asked Mrs Small.

The three were silent. There was a blow to deliver. Archie and Jack looked at Bill, and Bill screwed up the courage.

‘There’s a tiny cabin with a berth big enough for Emma to sleep with you.’

‘But we need another berth.’

‘That’s all the places there are,’ said Bill, twisting his toes on the carpet.

Mary Ann rose and ran from the room. It was all too plain. There was no passage for her! She lay on her bed with the crocheted cover and pulled the pillow over her ears, and did not move until Mrs McCracken came in to put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

‘What are they saying?’ she whispered.

‘Your mother won’t go without you,’ said Mrs McCracken kindly.

‘She must, she must!’ Mary Ann sat upright. ‘How can she stay? There isn’t any other ship!’

‘I know that, my dear. She says she will go to the judge and plead with him to find room, or she will not go at all. It doesn’t seem a hopeful prospect, but your mother is very good at speaking up for what she must have.’

‘No! Oh, Mrs McCracken, you heard what Bill said—they’ve seen all over the ship, and there isn’t a place; and Mr Cracroft Wilson is such an important gentleman. It’s because he needs the boys that they can go; and he doesn’t need me! What can we do?’

‘You could stay here with me, and I will keep your passage money, and Mr McCracken will put your name on the list for a ship.’

‘But if Father should find me!’

‘Sydney is a big city. He could look for a long time without finding you; and then, when you must go out, Mr McCracken would go with you.’

Mary Ann twisted her handkerchief in her fingers, over and over. At last she said quietly: ‘Do you think I might find a situation? I can cook very well, I think, and keep house neatly; and I should like some money of my own.’

‘Now, that’s a splendid idea! You could buy yourself some pretty things. Mr McCracken could recommend you to one of his clients at the bank. Will you go and tell them? Or shall I?’

‘You go, please, Mrs McCracken.’

It was easy to be brave with only the two of them in the quiet bedroom—but out there, looking into the face of the mother she had never been away from in all her life, it might be different. Mary Ann watched the door close; then she went to the window and drew aside the curtain.

Over the hillsides were scattered the lights of a hundred lamps. Ships’ lanterns gleamed faintly over the harbour; and along her own street moved the bright lights of a carriage. And ever since they had emigrated to Australia she had seen nothing but the moon and the stars and the dark shapes of the trees.

The great city! Bent all day over the table and the sewing-machine, and not daring to go into the street for fear that her father should come, she had seen hardly anything of it. Only the handbills for the theatre and the travelling circus, the spires of the churches, and rumours of a library with thousands of books!

‘If I must stay, I’ll make the most of my chances,’ Mary Ann vowed to herself.

The door opened and Mrs Small came in, smiling, to give her a warm hug for her courage.

Back in the parlour, there was another serious question to be asked.

‘Think carefully, boys,’ said Mrs Small. ‘When you were asked your names, what did you say?’

‘Bill, of course!’

‘Jack.’

‘Archie!’

‘And—Small?’

‘I don’t think we did. Did we, Jack?’

‘They didn’t ask our second names.’

Mrs Small looked pleased.

‘We must have a guardian angel, I think! It would be so easy to name ourselves.’

‘But why shouldn’t we, Mother?’

‘Because from now on we are not Smalls. We shall have a new name that your father won’t know, so that he can’t ask where we are. I am going to be Mrs Phipps.’

‘Then I’ll be—Bill Phipps!’

Bill said his new name slowly, as if he were tasting a new kind of cake; then he grinned, as if it tasted good. He shook hands all round.

‘How d’ye do, Jack Phipps! Pleased to meet you, Archie Phipps!’

‘Am I really Archie Phipps, Mother?’

She ruffled his hair and drew him closer. ‘It’s a game of “Pretend”. Don’t you think it’s a nice name to choose?’

‘No,’ said Archie.

‘Wait till I tell you a story,’ she said. ‘When I was a girl in London, I had a playmate named Lavinia Phipps. Her mother was dead and her father was vey poor; and one day he stole a dress for her, because she hadn’t anything decent to wear. He was caught and put in prison and sentenced to be transported to Tasmania. But on the way to the ship he managed to jump out of the cart and run away. The people in our street hid him until he could take Lavinia and go to work in Manchester.’

‘Did Lavinia keep the dress?’ asked Archie.

‘No. But I helped your grandmother to make her another one. And they never found Mr Phipps or Lavinia; so I think it’s a lucky name, and now you must all practise remembering it.’

So a game was invented, and played all the time during their last days in Sydney. Whatever anyone might be doing, another could interrupt with a question—like Bill pretending to be the coach-driver asking for the full names of his passengers and they had to answer: ‘Jack Phipps. Archie Phipps.’ Mrs McCracken kept a scoreboard with a tick for every time they said Phipps and a cross for every time they said Small, until nobody was scoring any crosses. As for Emma, her mother made her a special song.

What’s your name? Emma Phipps.

Peach stones and orange pips

Kiss the lips of Emma Phipps.

Emma could not sing more than the first line, but she had the ‘Emma Phipps’ part right.

After one more day, when the horses were loaded and
the ladies and gentlemen in their cabins, the
Armenian
was ready to sail. At dawn the Phipps family went down with Mr McCracken to help with the boxes on a hired dray; and Mary Ann, not a bit stern, hugged and kissed them all as they left the house, and sat by the window to watch the harbour.

The
Armenian
used all her sixty horsepower to move out from the wharves, while the Phipps children, although longing to look, had to stay below deck. But now in the open waters the sails were set to catch the westerly breeze; and Jack and Jim crept out. Jim was quite fit now, apart from a haze in his mind about how he came to be here when he could not even remember leaving Berrima. A young sailor busy with the ropes looked over in a matey sort of way.

‘Ahoy there, shipmate, and what do they call you, now?’

‘Jim Small,’ said Jim promptly.

Jack could have clouted him, but he had to think fast; and to his own surprise, the words came smoothly out.

‘Isn’t he funny? He gets his nickname the wrong way round! We call him Small Jim. Small Jim Phipps.’

Jack finished up with a good laugh, so that Jim could not help laughing too, till he nearly lost his balance with the rolling of the ship.

‘Look to your sea-legs, shipmate, or you’ll spend your voyage sitting down,’ teased the young sailor. And with a stride that seemed to roll with the
Armenian’s
motion, he passed on to his next task, taking no further notice of Small Jim Phipps.

This was Mr Cracroft Wilson’s second journey to New Zealand. He had come four years earlier, when on leave from his duties as a judge, and bought a sheep-run to which he gave an Indian name: Cashmere.

On his first ship, the
Akbar,
he had brought a real menagerie of animals, including antelopes, peacocks and partridges, for he looked forward to hunting as well as farming. But except for some of the peacocks they had all died, and this time he had brought from India only two hares in a cage, and an Indian ass—a pale-looking fellow with a dark stripe running right down his back from his mane to his tail. The poor ‘jackass’ shivered in his pen and Archie had to spend much time soothing him.

The voyage was a fast one, taking only nine days, mostly under full sail but with the engine in use one day when the wind fell. The Phipps family kept to themselves. Mr Cracroft Wilson and his cabin passengers were too grand, and the Indian servants too strange, for these Australian stockmen. This did not trouble Mrs Phipps, who asked for nothing more than somewhere to go.

She had agreed that they would work at Cashmere for six months—the older boys and herself. Cashmere was short of labour. One of the main ideas behind the planning of the Canterbury settlement was to bring out the right mixture of masters and workmen; but this had not worked very well, partly because too many of the workmen had gone off to
Australia looking for gold. Here, for once, was an Australian family coming in the right direction.

Many people came out to admire the
Armenian
as she sailed up Lyttelton Harbour with a brisk nor’easter filling her sails. To the Phipps family the first glimpse of Lyttelton was just as beautiful. After the bare cliffs at the heads and the steep brown tussocky hills, they came quite suddenly on to the little port, rather like a tiny copy of Sydney with its houses scattered over the hillsides, a few hotels and stores, two jetties and a number of small boats on the water.

The
Armenian
furled her sails and came slowly alongside under steam. Mr and Mrs Cracroft Wilson were handed ashore and followed by the other cabin passengers, all bound for refreshment at the Mitre Hotel. Next, led by Indian servants in white clothes and turbans, came their splendid horses. This caused quite a stir; but most of the watchers had returned to their work by the time the donkeys were led off by three young boys from Australia; and hardly anyone noticed that strange animal the jackass. Mrs Phipps, Emma and Jim came last of all.

The boys found a place to tether the donkeys and let them graze. This town, which still led Christchurch for size, was quite busy. There were four inns, each with its own stables and stockyards; also shipwrights, saddlers, business offices, and the printing works of the
Lyttelton Times.
Best of all in their eyes was a baker’s shop with rolls still warm from the oven, and a dairy with fresh milk and butter and cheese.

In Australia Mr McCracken had teased them about going to the ‘shivery isles’. From the first moment ashore, Jim felt the ground slowly rocking from side to side. With alarm he looked at his mother and brothers, but as they did not seem to
be worrying, he held his tongue. Only when they reached the steep streets did the rocking become so bad that he grabbed at his mother’s skirt. Big as he was, he was terrified that he would slip right down into the sea, which seemed to rise towards him.

‘Jim, don’t drag on me so!’ exclaimed Mrs Phipps.

Jim’s eyes grew wide and scary.

‘I’ve got to hold on! The earthquake’s going to throw me over!’

‘Earthquake? There isn’t any earthquake!’

‘There is!’ screamed Jim, and he let go and lurched right into the clay of the road.

Jack sprang to catch him before he could be hurt by the wheels of a dray going past. ‘It’s the waves, stupid! You can feel them rocking still.’

‘Come, we’ll sit down till it goes off,’ said Mrs Phipps kindly; and they found a bench outside the Canterbury Hotel where Jim turned his face to the wall to hide his confusion. Here they were found by a shepherd from Cashmere who had come to show them the way.

This part of the journey was straightforward but slow. Most of their things were packed on to the donkeys, with room on the quietest one for Emma to ride. As for the others, they must walk. The donkeys were in no hurry, but the jackass, which nature had intended for a fast running animal, took quite a lot of holding. Like all pioneers they climbed the Bridle Path which crossed the hills to the plains.

At every pause there was an enchanting view of the harbour. It was like a long arm reaching from the sea, with three fingers outstretched at the end, and Quail Island humped up in the middle with steep cliffs and a crown of tussock. Most of the
highest hills were topped by rocky crags, with Mount Bradley looking the craggiest and highest of them all, rising above the southern shore.

The family rested at the top of the Bridle Path while the donkeys nosed about among the tussock. Below, for mile after mile the plains stretched out towards the foot of the snowy ranges. They looked bare and dull. The new town of Christchurch in the distance showed only a few buildings dotted among the flax and cabbage trees and patches of swamp.

Two small ships were sailing across the estuary of the Avon and Heathcote Rivers; and in the distance the great Waimakariri River shone silver.

After Berrima, which had always been colourful with its oranges and gum-blossom, its bottlebrush and rolling pastures, Christchurch was desolate. Mrs Phipps looked back at the blue water where the
Armenian
lay, very small in the distance, against the wharf; and the green patches around the bays where grass or crops had been planted.

‘I’d sooner be there,’ she said, ‘on a sunny slope, with the breeze coming in from the sea!’

But they had to go down the hill to the Heathcote River, and, missing Christchurch out entirely, follow along the edge of the plains to a lonely valley and a few station buildings scattered around—Cashmere, which meant employment, and a roof over their heads.

It was not really much of a roof, although in those times a station-hand would be lucky to find anything better. They were taken to a big, draughty barracks, with rough bunks slung with sacking, and given a meal of mutton and potatoes. Dusk had set in before the donkeys and the jackass were safely housed
in a barn. They could not be left out in the chilly southern evening after coming from Australia; but for their attendants there was neither fire nor light.

The cook was an Indian who had come with Mr Cracroft Wilson on his first journey. He had a way of coming and going among the bare walls and the shadows in perfect silence. This was too much for Emma, who had been beautifully behaved on board ship. She stood by her bunk and screamed. Nothing would make her stay in it: she wanted to jump out, to run and find her own cot which had been left behind at Berrima.

When all other soothing failed, Mrs Phipps had a regular answer: to sing. Now, tired out as she was herself, she laid the rag doll Bibi in the bunk and sung to it:

‘Up and down the city road

And into the Weasel;

That is how the money’s spent

POP goes the weasel!

The ‘POP’ was said with a comical face and soon the screams died away and Emma was singing to Bibi, too. Then Mrs Phipps took Emma in her arms and rocked her, still singing, until Emma had no ‘POP’ left in her, for she was fast asleep.

The next morning work began. It had nothing to do with the donkeys or the jackass, which to Archie’s great disappointment were left in the barn. They were cutting the tough, stiff blades of the flax. The fertile, sunny valleys were heavy swamp where the flax grew tall enough to hide a horse and his rider. Before they could be drained, ploughed and sown with grass, the leaves must be cut by hand, tied in bundles and rafted down the Heathcote River to a mill.

Mrs Phipps, Bill, Jack and Archie were kept busy while Jim had to take care of Emma. It was not much fun in the swamp. The children soon grew tired of playing hide-and-seek, or of trying to catch the bright blue pukekos who stalked all over the place. But they could not be left at the barracks either, for Emma was afraid of it even in daylight, and the farmhands chased them away from the barn and the stables.

Cashmere was a cruel disappointment. Backs were sore, arms were sore, hands were blistered, and Jack’s bruised shoulder began to ache all over again. Bill grumbled that the goldfields could not possibly be worse. Mrs Phipps encouraged them by saying cheerfully that in six months the contract would be finished, with enough money to begin a home; but at nights, lying on her bunk she calculated that with wages so low it would be more likely to take five years of saving.

What troubled her most was that she could not watch the children properly. When in the second week Emma began waking with nightmares, she decided that it was time to talk to Mr Cracroft Wilson, ‘The Nabob’ as people called him in this little domain which he ruled with all the dignity of an Indian prince.

As it happened, before she could seek him out, ‘The Nabob’ came looking for her. He was very angry, for his overseer had been thrown from his horse and had put the blame on Jim shouting around the stable-yard causing the animal to shy.

‘You must keep your children under better control, Mrs Phipps!’ he stormed.

She seized her opportunity.

‘I do my best, sir, but this is no place for children.’

‘What would you have? A nursery?’ he said loftily.

‘No! I would have work and quarters more suited to my training, where I could look after them properly.’

‘I don’t need any more cooks or house servants. My Indians do very well.’

‘I’m an expert with a garden, sir; flowers, fruit and vegetables, and poultry. I don’t wish to break my contract. I only wish to be more useful and to give my children a respectable home.’

‘A garden?’ he said.

Mr Cracroft Wilson was thinking: this woman isn’t of much use, it’s the boys I need; the children are better out of it. He looked over towards the hills.

‘There’s a place over the saddle there, I believe, that belongs to me. Sixty-eight acres of land and nearly all of it rough. Two of my men put up a cob cottage and planted some potatoes—and then cleared out to the Australian diggings. I can’t spare any more men, so if one room and a chimney will do you, you’re welcome to try.’

One room and a chimney! Well, that was enough to begin with, thought Mrs Phipps; she could make a home out of that.

‘Is it near the harbour?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Governors Bay: some seven miles, I believe. It’s hardly worth my looking at—you must take my overseer’s word for it.’

‘And may I take the children?’

‘The children, Mrs Phipps. The two grown boys, Bill and Jack, will remain here to fulfil their contract.’

She saw that she must move carefully now. ‘I must talk to them,’ she said. ‘If they’re agreeable, your offer suits me very well, sir.’

‘You must talk to them!’ Mr Cracroft Wilson exploded. ‘I must remind you, there’s a contract that they work for me! That was the condition for your boarding the
Armenian!’

‘We don’t break our word. But, sir, you must see that a contract has two sides, and I’ll be too far away myself to see to their needs. I ask for your word that they’ll be well fed, and clothed, and housed.’

The Nabob’s eyes flashed. No employee ever told him what he must do; but he had his own dignity to keep.

‘They are already fed and housed,’ he said.

‘They’ll need warm work clothes, with the winter coming,’ said Mrs Phipps calmly.

‘I offer you a house and you try to exact fresh conditions!’

‘I’m grateful for your offer, sir, please believe me. But I’m a widow woman and I must leave behind the best hands in my family. I must leave my boys here without protection except from you. You’re a man of honour, I know it; give me that promise, and never fear, you won’t regret the bargain! Your wilderness will be made to blossom for you.’

Angry as he was, the Nabob knew that this was good sense.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Your boys shall have what is needful. When the six months have expired, we’ll look into the position again. You can take that place over there as
your
cottage. But don’t forget—it’s
my
property!’