By Fickle Winds Blown

by Maryk Lewis

had yet to be built.

  All next day the wind chased them northward, pushing them swiftly up the east coast, past the Otago Peninsula. Then the land fell away to the west, low-lying, just purple hilltops thrusting over the horizon. Too excited for sleep, they had to wait through another night, before they saw the first part of Canterbury, the cliffs and headlands of Banks Peninsula. Their destination was tucked away in a drowned volcanic crater around the other side.

  Much good it did them that day.

  As they were rounding the peninsula the wind began to die, and disappeared completely when they sailed into its shelter.

  The sails drooped, and slapped against the masts. Apart from being so much cooler, it was for all the world like being in the doldrums again. A current pushed them further and further out to the north-east, away from where they wanted to go, so far indeed that they caught a breath of wind again and sailed back.

  Again the breeze died, while the current bore them out to sea, until another breeze pushed them in, only to die away, with the ‘Haldia’ still in the grip of the off-shore current.

  “How long will this go on?” everybody was asking.

  “Until the weather changes,” the sailors repeated endlessly to the continued questioning.

  A long wooden canoe came out from a bay cut deeply into the peninsular cliffs. In it were four men and two women, all wearing European clothing, but Maori nonetheless. One of the older men was tattooed like White Eye, and another had some lines cut into his face, though a beard hid most of it. The two younger men were clean-shaven, and unmarked. The women also had no tattooing.

  They hailed the ship in English, asking who the newcomers might be, and where they were from. After exchanging greetings with Captain Hedley, they switched to Maori on seeing White Eye, and recognising him as one of their own.

  “If you don’t want that very nice little woman you have with you,” the oldest Maori said, “you can give her to me for a present.”

  That ‘nice little woman’ was Sarah, leaning on the gunwale beside White Eye. He was very embarrassed, for he knew that Sarah had understood what was said. So had several other European passengers, which was not surprising seeing that he had taught them so well. There was an audible intake of breath all along the deck.

  “Wai tai te Atarau is my friend,” Sarah called down quickly in Maori. “If he chooses to give me away, it will be to one already chosen.”

  Caught beautifully, the speaker from the canoe slapped two hands over his mouth, and peeped wide-eyed at Sarah through his fingers. His companions burst into howls of laughter at his discomfiture. Sarah’s Maori had not been quite correct, but it was good enough for them to catch her meaning completely.

  Relieved, the ‘Haldia’s people smiled, but did not laugh out loud. From them, that would not have been acceptable in the circumstances.

  “To whom is she promised?” the man in the boat asked sheepishly, and on being told Abel Cormack’s name, said that they would go ahead into Lyttelton, and advise the people there of the ship’s approach.

  “Would you really have me give you away?” White Eye asked, after the canoe had paddled away.

  “If you would do me that honour,” Sarah agreed. “My father cannot be here to do it, and in this country I know of nobody more suitable.”

  “I will certainly do it for you,” White Eye agreed, “but my heart will be heavy at the doing.”

  Sarah knew what he meant. It was White Eye’s opinion that he would be giving her to the wrong man.

  All day the crew battled to bring their ship closer to the Lyttelton heads, but always it eluded them. Every tiny puff that inched them closer, left them in a current which carried them away again. Night found them as far away as ever.

  “We’ve had such good winds,” Captain Hedley complained, “I thought this would be our fastest voyage yet. It just shows you how fickle the winds can be. It’s hardly ever calm like this on this stretch of coast.”

  “There’ll be somebody aboard not wishing to arrive,” the boatswain claimed.

  The Gordon sisters looked at each other, and both blushed.

  Regardless of what breeze might blow, the ‘Haldia’ had to stand off overnight, because in the dark unseen rocks would present too much of a danger. Everybody aboard was frustrated and irritable; so near and yet so far. Not many got a good night’s sleep that night. They loitered about the decks until late, speculating on the few faint lights showing on shore

  With a gentle breeze flowing off the cold land in the morning, they were able to creep in close again, but it died before they could enter the harbour.

  Toward mid-morning the canoe came back to them, with the same six people on board. The older man called for a rope to be lowered for him, and he used it to shin athletically up the ‘Haldia’s side, until White Eye and the boatswain could grab him, and lift him over the gunwale.

  He paid his respects to the captain, and then asked if he could speak to White Eye privately. The big Maori sailor took his guest up on to the forecastle, from whence all the animals and their pens had long since been cleared away.

  The visitor appeared a very worried man, the bearer of bad news. White Eye’s face was full of concern at his first few words, but as the man continued a strange expression gradually broke out, an amazing sight on that fiercely carved visage. Nobody could tell whether it was pleasure, or anger. Through the tattooing it could have been either. After a few moments White Eye came and asked Sarah to join them on the forecastle.

  “Has something gone wrong?” she asked anxiously.

  “Abel Cormack is waiting for you on the wharf,” the visitor told her. “I took word to his home last night. Then I went to visit some cousins who live near him, kin also of Wai tai te Atarau. I wanted them to send word to Wai tai’s people that their chieftain was arriving, so that they can come and properly welcome him home.”

  He paused, as if uncertain how to put what he had to say next. Sarah nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  “The people I spoke to know Abel Cormack very well,” he continued. “He calls often at the farm of their neighbours, the O’Donalds. My informants know that Abel Cormack has been selling sheep to raise a lot of money. He can ill-afford it, but he needs the money very badly.”

  “For our wedding,” Sarah suggested.

  “No,” White Eye broke in, relieving his tribesman of the task of telling Sarah the rest. “He wants the money to offer to you for your fare back to Britain.”

  “Oh!” gasped Sarah. “Doesn’t he want to marry me any more? Has he changed his mind without even seeing me?”

  She burst into tears, and buried her face in White Eye’s massive shoulder.

  “Oh, such bad news I’ve brought,” the visitor cried, wringing his hands.

  “Good news,” White Eye contradicted. “The best ever.”

  “Yes,” Sarah sobbed. “I’m crying because I’m so happy. You’ve brought me marvellous news. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  Gil was among the people down in the waist of the ship. Every now and then he looked up at the small group on the forecastle, obviously troubled about what they might be telling Sarah. Jess and the two little ones, equally distressed, were with him. Sarah signed for them to come up.

  “Would you tell Jess and the children, please?” she asked White Eye. “I want to tell Gil on my own.”

  She took Gil further up into the bows of the ship, a place then out of earshot, because a rising breeze was beginning to make the rigging sing.

  “Abel Cormack is waiting on the wharf to offer me my fare back to Britain,” she said. “He’s been calling on some people named O’Donald. I’m sure they must have a daughter he wants to marry, instead of me. I hope that’s the case.”

  “Will you accept his offer?” Gil asked.

  She looked into his eyes, unspeaking.

  “You must know I love you very much,” he said then. “Will you accept my offer, an offer of marriage?”

  “Yes,” she answe
red, “gladly.”

  There were not many eyes on the ship missed seeing him take her in his arms, and kiss her for the first time ever. Neither of them had thought for a moment of how many people had been taking notice of them. At the storm of cheering and clapping that broke out, whistling even from a cluster of single men on the fore deck, they sprang apart almost guiltily.

  “Oh,” Sarah gasped for the second time that happy morning, and blushed scarlet.

  “Be damned to them,” said Gil, and took her hand. “There’ll be none there who don’t approve. You’ll be able to let poor Abel Cormack off the hook with good grace.”

  “I’ll wish him every happiness,” she answered. “I can’t blame him for wanting somebody else. I’ve done so myself all the voyage.”

  Jess was ecstatic. Phyllis put on an ‘I knew it all the time’ look, and hugged Sarah nearly hard enough to leave bruises. Laurie cuddled in under her arm, making muffled noises about how glad he was, and trying to pretend that he wasn’t crying.

  By that time the breeze had finally taken effect, and the ‘Haldia’ was gliding in between the sheer rocky headlands that guarded the drowned volcanic crater in which the port of Lyttelton nestled. Hillsides of waving tussock, further up the harbour, were dotted with grazing sheep. Dolphins played in the bow waves. The sun shone. The wharves and buildings of their destination were coming into sight in a cove ahead of them. All was well with the world.

  So why wasn’t Jess as happy as she might have been?

  Her much loved