by Jack Lasenby
Peter took the wheel. “Swig on the halyards!” Marie ordered. “Harden those sheets!” The light southerly carried us down Lake Karapiro. It was fun, running up the rigging again. The green hills either side were lined by astonished cows and farmers who watched us go by, straw hanging from their open mouths.
Marie asked, “How are we going to get down the dam?”
“Language!” said Daisy. Aunt Effie just nodded with a silly look on her face and went on playing, crossing her right hand over her left.
“Anyone can do that!” said Daisy.
We were now too near Karapiro to heave to. Aunt Effie played noisily, the breeze strengthened, and Peter steered for the top of the dam.
“They’re spilling water!” Marie yelled. “Listen to it roar!”
“It must be the big flood of 1998! Or the one of 1907!” Daisy liked to show off her knowledge of dates.
“Raise the centre-board!” Peter yelled. “And the rudder!”
We heaved up the centre-board. Marie rigged a gun-tackle. The dogs tallied on and hoisted the rudder just in time. The Margery Daw grounded a moment on her flat bottom, rocked on the top of the Karapiro Dam, and slid over. Light as a blue duck, she rode the torrent down the spillway. Into the Waikato River below she plunged her jib-boom, bowsprit, and the bows as far back as the bitts. The jib-boom came up, the bowsprit, the bows, scuppers gushing. And Aunt Effie played “Rustle of Spring”.
The Great Waharoa Dam built across the mouth of the Waikato River in 1840 held back the water all the way to the foot of the Karapiro Dam. It made for good sailing. Down Lake Waikato through Cambridge, Hamilton, Ngaruawahia, Taupiri, Huntly, and Mercer we went, and Aunt Effie never stopped playing “Rustle of Spring”.
Several times we passed islands, and the little ones started trying to question Aunt Effie. “Weren’t we looking for treasure?” they asked
“Aunt Effie’s concentrating on keeping the wind in the sails. You mustn’t distract her,” Marie told them. But that didn’t stop them shouting, “There’s the island that sank!” when they saw some rushes sticking out of the water.
We caught a glimpse of the Great Waharoa Dam at Port Waikato, but Peter steered us into the Awaroa River and through the Dame Cath Tizard Canal dug in 1850 between the Manukau Sea and Lake Waikato. Down the Waiuku River we headed – Aunt Effie thumping away at “Rustle of Spring” – and keeping the wind in our sails. From the Papakura Channel we saw the Lesser Waharoa Dam that was built in 2040, between Wattle Bay and Little Huia, to make the Manukau Sea. Under the Onehunga Bridge we sailed, up the Tom Davies Canal through Otahuhu, down the Tamaki River, past Browns Island, and turned west into the Rangitoto Channel, heading for Auckland and the Waitemata Harbour.
“I think I know every blessed note of ʻRustle of Spring’ now,” said Ann.
“Such romantic music!” said Daisy. “I can just see the wee spring buds, and the wee lambs skipping through the wee daffs.” She stood listening with her head on one side. “But it really needs a lighter touch,” said Daisy. “And a softer foot on the loud pedal!”
Aunt Effie slammed the lid, lifted the grand piano above her head, and flung it overboard. Down it went through the blue water. Sand kicked up as its legs struck, and the piano stool landed beside it on the bottom of the Rangitoto Channel.
“Anyone who wants to hear ‘Rustle of Spring’ again can dive down and play it on the bottom,” said Aunt Effie.
“Hooray!” we all shouted. Caligula, Nero, Brutus, Kaiser, Genghis, and Boris said, “Hear! Hear!” With their sensitive ears and good musical taste, they detested “Rustle of Spring”.
“On deck there!” From up in the crow’s-nest, there came the hail from the little ones. “Rangitoto Island is sinking!” they screamed.
Chapter Eighteen
Why One Tree Hill Sprang a Leak, and Rangitoto Island Sank; How We Found Wicked Nancy’s Treasure, Thrashed Aunt Effie’s Three Old Husbands, and Learned About Tourists.
The little ones came sliding down the backstays and landed in a heap on the deck.
“Why is Rangitoto sinking?” asked Lizzie.
“Hear the chainsaw.” Marie pointed. “Somebody’s cutting down the pine tree on top of One Tree Hill!” At once we forgot Rangitoto Island. The pine tree on top of One Tree Hill had been there all our lives. We cried as the chain-saw screamed, and the tree fell. There was a gurgling roar, like the chain being pulled on a gigantic dunny.
“Remember the ancient Maori story?” said Jazz. “The one that says, if the pine tree on top dies, One Tree Hill will turn back into a volcano, and Auckland will sink under the sea.”
“That’s just a myth,” Daisy sniffed.
But as the pine tree fell, something exploded out the top of One Tree Hill.
“It’s the volcano coming back!” yelled Jessie.
“Speak proper English,” Daisy corrected her. “What we say is that the volcano is erupting ash and steam.”
Behind us, Rangitoto Island was sinking deeper. We had seen the island born out of the sea, the first time we sailed up to Auckland with a load of kauri logs, and now we were seeing it drown. As we cried for the pine tree on One Tree Hill, so we cried for Rangitoto, too.
“That’s not ash and steam,” Jared said. “That’s water!”
“There’s an old tunnel from the bottom of Rangitoto that runs beneath the harbour and comes out under the pine tree on top of One Tree Hill,” said Peter. “Aunt Effie read us Mr Maurice Gee’s book about it, remember? Whoever’s cut down the tree has opened the hole, so One Tree Hill’s spouting water and Rangitoto’s sinking.”
We watched the sea water shoot like a geyser out of the top of One Tree Hill. It rained down on Auckland and turned the roofs red with rust. When we looked around, Rangitoto had sunk until only one tree – a pohutukawa – was left sticking out of the sea. We tied up to the pohutukawa and looked down.
“A wreck!” said Lizzie. A pirate ship lay on her side under the sea. The skull and crossbones flag still waved under the water. A steel hook was stuck through the mast. A peg-leg was stuck in the deck. The little ones read aloud the name on the ship’s stern: “Evil Fancy!”
The bottom of the sea was covered with treasure: greenstone, gold, silver, diamonds, emeralds, rubies, topazes, zircons, sapphires. And sleeping on top of the treasure lay a huge crocodile and a shark. The crocodile wore a black eye-patch. The shark snored with its mouth open.
Jessie pointed and said, “Captain Cruel’s second-hand false teeth!”
“And all that lovely treasure….” Casey smacked her lips.
We had a bit of trouble with the shark and the crocodile, but you can read the rest of the story on the Internet, or in the Waharoa Herald, about how we raised all those enormous riches. How the Margery Daw arrived in Auckland sailing sideways, decks awash, loaded down with taonga: gold crowns, silver swords, and greenstone taiahas.
Rangitoto Island bobbed up again, once we lifted off all that heavy treasure. Aucklanders forget things quickly because they’re only interested in the latest fashion. They’re so used to looking out across the Hauraki Gulf and seeing Rangitoto, they’ve forgotten how it’s actually gone up and down several times.
During the Second World War, the government put a huge gun on top of Rangitoto, to stop the Japanese from invading, but the gun was too heavy, and Rangitoto sank under the sea that time, as well. When they raised the gun, Rangitoto popped up out of the sea again. In the 1950s, the Japanese really did come to Auckland, melted the gun, used the steel to build the new harbour bridge, further up the Waitemata Harbour, and charged everybody two bob to drive across.
There were photos and articles in the Waharoa Herald about what happened, but Aucklanders can’t read. Once they’ve looked at the advertisements and wrapped their fish and chips in the Herald, they throw it away.
Aucklanders don’t have time to look at old newspapers because they’re so busy looking at themselves in the shop windows, but you can read in the old Herald for the nint
h of March, 1931, about how the little ones pulled Wicked Nancy’s hook out of the mast of the Evil Fancy, found her black eye-patch, and sawed her peg-leg out of the deck. Ever since then, they’ve squabbled about who wears the hook, the eye-patch, and the peg-leg. Of course, the one who has the hollow peg-leg also has the treasure map.
You can read how the mean old Mayor of Auckland was too tight to plant another tree on top of One Tree Hill, and how some public-spirited citizens – which means us – took the pohutukawa off the top of Rangitoto, planted it like a plug in the hole on top of One Tree Hill, and stopped it squirting salt water all over Auckland. Which was just as well because the city was starting to sink! If it hadn’t been for us, Aunt Effie always says, everyone in Auckland would have had to swim out and live on Rangitoto Island, and their weight would have made it sink again.
You can also read in the same old Herald how the police arrested the man who cut down the pine tree, and cut him in half with his own chainsaw. There’s a good photo of them feeding the bits of him to the crocodile and the shark.
But what the Herald and the Internet won’t tell you about is how we were attacked by a schooner-rigged scow called the Lady Euphemia and steered by Chief Rangi who wanted to steal Wicked Nancy’s treasure. And how we sent him to the bottom with our cannons, Humpty and Dumpty.
Another thing the Herald and the Internet and your teachers won’t tell you about is the submarine that tried to torpedo us between Bean Rock and North Head, and how we forced it to the surface with a depth charge, and about the hiding Aunt Effie gave Captain Flash.
What the Herald and the Internet and your teachers and your parents won’t tell you about is how Samuel the Missionary tried to dive-bomb us from his pedal-powered biplane. Nor how we shot him down with Humpty and Dumpty, so he crashed and had to swim ashore without stealing our treasure.
But newspapers, the Internet, teachers, and parents never tell the whole story. The rest of it happened like this.
Decks awash and glittering with treasure, we sailed up the Waitemata Harbour. It was busy with ships going back and forth through the Tom Davies Canal at Otahuhu, across the Manukau Sea, and through the Dame Cath Tizard Canal to Lake Waikato. They carried tourists all the way up to Hamilton and Cambridge. There the tourists were turned around and shipped all the way back to Auckland, where they were turned around and put back on the ships to go to Cambridge and Hamilton again.
“It’s much cheaper to use the same tourists all the time,” said Aunt Effie. “It saves bringing more into the country each week.”
“It doesn’t seem right to me,” said Daisy who worshipped Monetarism.
“It makes perfectly good economic sense!” said Aunt Effie. “
“I read in the School Journal,” said Peter, “that there was a time when we were forever bringing in planes and shiploads of new tourists with foot and mouth disease between their toes and their teeth. It took hours just to teach them to scrub their feet and clean their teeth properly. This way we don’t have to worry about that.”
“What about when we want to go to Japan or Britain?” asked Ann. “Aren’t we tourists?”
“We’re different!” said Aunt Effie. “But, for everyone else, I think it’s much better if they just stay at home and watch T.V.”
“Don’t the tourists get sick of looking at Hamilton and Cambridge all the time?” asked Lizzie.
“When the old tourists are worn out,” said Aunt Effie, “we swap them for a new lot. It’s called Market Rules.” She laughed to herself. “Steam gives way to sail!” she bellowed. A steamer full of tourists on its way to Hamilton got out of our way quickly.
“Tourists don’t notice anything, not after the first day,” Aunt Effie told Lizzie. “‘There’s so much to see!’ they say. Besides, what can you see when you’re staring through the viewfinder of a camera? Most tourists wouldn’t know whether they’re in Taranaki or Timbuctoo.”
“Don’t they get sick of eating the same food all the time?” asked Jessie.
“You can feed tourists any sort of rubbish,” said Aunt Effie, “as long as you tell them it’s ethnic. You give them the same tucker each day, but just dye it a different colour: pink on Mondays, green on Tuesdays, and so on. They think they’re tasting something new every day. Do you want to be a tourist?” she asked Lizzie.
“No, thanks!”
“Thank goodness for that,” said Aunt Effie. “What’s going on in Queen Street?”
We could see people running and pointing in Queen Street. “I think,” said Alwyn, and he was so excited that he forgot to say it backwards, “the Casino Tower is falling over.”
Chapter Nineteen
How the Prime Minister Gambled Away All Our Taxes; How Aunt Effie Rescued Her, Paid Her Debts, and Made a Profit; How the Prime Minister Learned Her Lesson and Gave Us a Ride in Her Zeppelin.
“It’s not the Casino Tower falling over,” said Aunt Effie. “Great Scott! The Prime Minister’s Zeppelin! It’s deflating!”
We hove to the Margery Daw and fought to look through the telescope. The Prime Minister’s Zeppelin hung as limp as an empty sausage skin from the top of the Casino Tower.
Aunt Effie sent Marie and Peter ashore to buy a newspaper. They came back with the Waharoa Star. “Prime Minister Loses Again!” read the headlines. The article said the Prime Minister had gambled away all of Waharoa’s taxes. It had been going on ever since we had left Auckland to search for Wicked Nancy’s treasure. “At three o’clock this morning,” the paper said, “the Prime Minister tipped the last of the country’s money out of her handbag on to the roulette table, betted, and lost.”
“That’s last night’s paper,” said Aunt Effie. “Row ashore and get this morning’s Waharoa Herald.”
The Herald told an even worse story. “Waharoa Bankrupt!” said its headlines. “Only Miracle Can Save Prime Minister From Defeat! ‘What About Us?’ ask the Farmers; ‘What About Me?’ asks the Chairman of the Waharoa Chamber of Commerce.” The editorial said the Prime Minister owed the Casino several million dollars, and she was being held a prisoner inside the Tower till she paid up.
“We’re going in,” said Aunt Effie. “Bring those jib-sheets over. Drop the tops’ls. Get ready to back the stays’l.” She brought the Margery Daw into the launching ramp at the foot of Queens Wharf.
“Daisy-Mabel-Johnny-Flossie-Lynda-Stan-Howard-Marge-Stuart-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-Jazz-Beck-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jess!” ordered Aunt Effie. “Strip the canvas off Humpty and Dumpty. Double-shot them, and run them out!”
We pulled out the tampions. We rammed home the charges, the powder, the cannonballs, and the wads.
We didn’t wait to strike the masts, nor to run in the jib-boom and the bowsprit. We lifted the centre-board, raised the rudder, and bolted on the tractor wheels. A fresh northerly filled the sails and blew us on to the ramp, along the wharf, and up Queen Street. Of course we had to lift the tram and trolleybus overhead lines to get the masts underneath, but our old wooden tram rails were just the right length for that.
“I knew they’d come in handy,” said Peter.
We squished along on the big, wet, rubber tractor wheels, and the crowds stood and stared at the treasure on our decks. Humpty and Dumpty’s muzzles pointed over their heads. Smoke from the slow-match made our noses twitch. Outside the Casino, we backed the sails and hove to. Aunt Effie laid Humpty. She looked through the sights along the top of the barrel, and tapped in a quoin. Peter handed her the slow-match, and she handed it to Lizzie.
“Have a shot,” she said, “but keep your feet out of the way.”
Lizzie leaned over so the recoiling carriage wouldn’t rip off her feet and touched the powder. Boom! The double-shot knocked one of the Casino’s huge doors off its hinges. While we swabbed out Humpty and reloaded him, Aunt Effie gave the other little ones a turn laying Dumpty. They fired, and – Boom! – they knocked down the other door.
“Look after the ship, Caligula-Nero-Brutu
s-Kaiser-Genghis-Boris!” Aunt Effie shouted. “Daisy-Mabel-Johnny-Flossie-Lynda-Stan-Howard-Marge-Stuart-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-Jazz-Beck-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jess, follow me!”
We rushed into the Casino, cutlasses between our teeth, found the Casino manager and dragged him out by the scruff of his neck. “How much does the Prime Minister owe?” Marie asked.
“Three billion dollars.”
Aunt Effie nodded. We tallied on to a halyard and swayed up on deck three chests of Wicked Nancy’s treasure worth exactly a billion dollars each. “Count it!” we ordered.
“It’s exactly right,” said the manager of the Casino. He licked his lips. “Let the Prime Minister go!” he ordered his grovelling minions.
“Taihoa!” said Aunt Effie. “I’ll toss you for it. Three billion dollars worth of treasure. Double or quits! Best of three.”
“Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!” clicked Daisy’s tongue.
The Casino manager pulled out a dollar.
“It’s got two heads,” Aunt Effie said. “Give us a coin,” she asked a policeman. He pulled out a penny with Queen Victorious’s head on one side. “That’ll do,” said Aunt Effie. She spun. “Heads or tails?”
“Tails!” said the manager.
“It’s tails,” said the policeman after a look.
“I’ve won!” said the manager.
“Taihoa,’ said Aunt Effie, “taihoa! Best of three, we agreed.”
“That’s right,” said the policeman.
Queen Street was now full from top to bottom. People leaned out of all the buildings and out of the Casino Tower. Aunt Effie and the Casino manager faced each other on the deck of the Margery Daw. The dogs kept the crowds from climbing on board. We perched in the rigging and looked down.
The manager spun the penny. “Heads!” said Aunt Effie.
The policeman had a look. “Tails,” he said, and shook his head so his tall helmet wobbled.
“Let’s have a look at that penny,” said Aunt Effie. “It’s got two tails. Somebody’s swapped it for the proper one.”