Aunt Effie and the Island That Sank (2 page)

Even with
the tide, rowing up the harbour took us several weeks. We reached the Kumeu River, poled between the mangroves, and found our scow, the Margery Daw, where we’d left her in a mud berth for winter. Being careful not to tramp mud all over the deck, we began stepping her mizzen-mast.

It slipped, when we almost had it up, and came down – dong! – on Daisy’s head.

“Well, you will wear that silly panama hat,” said Aunt Effie. “Take it off at once, and rub a bit of butter on the bump.”

We stepped both masts, got up the standing rigging, careened the Margery Daw, burnt the tar off her bottom, repainted her, ran up the running rigging, bent on new canvas, kedged and worked her out into the channel, down past Herald Island, and out of sight of land. Before the wicked Auckland City Council filled it in with reclamations, the Waitemata Harbour was so wide you couldn’t see both sides at once.

“Land ahoy!” Ann cried from the crow’s-nest.

“That’ll be Kauri Point,” said Aunt Effie. “We’re going into
the Powder Wharf to take aboard our cannonballs and gunpowder.”

“I hope there’s not going to be any fighting,” said Daisy.

“I thought I told you to take off that silly panama hat! And you can change out of your school uniform while you’re about it.

“Put out the galley fire. Make sure there’s no candles or lanterns alight.” Aunt Effie collected all our matches and put them in an airtight tin. We took off everything metal: the knives we always wore on board, the buckles off our belts, and our wristwatches. The dogs took off their metal-studded collars. Aunt Effie even took the scissors out of her rolled umbrella and snipped off all our buttons because they were made of metal too.

“Why are the little ones crying?” asked Aunt Effie.

“Alwyn told us we have to take the metal fillings out of our teeth in case we grind them together, make sparks, and blow up the gunpowder!”

“You’ll be all right,” Aunt Effie told the little ones. “Just keep licking your teeth every now and again to keep your fillings wet.” And she brought us alongside the Powder Wharf without a bump.

Our feet were so hard from going barefoot, they sometimes struck sparks off the deck, so we wore sacking moccasins like shearers. We swung the barrels of gunpowder aboard, and rolled the cannonballs down the gangway, taking care not to let them click.

“And I’ll take sixty hundredweight of blasting powder and ninety cases of gelignite,” Aunt Effie told the wharfinger.

“We’re out of blasting powder and gelignite.”

Aunt Effie slipped the wharfinger a rare piece of gold-flecked kauri gum we’d dug up behind Mercury Bay the summer before. He found he had enough blasting powder and gelignite after all,
and we carried it aboard, being careful not to drop it.

“Aunt Effie,” Marie yelled. “I saw a tattooed head looking around the corner of the wharf shed!”

“What’s going on?” Aunt Effie demanded of the venal wharfinger. She bent his fingers backwards till he knelt down and cried, “Ouch! That hurts. Ouch! I give in! I’ll tell the truth! Captain Rangi bribed me to find out where you’re going.”

“See this map,” said Aunt Effie, pulling one out of her rolled umbrella. “See Miranda at the bottom of the Gulf is circled with blood? That’s where we’re heading, to hunt for gold at Miranda. Tell Captain Rangi and, next time we’re in port, I’ll give you another piece of kauri gum.”

The wharfinger stuck both sore hands in his pockets, and ran away saying, “Ouch! Ouch! Thank you! Thank you!”

“I’ve got a strange feeling in my funny bone,” Aunt Effie said as we stowed the last explosives, stitched them in green canvas to keep them dry, and cast off from the Powder Wharf. “It’s been itching ever since we got on the Rotorua Express.”

“The engine driver reminded me of Chief Rangi,” said Marie. “Didn’t you notice he had streaks of coal dust like a tattoo on his face?”

“The stoker looked like the Reverend Samuel Missionary,” said Jazz. “Didn’t you notice he had his collar on backwards?”

“The guard looked like Captain Flash,” said Ann. “Didn’t you notice his head was very pointy?”

“We think they were your three old husbands, Rangi, Sam, and Flash,” we all said together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” cried Aunt Effie. “The villains are after my map!”

We looked at each other. If we’d recognised her three old
husbands, surely she must have recognised them, too? But there’d been something strange about Aunt Effie ever since she woke out of her long winter sleep.

“Why did you show the wharfinger that map with Miranda marked in blood?” asked Peter.

Aunt Effie grinned. “Because we’re going to look for Wicked Nancy’s treasure, but not at Miranda. Let’s get going!”

“Who’s Wicked Nancy?” asked the little ones.

“Wait and see. ‘Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie!’” Aunt Effie grinned at the little ones’ faces. “Hoist the mizzen and jib! Splice the main brace!” she shouted. “Lower the centreboard. Handsomely now!”

“Splice the main brace,” said Daisy, and scribbled something else on her bit of paper.

“You’re making up another glossary,” we said to her. “Wait till Aunt Effie catches you.”

“If I didn’t put a glossary at the end of this book,” said Daisy, “how would anyone understand what all the hard words mean?” We didn’t know what to say back, so we poked out our tongues instead.

“Mean words hard the all what understand anyone would how?” Alwyn said backwards because he knew Daisy hated it.

Off Freemans Bay, we jilled to and fro until the dogs spotted Greasy Mick driving a dray-load of fish and chips. We put out a kedge anchor, lifted the centre-board and keel, and let the Margery Daw’s stern carry on to the beach.

“Who’s Wicked Nancy?” Marie asked Peter as they swung out the heavy lifting gear to hoist the greasies aboard. But Peter shook his head. He’d never heard of her either.

“
Eat up!
” said Aunt Effie. “It might be your last meal….”

We stared at her and crammed in the last of the fish and chips. For a while we could only stagger. As high tide lifted and bumped the Margery Daw’s flat bottom, we manned the capstan and kedged off into deeper water. Gasping full of greasies, we lowered the centre-board, dropped the rudder, and slipped down the harbour.

“Put on these masks,” Aunt Effie said. “We don’t want to be recognised. Give way to the Devonport ferry,” she murmured to Peter at the wheel. “Turn her up into the wind, and let the Suva flying boat take off from Mechanics Bay. Take her to windward of those home boats lying in the stream, and dodge the Blue Boats taking out fresh bread and milk for the crews. We don’t want to be recognised,” she said again, and handed masks to her
six enormous dogs as well.

There was a hum overhead from one of the Zeppelins that New Zealand won off Germany in the Great War. Like a floating sausage, it drifted up Queen Street, where the pilot leaned out of the nose and tied it to the top of the Casino Tower. As we watched through our masks, somebody in a long skirt climbed out of the pilot’s hatch and hobbled in high heels along the rope, thousands of feet above the street, balancing with her arms out. In one hand she held a heavy handbag, in the other a revolver.

“Tarnation! The Prime Minister!” said Aunt Effie. “She used to climb mountains, but now she flies up from Wellington and spends all day gambling in the Casino. Don’t let her see us, or she’ll call out. She’s turning this way. Duck!”

It was too late. The Prime Minister’s steely eyes had spotted us. “Hello, Effie!” Her mannish voice boomed across Auckland. She teetered on the Zeppelin’s tethering rope, waved her heavy handbag, fired a shot from her revolver, and bellowed, “Why are you all wearing masks? Are you searching for treasure?”

Aunt Effie smiled bravely and waved. “Good luck!” she yelled back.

“Same to you!” Daisy put her hands over our eyes, as the Prime Minister climbed in the top window of the Casino Tower. The revolver shot and the Prime Minister’s bellow had drawn everyone’s attention. All the shoppers in Queen Street ran to the end of Queens Wharf and stared as we sailed past. We still had on our masks, so the little ones poked out their tongues.

“Whose money does the Prime Minister use?” asked Daisy.

“Didn’t you notice her handbag bulging?” said Aunt Effie. “It’s full of all the taxes she collected yesterday.”

“She gambles with our taxes? That’s immoral!”

“That Herald I read, the one wrapped around the fish and chips,” said Aunt Effie, “it reported that the Prime Minister won so much money at the casino last week, we won’t have to pay any more taxes for the rest of this year.”

“What if she goes and loses it all today?” asked Daisy. “In any case, it’s not setting the little ones a very good example.” A seagull squawked and swerved at her, but Daisy ducked. The seagull’s flying poop missed her head and landed on Aunt Effie’s foot instead.

“If it’s not one thing, then it’s another!” Aunt Effie pressed her lips together and stared ahead. “Does something look funny to you?” she asked. We were heading for the old wooden harbour bridge that used to cross to Devonport from the foot of Queen Street. Sitting on top of the arch and fishing for sprats, a boy poked out his tongue, but we pretended not to see him. The Kaitaia Express blew its whistle and chugged across the bridge, and the boy was so busy giving cheek to the driver, he didn’t notice Jazz tie our last piece of fish and a couple of chips to his line. Then we all saw it at the same time: the thing that hadn’t looked right to Aunt Effie.

“Look out!” we screamed. From the old wooden harbour bridge, a net was unrolling and dropping towards the sea.

“It’s that school inspector, the one who was dressed as the stoker on the Rotorua Express!” said Ann. “The one with his collar on backwards.”

He was riding a bicycle over the arch of the wooden harbour bridge, letting the net unfold and fall off the carrier. “Those children have not been baptised!” the Reverend Samuel Missionary shouted in his beautifully modulated voice. “I’m going to save them from perdition!” He stood on the pedals. The bike went
faster, and his net spread overhead.

“Perdition!” said Daisy, and wrote it down.

“Ready about!” Aunt Effie yelled. “There’s no time to waste making up glossaries, Daisy!” We ran to the sheets and brought the headsails over as she put the Margery Daw on the port tack, reaching fast towards Mechanics Bay.

“How did Aunt Effie know Daisy’s making up another glossary?” asked Lizzie.

“She’s got eyes in the back of her head,” Ann told her. Lizzie stared at Aunt Effie and burst into tears.

The Reverend Samuel Missionary pedalled harder, the net unrolling and filling the space between bridge and sea. There was just one gap it hadn’t filled.

“Ready with those sheets! Coming about!” We sheeted in the jibs and staysail. The booms swung over. Aunt Effie timed it so perfectly we came out of the tack picking up speed, and hardly a swirl astern. Through the gap and out the other side of the bridge, heading towards Devonport. The net fell across the rudder post and swept off in our wake. No, it just snagged the end of the rudder and tangled in the steering chains.

“Caught you!”

Peter hung on to the rudder post with one hand, chopped the net free with an axe, and swung himself back over the transom. “Good work, Daisy-Mabel-Johnny-Flossie-Lynda-Stan-How-ard-Marge-Stuart-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-Jazz-Beck-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jess!” Aunt Effie told him.

“Bah!” The Reverend Samuel Missionary shook both fists at Peter.

“One hand for the bike and one for yourself!” Daisy shouted.
Too late. The Reverend Samuel’s bike shot off the top of the arch. He was pedalling so fast, his bike floated down and took off across the top of the waves.

“Keep pedalling!” Aunt Effie yelled after him. “Or you’ll sink!”

A lonesome voice cried, “Foiled again, fair Euphemia!”

“He said The Name We Dare Not Say!” whispered Jessie.

Aunt Effie jumped into the rigging and shouted, “Samuel!” in a winning voice.

At that soft, attractive sound, the Reverend Samuel Missionary stopped pedalling, turned around with a silly smile, and his bike sank.

“That’s one of them out of the way,” Aunt Effie told us. “But I think we’re still being followed.

“Caligula-Nero-Brutus-Kaiser-Genghis-Boris! Out on the bowsprit and watch for Bean Rock. And don’t look behind.” The dogs ran out on the bowsprit, holding the forestay, and carefully not looking behind.

“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! Up into the rigging and keep a watch out for Rangitoto Island, and don’t any of you dare look behind!” We leapt into the ratlines and stared ahead.

“Why can’t we look behind?” asked Lizzie, who always wanted to know everything.

“Because somebody’s following us,” Ann told her, “and we mustn’t let them see we know.”

“But Aunt Effie hasn’t looked behind, so how does she know there’s somebody following?” asked Jessie who also wanted to
know everything.

“Don’t look behind, any of you!” Aunt Effie roared again. “We’re being followed by a schooner. He’s hiding behind the Baroona, the old Waiheke ferry.” She held the wheel firmly and stared ahead towards Browns Island.

“How can Aunt Effie see what he’s doing?” Lizzie asked. “She’s not looking behind.”

“I told you before: she’s got eyes in the back of her head.” Ann laughed nervously and looked straight ahead.

The swell around North Head lifted our bows, the deck rose, and we all hung on as it dropped, heaved sideways, and swooped up again.

“I can still taste those fish and chips,” said Jared.

A drift of spray carried over us. We licked our lips.

“I wish you hadn’t said that, Jared….” Ann put her hand over her mouth. Her face was whiter than her hand.

“Said what?”

“About tasting the fish and chips.” Ann’s neck and chin now had a green shine.

The deck lifted and fell away, lifted and fell away. Somebody gave a little moan, but we all kept looking straight ahead.

“I wish I hadn’t eaten so many greasies,” said Casey.

“I don’t feel very well,” said Lizzie. She, Casey, and Jessie looked at each other and ran to the bulwarks.

“Get to leeward, or it’ll blow back in your faces!” called Aunt Effie. Hands over their mouths, Casey, Lizzie, and Jessie ran to the other side, hung over, and cried sad words to the sea.

“I’d better see if they’re all right.” Ann ran and hung her head over the side, too. One by one we followed, and there came a terrible moan from the dogs.

“It’s those greasies,” said Alwyn, “floating around inside us, getting shaken up in the lemonade.”

“There’s no need to be coarse… Oh!” said our dignified cousin, Daisy, and she hung her head over the side and talked seriously to the waves.

Tears were running down Lizzie’s face as she said, “I still wonder how Aunt Effie could see behind.”

“Don’t look now,” said Alwyn, “but she’s put spectacles on the back of her head.”

“Oh!” cried Lizzie and was too busy hanging her head over the side to look.

Caligula, Nero, Brutus, Kaiser, Genghis and Boris joined us, hanging their heads over the side, too. Aunt Effie stood at the wheel singing “What Are the Wild Waves Saying?”, smoking a black cheroot, and wearing a pair of glasses on the back of her head. And so we returned to the Hauraki Gulf, seasick, crying, wearing masks, and wishing we’d never seen the sea.