swaying building. All stare at the grand door, waiting for him to emerge. For a moment the crowd is still. The earth quietens too. The silence is immense. Then a new danger appears. Slowly a crack opens along the street and through it pours a sticky, heaving mass of mud, spewing like vomit from the open maw of the fissure. It flows silently, spreading along the street and into doorways. Suddenly everyone is shouting and running. Lanterns bob this way and that. The Baron is forgotten in this new terror from beneath the earth.
Jack runs too. It is all more horrible than he can bear. Along Lambton Quay he runs, past the new Union Bank, which has lost its whole elegant front, the walls of the offices open to the sky; past the Government Offices — or what was that building. The sentinel, who should be calling the hour, stands dazed in front of the rubble. No ‘Ten o’clock and all’s well!’ will sound tonight. In front of the Council Chambers, also a ruin of stone and brick, a storm of papers and journals is whirling in the wind. What records will be lost tonight? What will it matter anyway, in this madness? Surely this will be the end of Wellington.
Jack stops suddenly and lies flat as another shock rips through the earth. Lily. What is he doing? Lily, Lily, he thinks. I amrunning in the wrong direction. She will be at the theatre. As he rises unsteadily and starts walking gingerly back along the Quay, he sees, lit by ragged, racing moonlight, the sea coming in. Slowly it surges towards him, rising over his shoes, his ankles. He sees people run from their houses, run across the street and up towards Wellington Terrace. Oh God, will this nightmare have no end? The Quay is under water, but not deeply so. Jack wades on, and into Willis Street, which is still dry. A small crowd has gathered again in front of Baron’s Hotel.
‘He’s dead,’ says the little stable-hand, tears running streaks down his dusty cheeks. ‘The Baron’s in there under his own chimney. We can’t get him out!’
Jack stops in amazement. ‘The Baron?’
‘Chimney come down atop him. His lady’s in a right fit.’
‘Are they sure?’
‘Doctor Wallis went in. Says he’s dead. We’re to leave him there until the shaking stops.’ The young lad puts a hand in Jack’s. Holds tight as if he’s drowning. ‘Should we go after the nags?’ he asks. He’s trembling all over.
Jack closes his eyes. Tries to think. The horses. Where will they have run to? And if the Baron’s dead, the horses will be the least of anyone’s worries.
‘Find Mrs Appleby,’ he says. ‘Ask her for something to eat. She’ll still be in charge of her kitchen, you can bet on that.’ He winks at poor, scruffy Alfred. ‘I’ve got to find my lady, now. We’ll look for the nags in the morning.’
Jack searches all that howling, shaking night for Lily. As if the aftershocks aren’t bad enough, a fierce, punishing wind gusts through the ruins of people’s houses. More cracks open in the streets, horses run wild everywhere, and so does the terrible, sticky, bubbling mud. Lily is not at the theatre, nor at her boarding house. But as dawn breaks he finds her asleep, rolled in a blanket, in an open field close to the Baron’s land in Te Aro Flat. Several of the other theatre people are huddled there too, all asleep.
‘We gathered here in the open, to keep safe,’ whispers Lily,smiling to see him, though her dark eyes are still shadowed at the memory of it all. ‘Oh Jack, what a night! Wherever were you?’
[Archivist’s Note: Here in Lily’s journal there is another aside, which is clearly not intended to be read aloud to the family. I have included it as it gives colour to the life of the Laceys. We can imagine the large family sitting around the fire in their isolated farmhouse, listening to either Lily or Samuel reading aloud. I wonder if Jack ever read his sections to his children? I rather think not. E. de M.]
Lilyâs aside
WRITTEN 1883
The
Jack runs too. It is all more horrible than he can bear. Along Lambton Quay he runs, past the new Union Bank, which has lost its whole elegant front, the walls of the offices open to the sky; past the Government Offices — or what was that building. The sentinel, who should be calling the hour, stands dazed in front of the rubble. No ‘Ten o’clock and all’s well!’ will sound tonight. In front of the Council Chambers, also a ruin of stone and brick, a storm of papers and journals is whirling in the wind. What records will be lost tonight? What will it matter anyway, in this madness? Surely this will be the end of Wellington.
Jack stops suddenly and lies flat as another shock rips through the earth. Lily. What is he doing? Lily, Lily, he thinks. I amrunning in the wrong direction. She will be at the theatre. As he rises unsteadily and starts walking gingerly back along the Quay, he sees, lit by ragged, racing moonlight, the sea coming in. Slowly it surges towards him, rising over his shoes, his ankles. He sees people run from their houses, run across the street and up towards Wellington Terrace. Oh God, will this nightmare have no end? The Quay is under water, but not deeply so. Jack wades on, and into Willis Street, which is still dry. A small crowd has gathered again in front of Baron’s Hotel.
‘He’s dead,’ says the little stable-hand, tears running streaks down his dusty cheeks. ‘The Baron’s in there under his own chimney. We can’t get him out!’
Jack stops in amazement. ‘The Baron?’
‘Chimney come down atop him. His lady’s in a right fit.’
‘Are they sure?’
‘Doctor Wallis went in. Says he’s dead. We’re to leave him there until the shaking stops.’ The young lad puts a hand in Jack’s. Holds tight as if he’s drowning. ‘Should we go after the nags?’ he asks. He’s trembling all over.
Jack closes his eyes. Tries to think. The horses. Where will they have run to? And if the Baron’s dead, the horses will be the least of anyone’s worries.
‘Find Mrs Appleby,’ he says. ‘Ask her for something to eat. She’ll still be in charge of her kitchen, you can bet on that.’ He winks at poor, scruffy Alfred. ‘I’ve got to find my lady, now. We’ll look for the nags in the morning.’
Jack searches all that howling, shaking night for Lily. As if the aftershocks aren’t bad enough, a fierce, punishing wind gusts through the ruins of people’s houses. More cracks open in the streets, horses run wild everywhere, and so does the terrible, sticky, bubbling mud. Lily is not at the theatre, nor at her boarding house. But as dawn breaks he finds her asleep, rolled in a blanket, in an open field close to the Baron’s land in Te Aro Flat. Several of the other theatre people are huddled there too, all asleep.
‘We gathered here in the open, to keep safe,’ whispers Lily,smiling to see him, though her dark eyes are still shadowed at the memory of it all. ‘Oh Jack, what a night! Wherever were you?’
[Archivist’s Note: Here in Lily’s journal there is another aside, which is clearly not intended to be read aloud to the family. I have included it as it gives colour to the life of the Laceys. We can imagine the large family sitting around the fire in their isolated farmhouse, listening to either Lily or Samuel reading aloud. I wonder if Jack ever read his sections to his children? I rather think not. E. de M.]
Lilyâs aside
WRITTEN 1883
The
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