Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water

CHAPTER VIII

COACHING THROUGH THE NORTH ISLAND OF NEW ZEALAND; ITS HOT LAKES AND GEYSERS

Sunday, September 21st. Auckland.—-The day following our landing was a clear, spring morning, for summer is coming to these parts of the world, and we were completely charmed by the view of Auckland from the top of Princes Street, where we were staying. The harbour still and blue lay before us, looking like an inland lake from the law, flat hills that run out into the sea and nearly surround it. It is dotted with islands, the chief of which is Kawau, Sir George Grey's island home, and Rangitoto, with its three volcanic cone-like peaks. From the hill on which we were standing there was one mass of foliage stretching down to the edge of the harbour, and the houses seemed to have been put down promiscuously in the midst, forming white dots from among the surrounding green. The town and wharves lay hidden under the long, sloping hill, on the shoulder of which stands the fine stone building of the Northern Club, with its broad terraces, commanding the view seawards. A little higher up, nearly at the top of Princes Street, is Government House, only tenanted for a few weeks in summer since the removal of the capital.

The houses at Auckland are so pretty—all built of wood, all low, and two storeyed, with double verandahs on each floor and not straight verandahs, upheld at regular intervals by white posts, but gracefully arched, and carved with fretwork. The wooden fences to the gardens and the houses are painted a dead white, which stands out in dazzling brightness from the dark foliage.

There seems to be some curious anomaly, some contending element in the vegetation of New Zealand. We saw semi-hardy and semi-tropical plants growing side by side, a Scotch fir by a palm, an india-rubber-tree by a laurel; but the tropical in the end predominates. There were geraniums in the hedges, camellias and azaleas blooming in the open air, orange and lemon trees, and clumps of arum or Egyptian lilies growing wild in cool and shady places. The principal trees are the eucalypti and the Norfolk Island pine, which grows nowhere better than at Auckland. It branches straightly out, with a succession of hard, prickly fingers inclining upward towards the ends, and is of a rich dark green.

The editor of the New Zealand Herald, a very ably conducted paper, found us out on our return from church, and interviewed C. In the afternoon we drove out to Remuera, one of the pretty suburbs of which Auckland has so many. Passing through the Khyber Pass, a road dug out in the rock, we came through Newmarket, its bit of untidy common giving one a sarcastic reminder of the Newmarket of the world, on to the Remuera road. From here we could see the surrounding country, flat and cultivated, with a few low hills looking peculiarly English, the race-course of Ellerslie, where spring and autumn race meetings are held, and the harbour, for wherever you go in Auckland you always have a view of that. We had a warm welcome at the pretty cottage of an uncle of my husband's, Mr. William Young, a fine old gentleman, who has been more than forty years in the colony. He had not known of our arrival, and was quite overcome with joy at seeing us for the first time.

Whilst I was sitting writing in the evening, I suddenly heard all the watch-bells of the city ringing a fire alarm, and going out on to the upper verandah, saw the lurid flames of a fire down in the town. By the vivid illumination I could distinguish the upturned faces of the crowd, and for ten minutes it burnt fiercely, reducing the little wooden house, which was fortunately detached, to a few charred beams. Fires are of frequent occurrence, and are terribly serious among this town of wooden tenements. They have alarm bells erected in wooden penthouses in the most crowded parts of the town, and the fire brigade is kept in a full state of efficiency.

Monday, September 22nd.—We drove ten miles out to Sylvia Park, a great stud farm belonging to the New Zealand Stock and Pedigree Company, and managed by Major Walmsley. The road lay through a very wild, desolate country, roughly enclosed by stone walls loosely put together from the mass of scoria and volcanic rocks, which literally strewed the ground for miles. It is supposed to be the débris thrown up from the craters of the volcanoes, and the short, sweet grass, so peculiarly fitted for the feeding of sheep, crops up between. These extinct volcanoes, with their round, flat tops, of which there are no less than thirty-nine in the immediate vicinity of Auckland, form a distinctive feature of the country.

When we arrived at our destination we found a square wooden house, surrounded by spacious paddocks with splendid pasture. I was strongly reminded of the Downs, looking round at the many miles of rolling green hills, and by the utter stillness and loneliness.

There are in all some 150 horses, not including the constant additions to the stock like the half-a-dozen foals we saw, just a fortnight old, turned out into a paddock with their mothers. The horses are chiefly thoroughbred, and they have some blood relations to celebrated winners of the turf. At their annual sale last year at Melbourne they realized an average price of 300l. We saw their celebrated mare Sylvia, twenty-one years old, from whom the farm is named, and whose offspring are numerous and well known in racing annals; as are those also of Martini-Henry, the winner of both the Derby and Melbourne Cup, who here saw the light. Major Walmsley mentioned to us one amusing peculiarity. It has always been noticed that, on the introduction of new blood from England, the colonials separate themselves from the new-comers, and keep to the other side of the paddock.

Rain came on, and we said good-bye to our kind host, and drove home through a heavy downpour.

Tuesday, September 23rd.—We are charmed by the kindness of all at Auckland, their open hospitality and cordial welcome. We are overwhelmed with invitations, and are only sorry that the shortness of our stay obliges us to refuse many. Consul Griffin (who had been on board the Australia with us) brought me in last night three lovely bunches of flowers; one was made entirely of native flowers, and all were sent with pressing invitations to come and see the place where they grew. Messengers with invitations are arriving all day, walking in at the open door, for all the doors in New Zealand stand wide open, and you never think of knocking. To-day we have had luncheon at the Hon. James Williamson's, at "The Pah," the Maori name for house. The garden is considered one of the best about Auckland, and is very beautiful with its large camellia-trees, double, single, striped and plain, white or red, azaleas of all colours, double geraniums, roses, violets, heliotrope, fuchsias, and daphne, large aloes, and cacti, maidenhair fern, and heath, growing wild in brilliant purple-pink clumps. There is an orange and lemon grove, guava-trees, and the silver fir, a native of New Zealand. This very pretty tree has a long, pointed, silver leaf, with a bright, velvety cone, and produces from a distance the effect of a tree of shimmering silver. The orchard was in full blossom, as with us in May; it is so difficult to realize that this September, our autumn month, is the beginning of their spring.

In New Zealand, with their temperate climate, they have flowers all the year round. During the winter there is little or no snow, but much rain; and though there are never any great extremes of either heat or cold, some find the damp heat of the summer very enervating.

We afterwards went to tea at Mr. Firth's, the "Castle." The garden there is terraced into the side of the hill, which must have been one of the extinct volcanoes, as the soil is entirely scoria. We saw a picture of the present Maori king, Tawhiao, now in England, and another, a very remarkable portrait of the great King-maker, who, twenty-five years ago, gave over to Mr. Firth 60,000 acres of land, in fee simple, whereof to form a beautiful estate.

Wednesday, September 24th.—We spent the morning in the town. Queen Street, with a few arterial streets, forms the town, and contains all the shops, the theatre, and the six thriving banks. It looked busy and prosperous, with the streets full of men on rough ponies, going at a hand gallop; for in New Zealand they seem to have no medium between galloping and walking, and they generally choose the latter. There are a few tramway lines, but they have not yet superseded the lumbering yellow omnibus, lined with red moreen, that ply between the suburbs and the town.

Auckland is the northern capital of New Zealand, as Dunedin is of the south. It received a severe check when the seat of government was removed to Wellington, but it is recovering from this, and spreading rapidly into its several suburbs of Parnell, Remuera, Newton, Newmarket, and Khyber Pass.

It is roughly estimated that each emigrant ship, arriving every fortnight, brings to Auckland 300 emigrants, who create a demand for sixty new houses. Another proof of the rising prosperity may be given from the Savings' Bank deposits, which average 1000l. a week.

The necessaries of life are extraordinarily cheap; for instance, meat is from threepence to fourpence per pound; all woollen goods and ordinary wearing apparel are the same; but anything not strictly within this province is proportionately dear.

There are the most delicious oysters at Auckland, as small and delicately flavoured as "natives," and they are to be had for the trouble of picking them off the rocks in the harbour.

A "baby show" had been largely advertised to take place in the afternoon in the theatre, and we determined to go to it. There were prizes given for the handsomest baby, the best all-round baby, for the finest twins, and the lightest and heaviest baby, for curliest-haired, and prettiest dark-eyed, and lastly, for the plainest, and reddest-haired baby.

Afterwards we drove to the bottom of Mount Eden, and walked up the grass drive to the top, looking down into the huge crater, which is now a green and sheltered hollow, where cattle feed. We had a very sweeping view, though a little hazy, over the two harbours—ours of the east coast, and Manakau on the west. There was water wherever we looked, with long, streaky lines showing the "barriers," or swampy bits of plain or sandbanks. At our feet, on one side, was Auckland, stretched out in dotted white lines; on the other, there were houses and gardens, nestling under the shelter of Mount Eden, forming the far-extending district known by that name, with rich flats of cultivated fields, interrupted only by the mounds of the volcanoes.

In returning we walked through the "Domain," a pretty wood of native trees, with bridle paths, and then went home to prepare for our rough expedition to the Hot Lake district, to begin on the morrow.

We have been very much struck how all out here cling to England, looking upon and calling her "home," always hoping to return some day to the old country, if only for a short visit. It is quite the usual question to ask, "And how long is it since you were in England?" and the answer often is, "Twenty years ago, but we hope to go there again soon." All have near relations there, and it is considered a great thing to be able to send the children home to be educated.

We find everywhere the same keen longing and anxiety that England should know and realize how prosperous, how civilized, how replete in comfort and luxury, her colonies are. They complain that justice is not done them, and express a wish that some of the prominent men in the old country would come out and visit them, and see it for themselves. One lady said to me, "I believe they think at home that we are living in the midst of cannibals, and certainly in a state of rude civilization and semi-barbarism." Another said, when we were expressing our appreciation of all the kindness we were receiving, "We are very homely folks out here; but only too glad to give any one from the old country a hearty welcome."

Even those who are rich keep up quite simple establishments, servants being a very difficult luxury, hard to obtain, still harder to keep beyond a few months, and commanding exorbitant wages. As a natural consequence of this, all the daughters are brought up to do the lighter parts of the house work. I think colonial mothers are the best in the world. The only nurses to be had are rough colonial girls, and so mothers are accustomed to have their children always with them from infancy. These two circumstances combine to make the girls, what they generally are, frank and open in their manners, very independent in character, and old for their age.

The telephone is in general and more frequent use here than in England. The postal rate of 2d. is uniform throughout the colonies, but the most perfect system is that in the telegraphic department of "delayed telegrams." This is an arrangement whereby by paying only 6d. you can have a telegram sent in the course of the day and delivered from the receiving office by post, the ordinary telegram having the preference.1

We were so sorry to be leaving Auckland without seeing a Kauri pine forest. These Kauri pines are only found north of Auckland, and the nearest forest is some fifteen miles away. They grow to a great height, and are chiefly valuable for the purity of the gum, which exudes in great quantities from the bark, and is highly prized for mixing with varnish and for tanning purposes. It formed at one time the most valuable of New Zealand exports. Large lumps of this exquisite clear golden substance are dug up from the ground, under the pines, containing a clear cloud-like substance, that fades after exposure to the air. We brought away with us several pieces, some in the rough and others polished.

Friday, September 25th.—We were down at the station by 8 a.m., and joined there by Mr. Davidson, our fellow-passenger on board the Australia; Mr. Robert Graham also came with us, the proprietor of Wairakei, and of Waiwera, the pretty little watering-place, with hot springs, twenty miles away from Auckland, which we had not found time to visit.

There was quite a feeling of adventure in starting out on this expedition to the Hot Lakes. Scarcely any one from Auckland has been; on the principle, I suppose, that those nearest the place of interest never do go, though people may think it worth while coming all the way out from England to see it. Many tried to dissuade us, by alarming accounts of the roads after the winter rains, and the roughness and fatigue of coaching from early morning till late at night; and at one time I had wavered.

We were experiencing one of the New Zealand railways for the first time, and could not say much for the smoothness of the locomotion. The train moves on with a terrific jerk after each stoppage; till, at last, you come to look for it. This carriage was very long, with a passage down the centre, and differed from the American cars only in having seats lengthways, instead of crosswise, thus producing the effect of the inside of an omnibus. Afterwards we found that many of them were like the American cars. The trains are very, very slow, only going from fifteen to twenty miles an hour; the gauge is narrow, and the line single.

After passing through the suburbs we emerged out into an open country, bounded on either side by low hills, and almost entirely covered by manuka, or ti-tree scrub, producing the dark rich brown colour of a moor. One-third of the north island is covered with this manuka; it flourishes on all the uncultivated sandy soil, and is the most monotonous of shrubs to look at, with its spiky black twigs, and sparse feathery green. It is only pretty when in bloom, and covered with myriads of white starry flowers; but we were too early to see this. I grew very weary of the miles and miles we passed through of it during the next few days. Here and there, in sheltered hollows, were bits of native bush, with the characteristic grey stem shooting branchless to a great height, and ending in a clump of green at the top. Many of them had bunches of gigi, which looked like mistletoe, growing on the stems. Underneath these there would be a thick undergrowth of cabbage-palms and tree-ferns.

At the small station where we stopped to have luncheon we were offered whitebait! but it turned out to be only some minnows, caught in the neighbouring stream, and served in a very pulpy condition.

We were soon following a range of hills, worthy to be dignified with the name of mountains, and the broad river of the Waikato was flowing to our right. The Waikato became quite an old friend at last. We followed it in so many of its windings, leaving it to find it again, after a few days, grown and increased in volume, and flowing ever more swiftly towards the sea. We passed some marshy belts of land, opening out into broad pools, bordered by bulrushes, with plenty of wild ducks and prairie-hens skimming about on them. Then Rangiriri came in sight, with its green knoll and flagstaff marking the spot where the natives, in 1864, held at bay and shelled the English troops, under Colonel Campbell, in the swamp below. For many years the Maoris defied the British from their strongholds in the bush, the war on the English side being, it is said, much mismanaged. The struggle raged most fiercely at Taranaki, breaking out again there after the other parts of the island were subdued. At the end of the war, government took possession of all the land, and the Maoris retreated into the district known as the King Country. They have now collected enough money, and sent their King, Tawhiao, to England, with the hopeless task of submitting their grievance to the Colonial Office. His mission will, of course, be useless, and he will return as empty-handed as he went.

We arrived at Hamilton at 3 p.m. By courtesy it is called a town, but it consists of one short street, with the hotel facing the bank, above which is the office of the local paper. The ancient yellow coach in which it was proposed we should drive the twelve miles to Cambridge was overcrowded, so we took a waggonette, and were driven by Mr. Johnstone, the coach proprietor on this road, who handled his quadruple ribbons in the most masterly manner.

I can see now the road winding through that little pass, the hills on either side covered with gorse and bracken; the running mountain stream by the side of the road, crossed by a wooden hedge, and bordered by whispering willows. Through a gap in the distant mountains came a rush of yellow light, leaving them themselves in gloom.

We emerged into the great flat plains which are considered so good for agricultural purposes. All the land is let out to leaseholders in small lots of from 100 to 150 acres; though, if the matter came to be examined into, it is thought that nearly the whole of this and many other tracts of land would be found to belong to the Bank of New Zealand, being heavily mortgaged to it at the rate of eight per cent. This is the usual rate of interest here. Fir-trees were planted along the sides of the fields as a shelter for the cattle against the wind. A farmer requires about 5000l. capital to make a successful start, and must be prepared to unlearn all English ideas of farming, and learn those adapted to the soil and climate, unless he wants "to run a mucker," as the phrase goes.

Two hours brought us to Cambridge, where we found a clean little inn. The town was full of Maoris, gathered from far and near, to attend one of the Land Courts, which are held from time to time to arrange differences about landmarks, and to effect the sale of lands. The natives were lying about the street, wrapped in their striped blankets, or in plaids and tartans of bright colours, which covered them from head to foot. The women are generally seen in a crouching attitude, squatting on their heels, and their lips and chins are tattooed in patterns; some of the men are likewise decorated in rings all over the face, and wear a long piece of greenstone depending from the ear by a string of black ribbon.

We had a strange example of "how small the world is" this evening; when a schoolfellow of C.'s, not seen since the old days at Westminster, turned up at Cambridge. He emigrated at the time of the gold fever in the Thames river (not far from here), and has been for six years a member of the Legislative Assembly,—is now a leading lawyer, a lumber merchant, and the proprietor and editor of two newspapers.

Saturday, September 27th.—We left Cambridge at seven this morning in a downpour of rain, that seemed to prophesy a hopelessly wet day. There was a preliminary difficulty about starting. The light buggy with four horses, and a narrow seat back and front, proved too small to hold ourselves and the very small quantity of luggage we had brought. We looked blankly at the small space, to see if we could contrive to pack in, and after some demur on the part of the driver, he promised to try and horse another buggy for us. He had come over the road on the previous day, and reported it to be in a terrible state, but how terrible it was we had no idea till later in the day, or I doubt whether we should have persevered.

Some miles of flat road, passing a pretty house belonging to Sir James Fergusson, now governor of Bombay and formerly of New Zealand, and we turned off the main road, into that leading to Ohinemutu. The difference in the road was perceptible at once; the one belonged to the township, and the other was under government management. It was of dark sticky clay, not only full of ruts but of holes, and we soon began what was to be our ordinary mode of proceeding, viz. "floundering."

The surrounding country was tame, with low hills and open spaces, alternating with patches of dense manuka scrub, showing the natural state of the land before clearing. Then we began to wind through passes with wild Highland scenery. The colouring was a beautiful grey-green or grey-brown, catching its tone from the decaying bracken; and this is such feathery bracken and so peculiarly crisp and hard to the touch. The Waikato could be heard rushing and gurgling over rocky impediments in its course, but so deep down in the ravine, and between such high banks, that we only got occasional glances of its swiftly running waters.

The most striking feature of the country here are the distinctly formed terraces, running in tiers down to the present bed of the river, and which is supposed to show the different levels of the Waikato during the course of centuries.

All the land about belongs to various companies. The New Zealand Stock Pedigree Company have a large tract for their farm, but they are not succeeding well, as the farmers, struggling under the disadvantages of the first breaking of the ground, cannot afford to study the breed of their stock. By degrees we entered the country held by natives, where all signs of cultivation and the abodes of man ceased. We occasionally met a solitary horseman, a weird-looking figure in slouch hat and blanket—some Maori going down to attend the Land Court at Cambridge.

It would be very difficult to give any adequate idea of the state of the road. The four horses were up to their flanks in the liquid mud, and the carriage sunk in axle-deep. To behold only is to believe in such a case. Looking at the sea of soft mud in front, it seemed as if it would be impassable. Kerr, our splendid Jehu, saved us many a bump by his first-rate driving, drawing the horses carefully off, and easing them at bad ruts; but as it was, the buggy often balanced on two wheels and sank deeply down, the other two being high in the air, and the vehicle hesitating whether to recover itself or not. There were not a few such critical moments. Sometimes we got into such a slough that the pole of the carriage touched the mud, and the horses, in trying to draw out their fore feet from the slippery mass, would miss their footing, and flounder hopelessly for a moment or two. Then Kerr would draw himself together, and by main force drag them out with the reins.

We were obliged often to cling on to the front seat, to avoid being thrown bodily out, and in one unexpected jolt, when we were both impelled, nolens volens, suddenly forward, C. came down with his full weight on my thumb, and sprained it slightly.

We were looking forward to arriving at the township of Oxford, for the excitement and anxiety of this fearful road was tiring, and the going very slow and tedious. From over a bare plain we approached the hotel; not a single house was to be seen, and we found that this was the township. The railway that is being made is finished up to here, and an enterprising man has built the hotel, foreseeing the custom that will come, when it is opened next season, and forms the starting-point for the coaches to the Lake district. The second buggy overtook us at Oxford, and we found that they had fared much worse than we had. The spring of the back seat had given way, and Mr. Graham had been precipitated into the mud.