Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water

We had been too early in the year for the other parts of the islands, but at Wakitipu we had come exactly at the right time, for the mountains were yet covered with snow. They looked so beautiful with it lying in smooth unbroken surfaces on the summits, and dwindling down to lie along the ridges, or in isolated patches below the snow line. Underneath that again there lay a moraine of stones and rocks, or a bit of bush flourishing in a ravine. The lights and shadows had full play on the rounded arms and jutting peaks of the mountains that afternoon, and sitting on the deck in the warm sun, we thoroughly enjoyed the two hours' trip to Queenstown.

We entered the natural harbour, and passed at the entrance the wooden triangle, with the black line, showing the height of the flood some years ago, which nearly destroyed the township. It was caused by a freshet, from the sudden melting of the snow after several days of unusual heat.

The cragged top of Ben Lomond, wreathed with snow, and that splendid range of "The Remarkables," form a wonderfully grand background to the humble roofs of the charming little village of Queenstown.

There is a sleepy look about the few stragglers on the wharf, waiting for the steamer to come in, and a primitive air about the little hotel just opposite, with a stout landlady standing on the steps, to see what guests will arrive.

The peninsula with the tall eucalyptus trees jutting out into the lake is called "the park." You go over a bridge and through a turnstile to reach it, and find a disused cannon at the end, pointed down the lake. It is all very quiet and dull, and sounds uninteresting, but we thought it so pretty, and that Queenstown was one of the few places we had come to that we should care to linger in.

There are beautiful walks and drives by the side of the lake, up the mountains, or through the pass that leads to the village of Arrowtown.

Queenstown is the centre of the Otago gold diggings, mining operations being carried on in some of the mountains round about, and many is the story we heard of a sudden leap into wealth by the accidental find of gold. These "finds" are often rendered valueless by the want of water for working them, but the "claim" which the owner takes out, by paying a small sum to the government, entitles him to the first use of the water nearest the digging.

Trout have been introduced, and they are annually hatching 160,000 of salmon ova to be turned into the lake, in the hope that it may become a large industry, as with a freezing apparatus they could be sent home to England. A law was passed that trout were only to be caught with a line, but now they have become so large, weighing from eighteen to twenty pounds, that government is to be petitioned to legalize the already surreptitiously used net.

Wednesday, October 22nd.—We spent a quiet morning, one of the first we have had for a long time, with nothing particular to do but wander along the shore of the lake. The weather looked unpromising and rough for the proposed trip to the head of the lake later on, but it changes here with the wind, which may be said to shift round twenty or thirty times a day—and by the afternoon the lake was calm and the weather bright.

The steamer was late in being signalled, and when she came alongside the jetty there was a flock of sheep to be disembarked, refusing in a body to move, till one was dragged off as a "decoy," when they all followed "like a flock of sheep." Altogether we were two hours late in starting. The captain, the engineer, and the steward, greeted us again as old friends, and we felt quite at home on the Mountaineer.

We had not realized till we got away from Queenstown what a splendid range "the Remarkables" were, with their serrated peaks and depressed edges filled with snow, running in ridges of downwards or crossway lines. The mountains were grander and gloomier, rising to a greater height here than in the lower part of the lake.

The flattened top of the Necklace Mountain forms the landmark where the steamer turns the White Point into the upper end of the lake. We had to go six miles out of our course to land a shepherd on a small pier, throwing his dog overboard to swim after him. The steamer stops wherever it is wanted, and a fire is lighted as a signal on the shore, or two in cases of sickness.

We were very glad of this divergence, because our course took us straight across the lake, in full view of all the glory and beauty of that grand collection of snow domes which shut in the lake at the head.

Monarch above all rose Mount Earnslaw, 9000 feet above the sea level, with his long saddle of pure white snow leading up on the one side to the arrête, and the small conical peak of the summit. The long descent on the other side is formed of innumerable peaks, and curved round in the shape of a circular basin.

Inside this there is a glacier of many thousand acres in extent, from under a glassy portal in whose side issues a stream called the Rees. In the summer, after the snow has melted away, the glacier takes a beautiful lake-green colour, such as those who have seen it affirm is found nowhere else.

Mr. Green gives a most interesting account, in "The High Alps of New Zealand," of his ascent of Mount Earnslaw, but he only accomplished 6000 feet, and was surpassed last summer by Mr. Walker of Dunedin, who made a further ascent of 300 feet. It is wonderful to think of those eternal glaciers and iron-bound peaks, untouched by the foot of man, for ever destined to be beyond his range.

On either side of us were the Humboldt Range and the picturesque Cosmos, with their sides terraced into steps which are supposed to show the different levels of the glacier lake.

We had not seen a single fine sunset whilst in New Zealand, and if we were destined to see but one, it was well for us that it came on this particular evening. We beheld a sky mottled at first with beautiful opal tints, and then changing to a pearly grey, streaked with pale blue, succeeded in its turn by crimson clouds, that left their rosy traces on the hills, for we had a real Alpine "after-glow" reflected on the dazzling purity of the snow.

The ruddy tinge still lingered on a few high peaks, long after the others were in shade, and we watched regretfully the last warm colouring fade away, and leave them lifeless, cold, and grey, ghastly in the gathering gloom.

We sat on deck muffled in shawls, till Orion and the Southern Cross came up, and the cold wind drove us down into the stuffy little cabin, with its swinging oil lamp.

We arrived at Kinloch in total darkness about 9 p.m. We could only see the wooden pier by the light of the lantern held by an old man (we found it was full of holes the next morning), and we stumbled after him up a rough pathway. The Mountaineer sent forth a shrill shriek on the still night air, that echoed from the mountains round, and in the darkness we heard the steamer ploughing her way across the lake to Garlochie, her night's resting-place. Two girls came out of a hut at the old man's call, and led us up to a deserted cottage on the hill. One brought a shovelful of coals, and lighted the fire, while another found some ends of candle. The house smelt musty and damp, as if it had long been uninhabited. I passed a very disturbed night, thinking I heard sounds outside, and the situation was strange and lonely, for we were in a deserted house, in an isolated spot, and with the front door standing wide open all night.

We were called at half-past five for the steamer, which we heard giving warning whistles, and saw coming across from Garlochie. We had a delicious morning for our return journey down the lake, seeing One Tree and Pidgeon Islands, which we had missed in the darkness last night, and Mount Earnslaw for the last time, looking superb in the clear morning air.

Twenty-five miles away lie the beautiful Sounds of the West Coast, but the road between the lake and the coast is as yet unpierced. I have seen pictures and heard descriptions of Milford and Dusky Sounds, and they must be very beautiful, but at present the Union S.S. Company only run one excursion steamer there during the year.

We stayed an hour at Queenstown, and reached Kingston at 1 p.m. The train left half an hour afterwards, and we arrived at Invercargill at eight that evening to find a gale blowing that augured badly for the morrow.

Lake Wakitipu will soon become the favourite resort for the business men of Dunedin, and we thought it as beautiful as Lucerne or any of the Italian lakes; not so pretty perhaps, on account of the want of vegetation, but grander and more sublime in the outline of the mountains.

We were leaving New Zealand the next day, and with the greatest regret. The homely geniality and hospitality that we had met with during our sojourn in both islands had made the few weeks spent there full of pleasant recollections. Afterwards, when our travels were all over and we were home once more, I found we always looked back to New Zealand as the happiest part of our travels; so thoroughly had we enjoyed our expedition to the Hot Lakes and geysers in the North Island, and to Lake Wakitipu in the South.

CHAPTER X

TASMANIA AND VICTORIA

Friday, October 24th, Invercargill.—The morning had come on which we were leaving New Zealand, and it was blowing a terrible hurricane.

As we went in the train down to the "Bluff," we received no encouragement as to the abatement of the wind in the waving of the tussock-grass and ti-tree waste we passed through. A simoon was being raised on the vast sand dunes in the distance.

Arrived at the "Bluff," we found the greatest difficulty, from the violence of the wind, in walking along the wooden pier to where we saw the red funnel of the Union S.S. Company's Manapouri. It blinded and deafened us, and we narrowly escaped a terrible accident with an engine that was tearing down upon C., who was walking between the rails on the pier. The driver was not looking, and the noise of the wind carried away all sound of the approaching locomotive. I happened to turn round at the moment when it was just on him, and, with a shriek of horror, was just in time to seize and pull him out of the way.

The "Bluff" is the most detestable place—a cape lying out into the sea where a perpetual gale rages.

The steamer would not sail till six in the evening, having only arrived late that morning, after a terrible night at sea, in the teeth of a head-wind. The passengers in the Social Hall certainly looked as if much suffering had been their lot. All the afternoon the crew were lading grain, and taking on board a large number of cattle. The poor beasts were slung off the railway-trucks and lowered on to the decks by means of a steam-winch, and ropes passed round the body. It was piteous to see their look of terror when suspended in mid-air.

Never were ship people more thoughtful for the comfort of their passengers than on this occasion, when they gave us dinner at half-past five instead of six, that we might have it over before starting; for I venture to say that twenty minutes after starting nearly all the passengers were prostrate in their berths.

No one thought of looking out for the coast-line of Stewart's Island, which is sometimes called the South Island and the other the Middle Island. We had a most terrible night's tossing in the Foveaux Straits, all so very, very ill. We had the advantage of having two cabins opposite each other, but they were very far forward, quite in the bows of the boat, and so we had the full benefit of the motion.

Saturday, the 25th, and Sunday, the 26th, were very blank days for us both, lying miserably ill in our berths. We heard in the distance the strains of the morning and evening service, and around us the more melancholy sounds of many sufferers. To add to our deep depression, C. remembered, and called feebly out to me, that we were thus miserably keeping an anniversary of our wedding-day.

Generally I can count myself a fair sailor, but during this voyage of four days I was pitilessly ill, and C. ate absolutely nothing the whole time.

We were under water for the first forty-eight hours, the waves washing over the hurricane and main decks, and a port-hole having been "stove in" at our end, the water swished down through the passage and into some of the cabins.

Tuesday, October 28th.—Since daylight the coast of Tasmania had been in sight, and going up on deck after breakfast we were just passing by the headland of a curious formation, exactly resembling the Giant's Causeway, or Iona and Staffa. Here we entered the bay formed by the River Derwent opening out to the sea; on which river twelve miles higher up lies the town of Hobart, the capital of Tasmania.

We were alongside the wharf by 10.30, and in haste to set foot on terra-firma.

I explored the chief street of the town—Manchester Street—whilst C. went to call on the Governor, Sir George Strahan. We found that his Excellency and his Private Secretary, the Hon. John Wallop, were coming by the steamer to Melbourne. Hobart has a very dull, sleepy look, and the people we met in the streets seemed to be chiefly the passengers off the Manapouri. The town, like the whole of Tasmania, is utterly devoid of enterprise. The colony contains 127,000 inhabitants, of whom 2000 are in Hobart. So little has been done to improve the land, that the beef and mutton for home consumption have to be imported from New Zealand—witness our cargo of cattle—and the only flourishing industry is the jam trade, of which 150,000 lbs. are annually sent to Victoria.

Tasmania is an island rich in beautiful scenery—extremely beautiful all Australians tell you,—its mountain-ranges culminate in the lofty peaks of the Cradle Mountain, Ben Lomond, and Mount Humboldt. It is clothed with forests, in which the gum-trees attain to an extraordinary height. The climate is perfect, with a clear atmosphere and cool breeze, so that Tasmania has come to be the great sanatorium of Australia. When the heat of the summer declares itself in Melbourne and Sydney, there is a general exodus to Tasmania, and Hobart is gay during its season of three months. It seemed to me as if the Australians must be rather pushed to it for a watering-place if they make Hobart their principal one.

The Manapouri had gone round to the cattle-wharf to swim the cattle ashore, and, thus stranded, we wandered about exploring the dull sleepiness of the little town. Then we went for a drive through the Domain in order that I might see Government House. It is a beautiful castellated mansion, built in the old days of transportation to Van Diemen's Land, and when convict labour was cheap. The gardens run down to the Derwent, whose waters are so still and broad that you quite think it is a lake in the park. We drove next through Macquarie Street, an interminable street, called after a former governor, who gave his name to many places, perpetuating it seemingly as far and as long as possible. On either side were the fashionable residences of Hobart, small houses standing back from the road, like suburban villas. Already we saw no tree but the "eternal gum-tree," which alone flourishes in Australia. Its dull blue foliage formed the covering to the extreme summit of the rounded dome of Mount Wellington. Our drive to the Cascade ended in the Cascade Brewery, the waterfall being a walk of a mile farther.

C. paid a long visit to Mr. Solly, the Under-Secretary, who gave him a great deal of information about Tasmania. The Premier, the Hon. Adye Douglas, was unfortunately out of town for the day, but he came on board later in the evening. We went at four to the House of Assembly. They accommodated us with chairs on the floor of the House, and it was most uncomfortably shy work, passing before the Speaker's chair to reach them in the face of the assembled members.

We took on board an immense theatrical troupe of sixty, and their paraphernalia and scenery, which had to be lowered scene by scene into the hold, delaying us for two hours, so that it was eight o'clock before we left Hobart.

We had half thought of going overland from Hobart to Launceston, so as to see the interior of Tasmania, but we were deterred by the twelve hours' crossing of Bass's Straits in a wretched steamer. We bought some of the pretty Tasmanian shells, but I was disappointed in not being able to get any of the native cat-skins, whose soft dark fur with white spots makes such pretty trimmings. They are scarce now, as Government has protected them from the too great depredations that were being practised. The same protection has also had to be extended to the opossums to save them from total annihilation.

Thursday, October 30th.—About 11 a.m. we entered the Heads at Port Phillip, passing into the beautiful Hobson's Bay, which extends for forty miles on either side of us, and is forty miles in length from the Heads to the mouth of the Yarra. The weather became instantly warmer in the bay, and every one came up on deck to sun themselves. We passed the little island on which lies the watering-place of Queenscliff, a few houses, with a monster hotel. Later on the Quarantine Station and Sorrento, a favourite resort for holiday-makers, and then we saw Melbourne, or rather its two suburbs of Brighton and St. Kilda. Twenty miles off there were the dark ranges of Dandenong, a spur of the Gipps Land Mountains forming a gloomy background to Melbourne, and to the west Geelong on the Bay of Como, with the single peak of the "Anakies." All vessels have to pass ten miles up the Yarra, and anchor at the docks at Williamstown. At the mouth of the river opposite Sandridge we stopped to take the pilot on board, and the steam launch, with the Governor's Aide-de-camp, sent to meet the Governor of Tasmania, came alongside. Captain Hughes was the bearer of a letter from the Governor, Sir Henry Brougham Loch, with a cordial invitation to us to Government House. We landed at the wharf at Sandridge. There was a guard of honour of the Victorian Permanent Artillery Force drawn up to salute the Governor, and Mr. Chomley, the Chief Commissioner of the Victoria Constabulary, welcomed us. Long before we arrived at Government House we saw the enormous pile of buildings, with the tower which forms the finest Government House of the colonies, and is the largest stone dwelling-house in Australasia. Some people think the building extremely ugly, and talk of the tower as the "chimney of a manufactory," but in any case it presents a suitably imposing appearance. Passing through the stone gateway, with the carved armorial bearings, and the lodge used as a guard-house, we drove up to one of the several handsome portico entrances. The arrangement of the reception-rooms is excellent. They are entirely apart from the everyday rooms, and have two separate entrances (one of which is kept as the entrée), that leads to the yellow satin-lined drawing-room, the state dining-room, and magnificent ball-room, which is twenty feet longer than that of Buckingham Palace.

The party staying in the house were Sir William Robinson, Governor of South Australia, and Miss Robinson, with Mr. Williams as A.D.C., Sir George Strahan and Mr. Wallop, Lord William Nevill and the staff, consisting of Lord Castlerosse, Captain Trail, Captain Seymour Hughes, and Mr. Sturgis.

C. and I went into the town in the afternoon to fetch our letters at the post-office, and were gladdened by a large budget of home news. We were struck with the excellent arrangements for obtaining the letters, and the post-office is a magnificent building outside. It seemed so strange and bewildering at first, to see crowded streets once more, the carriages going in single file, and the people jostling each other on the pavements; for all the country-folk are in town just now, come up for "the Cup" and the race-week.

In the evening we went to a grand fancy ball, given by Sir William and Lady Clarke at the Town Hall, which was beautifully decorated with flowers; the platform at the end being made into a bower of tree-ferns. The ball was a magnificent sight, with 1200 people in costumes of every period, interspersed with uniforms of the navies and armies of several nations. The dresses were much more elaborate and expensive than you would generally see at a fancy ball in England.

It was very strange to think that night of our first introduction to Australia—a fancy ball in Melbourne; very strange to think of a round of gaieties going on in the Antipodes, with not less "rush" than in the London season at home.

Saturday, November 1st, was the "Derby Day" of the Melbourne races. We left Government House at noon, a party of fourteen on the coach, with the Governor driving. They had considerately watered the roads, and we did not suffer from the dust, which usually rises in clouds in the broad streets of Melbourne. We drove round to the members' entrance, and up the centre of the course, pulling up opposite to the judge's stand. The Governor and Lady Loch were conducted to the vice-regal box in the centre of the stand by the stewards and the secretary of the Victoria Racing Club, Mr. Byron Moore, the band playing "God save the Queen;" and the first race, fixed for 1 p.m., then came off. There was general interest taken in this race, on account of many of the horses running in it being entered for "the Cup."

The Flemington race-course is extremely pretty, much more so than the course at Ascot, and the arrangements for the races are quite perfect in every respect. There is a beautiful lawn in front of the grand stand, on which the band plays, with a raised concrete terrace leading to the stand. Above that again is the artificial hill on which you see placarded sundry numbers. These numbers indicate the rendezvous of the smaller bookmakers after the race, for which privilege they pay a yearly rent of 10l. There are luncheon and refreshment rooms, and the ladies' cloakrooms are large and spacious, with every toilette requisite, even down to the pin-cushion with needles ready threaded with different shades of silk, and which we were shown with great pride, as an example of the completeness of the minor details. The charge for the stand is only 10s., all inclusive. There is a separate room for the Press, communicating with the top of the stand, where they have their own operators and telegraph-line. Thus they can come down from the stand and send off the result instantly after witnessing the race. There is no rowdyism and no crowding; everybody is well-dressed and well-behaved. The betting-ring is away from the stand and lawn, and bookmakers are not allowed beyond the board marked "Silence!" There is a machine on the judge's stand, the spring of which the starter presses as the horses are off, and the hand goes round during the race, marking the minutes and seconds. The course was capitally cleared by the mounted police.

It was a very pretty sight, warm and sunny on the lawn and not unpleasantly crowded. People were magnificently, and, with a very few glaring exceptions, tastefully dressed. The tendency here is always towards bright and rather too striking contrasts; but pretty faces and pretty gowns were plentiful. The Racing Club provided the luncheon for the Governor and his party in the reserved room at the back of the stand, and there was a profusion of invitations to tea in the tents by the reserved space for carriages and the two or three four-in-hands which appeared.

The great race of the day, the "Derby of Australasia," was run at 3.30. Bargo was the hot favourite, but came in at the finish nowhere, and Rufus proved the winner of the Derby, amid intense excitement.

We left immediately afterwards, the Governor being cheered as he drove off the course.

We went to the Bijou Theatre in the evening, when Miss de Grey's Company performed "Moths" by "vice-regal command," as we learnt by the white satin printed programmes.

As we came out we heard the sound of dull cheers at the entrance, and the police with difficulty kept the path open for the Governor and Lady Loch; the enthusiastic crowd broke through as they drove off, and a most exciting scene ensued, the policemen vainly pommelling and fisticuffing the good-natured roughs, and we entered the carriage amid a general scrimmage. It was only the true "larrikin" element, showing itself after the races and on a Saturday night.

Sunday, November 2nd.—We went to a church, chiefly remarkable for the extraordinary height of its pulpit; and walked to it along the dusty bit of the St. Kilda road, and over the cranky wooden bridge. There is a dispute between the town and the adjoining municipality about the possession of this particular piece of road, and neither will allow its watering-carts to go over it—with destructive results.