CHAPTER XXIII.
START FOR NEW ZEALAND—EXTINCT VOLCANOES—SIR GEORGE GREY’S TREASURES—TREE-KANGAROOS.
AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND, _Sunday Night, December 31, 1876_.
All best greetings to you, one and all. We arrived yesterday in New Zealand, and it is now 10 P.M. on New Year’s Eve. We had to leave Nasova on Christmas Eve (Sunday), but not till the afternoon; so we had the pleasure of seeing our poor little church all transformed, by the help of great tree-ferns and palm-fronds, and a moderate amount of red cloth—simple but very effective decoration. The palm-fronds especially are invaluable, as one on each side of an arched window does all that is required.
After luncheon we embarked—our party consisting of Lady Gordon, Jack and Nevil, Mrs Abbey and the Portuguese nurse, Mr Maudslay, and myself. The cabin was such an uncomfortable little hole that only the children were condemned to sleep there, while we preferred remaining on deck, notwithstanding some rain-squalls. We reached Khandavu on Christmas morning, and found a very fine large American steamer, the City of Sydney, waiting for the arrival of the mail from San Francisco, which was to give her the New Zealand passengers, and go on to Australia. Our little steamer did seem like a pigmy as we ran alongside of the great mail-steamer, with her clear deck, allowing an unbroken walk of about 300 feet.
We went on board at once, and the jovial old half-caste stewardess told us that on the last trip they carried 250 cabin passengers, besides an immense menagerie. We somewhat dreaded the probability of so huge an influx, and anxiously awaited the arrival of the San Francisco mail. She came, and a few moments later up went the yellow flag. Dr Mayo had found a case of suspected small-pox, so of course quarantined her at once. After the frightful scourge of measles, brought on by allowing one infected Fijian to land, you can quite understand that quarantine regulations are strict. Great was the excitement and discussion. The Australia wanted to give us all the New Zealand passengers, but our captain happily stood firm, proving that such a course would result in both ships being quarantined, and none available for the mail-service next month. So it was decided that both should go to Auckland. Our great ship was literally empty, and consequently very dull. We sailed at the same moment as the Australia, and though far apart, kept alongside of one another the whole way, and never saw another sail.
Yesterday at dawn we neared Auckland, and the Australia slipped quietly into quarantine harbour, the poor fellow who was ill having settled all doubts by dying the previous day. He was buried at sea. Two fresh cases have also appeared. It is very trying for all the passengers, whose families are here, expecting them for the New Year. Meanwhile we came calmly to our anchorage; but as no one in Auckland seemed capable of realising that two steamers had arrived, and that we were not also in quarantine, no friends came to meet us; so we found our way to the principal hotel, which is not much to boast of, and is at present crowded for the races. However, the landlady managed to stow us away in a series of pigeon-holes, and I then found my way to the post-office, where I was assured there were no letters for any of us, but, after much perseverance, succeeded in extracting an enormous budget, including twelve home letters for myself, which kept me busy all the rest of the day.
Our first impressions of Auckland are not imposing. It is a town of moderate size, now in a transition state from the wooden-house period to the brick era. What chiefly strikes me is, that even at this time of the races it is so quiet and orderly, scarcely a symptom of drink, and every one looks so comfortable and so tidily dressed.
As yet I have seen no one who looks poor. Yet, on the other hand, we see no symptoms of wealth, such as met us at every turn in Sydney. But then, I fancy, all the rich people live down in the southern provinces, Wellington, Christchurch, and Dunedin, which, I fear, we shall not be able to visit. From what we hear of financial difficulties in these parts, we are beginning to think that our poor little Fiji is, after all, not so exceptionally pauperish. Imagine this young colony having already contracted a national debt of upwards of twenty millions! But she follows the example of her mother, and bears the burden very cheerfully.
To-day, being Sunday, I have been at two English churches, each having surpliced choir and bright Christmas decorations. This morning just in front of me sat a body of native police, Maoris. They are fine strapping fellows, like very good specimens of Englishmen, only a shade darker; but their captain, a very handsome man, is richly tattooed on both cheeks with dark-blue lines, like moustaches. They are the first coloured race I have seen who can assume the broadcloth of civilisation without being thereby hopelessly vulgarised. I am also much struck by the beauty of the Anglo-Maori half-castes, all previous experience in other lands having led me in a great measure to sympathise with the aversion commonly felt towards mixed races, who so often unite the worst characteristics of both. Here this rule seems to be reversed, and I am told that the mixed race is as superior intellectually as it is physically.
At this season there are a large number of Maoris in town, attracted by the annual gifts so freely dispensed by the English Government. All the men are picturesque, and enliven their civilised costume by some touch of bright colours: a brilliant scarf, thrown round the hat or the shoulders, lends something of Spanish grace to the wearer. But hats trimmed with loads of commonest artificial flowers do not look in keeping with the shock of unkempt hair overhanging the great dark eyes, and long green-stone ear-rings of the girls, whose lips and chins are disfigured by curves of dark-blue tattooing. Many of them wear bright tartan shawls; and all seem sensitive to cold, for they are much wrapped up, even on these hot midsummer days.
I have been amused at watching the meeting of several parties of friends. Their form of salutation is neither kissing, as in Europe, nor smelling one another, as in Fiji, but they press their noses together, which to our unaccustomed eye looks truly absurd.
* * * * *
_New Year’s Morning, 1877._
I had written so far when my candle went out, so I sat in the dark listening to a real piper in the distance playing “The Campbells are Coming.” Then the clock struck midnight, and the Volunteer band marched down the street playing cheerily; and many bursts of anything but music arose on every side, proving the lungs of the people to be in exceedingly good condition.
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DEVONSHIRE HOUSE, HOBSON STREET, _January 8_.
We moved into these lodgings as soon as possible, and have had some pleasant drives and walks. Auckland lies, as it were, in a cluster of extinct volcanoes. The largest and most perfect specimen is Rangitoto—a great triple cone rising from a base of black lava, very rough and uninviting. The principal crater, near the town, is now known as Mount Eden, and its steep grassy slopes are dotted with pleasant English houses. On its summit there are still traces of the old Maori fortification, in artificially levelled terraces, surrounding the deep crater, in which a whole tribe might lie concealed in case of attack. I sat on the edge of the crater, and sketched the town looking towards three volcanoes. The country all round is dotted with these, but most of them are insignificant little hills. Of course they give great interest to the town, but it is not pretty, though the harbour is pleasant. It reminds me of some towns in the south of England, with the addition of a good land-locked harbour. All the beauty lies further south. The primeval forest which formerly clothed this now barren land has wholly disappeared. What the woodman’s axe spared has been swept away by ruthless burning.
To-day we are going to stay with Sir George Grey on his island-home at Kawau. Mr Whittaker, who is now Prime Minister, has offered Lady Gordon the beautiful Government steamer Hinemoa, to take us there. On our way we are to call at the Wai Wera hot springs, which are much celebrated as a cure for rheumatism and other ailments. But though they lie in a pretty bay, the waters themselves have been imprisoned in baths; and a large hotel is built close by to accommodate a hundred patients.
I am told, however, that there are some marvellously beautiful geysers and terraces of natural baths somewhere in the Maori country, not very far from here. I have not yet met any one who has seen them; for, as you know, people never do go to see things near home, but I hope to find my way there ere long.
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ISLE OF KAWAU, TWENTY MILES FROM AUCKLAND, _January 9_.
Yesterday morning Mr Whittaker came to escort us on board the Hinemoa, which brought us here in great comfort, to receive the most cordial of welcomes from kind Sir George Grey. I suppose you remember that he was Governor here many years ago, and proved himself the stanch friend, both of the Maoris and of the white settlers; then he was made Governor of the Cape of Good Hope (where he arrived just after Roualeyn returned from his lion-hunting).
After this he was a second time appointed Governor of New Zealand. And so dearly does he love both the country and the people, that, when his term of office had expired, he bought this charming island, built a regular English house, and devoted himself to making it a little Paradise—an effort in which nature readily seconds him, so kindly does this good foster-mother (New Zealand) adopt every living thing, animal or vegetable, that is brought to her care.
So palms and pines of many sorts here grow side by side, with all kinds of indigenous hard wood; hops and vines festoon orange-trees, while mulberries and loquats, apples, quinces, pears, and strawberries, all flourish. Peaches, apricots, and figs grow into luxuriant thickets wherever they are once planted, and bear fruit abundantly. Flowers are equally luxuriant,—and one tithe of the care bestowed on a garden in Fiji is here rewarded by a glow of blossom: sweet-peas, jessamine, mignonette, and many other wellnigh forgotten delights, make the whole air fragrant.
The house stands at the head of a lovely little bay, and only a green lawn and a belt of tall flowering aloes intervene between it and the shore. This bay, like all the shores of the isle, is fringed with large trees, called by the Maoris Pohutakawa—_i.e._, the brine-sprinkled—because it loves to outstretch its wide boughs over the salt sea; but the English settlers call it the Christmas-tree,[50] because it invariably blossoms at Christmas-time, and boughs of its scarlet flowers take the place of holly in church-decoration. When in its prime, each tree is one mass of glowing scarlet; and the effect of its flame-coloured branches overhanging the bright blue water, and dripping showers of fiery stamens in the sea or on the grass, is positively dazzling. Already the first burst of colour is passing off, but enough remains to give marvellous beauty to the shores.
The house is like a cosy old English home—every room wood-panelled, and full of strange treasures from many lands. Good old engravings and pictures; wonderful specimens of old Maori carving; weapons and robes of all sorts, including rare feather-cloaks; precious objects from the Summer Palace, including a jade-tablet, which was a page in the Emperor of China’s genealogy; priceless ancient gold jewels from Mexico; the stone-axe of the greatest monarch of the Sandwich Isles; and, strangest of all, some beautiful old china, which for the last two centuries has lain at the bottom of the sea, and has now been rescued from a vessel which was sunk off the Cape two hundred years ago. In the delightful library of carefully selected and valuable works are many old manuscripts of the greatest interest, including about fifteen bound volumes in Arabic character, but written in some dialect of Central Africa which is as yet unknown. These are an Ancient African history. Sir George knew of its existence, and advertised for it when he was Governor of the Cape. Many years afterwards, a case containing the volumes was brought to him by a man-of-war, whose captain stated that a fine old Arab gentleman at Zanzibar had brought it on board, and made him understand that it contained manuscripts which he had succeeded in rescuing from the interior. Only think what strange historical mysteries may one day be solved, when some Arabic scholar shall take to dialect-hunting in Central Africa, and return competent to read these now sealed books!
The children are in Paradise, racing about and finding pets of every sort, all at large,—gold and silver pheasants, and multitudes of common ones. As to skylarks, the whole air seems musical with their lovely warble. I can hardly realise that they, like the too abundant thistles on the mainland, are all imported from Scotland. Last night we strolled up to the dairy—a nice clean English dairy. The path lay over swelling pasture-land—just like Sussex downs—with sheep and cattle feeding. After so long a spell in Fiji, where grass generally means tall reeds, meeting far above your head, the mere fact of walking over short meadow-grass is charming; and then to sit on it, watching the sun set over the sea, and listening to the
“Busy crowd Of larks in purest air.”
carried me right back to Gordonstown, and our own green hills overlooking the Moray Firth. This is the purest air you can imagine. It is just warm enough to be pleasant, and slightly bracing, but not too sudden a change from the tropics.
I have just come in from an exquisite walk with our kind host. He does love this island, which he has beautified with so much care, and has been showing me all manner of interesting things. Amongst others, in a quiet glade of most carefully preserved native bush, we saw a large number of lovely little tree-kangaroos, of which Sir. George imported the first pair from New Guinea, and which have already multiplied exceedingly. They are small animals, as beautiful as they are rare, with the richest brown fur, and when feeding in the grassy glades you would naturally mistake them for hares; but at the faintest sound they sit upright, and standing on their long hind-legs, they bound away with a succession of leaps, and reappear springing from bough to bough, and peering cautiously from among the dark foliage.
Besides these squirrel-like beauties, there are large numbers of common kangaroos, or wallabies, as they are commonly called; and herds of Indian elk, fallow deer, and even red deer, roam at large. Mr Maudslay looks forward to some pleasant days of pheasant-shooting, and also in pursuit of wild cattle and wild pigs. As to the wallabies, they are almost beneath the dignity of a true sportsman—so very deliberate is their strange leaping retreat, and so frequently do they pause to gaze wistfully at him. I believe that even these are imported animals, and that New Zealand, like Fiji, possessed literally no indigenous quadrupeds except a small rat. There are some specimens of the wingless birds still living on this isle as in a haven of refuge; and amongst the house treasures, there is a skeleton of the great extinct moa, which is like a gigantic ostrich.
* * * * *
_January 12._
To-day we have had quite a novel excitement. A large party of Maoris arrived in half-a-dozen good English boats. They were fishing for sharks—not the common shark, though it also haunts these seas, but a small kind, rarely exceeding six feet in length, which they dry for winter food. As all the Maoris come here on the most friendly terms, Mr George (married to Sir George Grey’s niece) took Jack, Nevil, and myself on board their biggest boat. They had already caught upwards of fifty, which were thrown into the hold, and we saw ten more, caught with bait. When hauled in, the sharks receive a violent blow on the nose, which apparently kills them at once. In some seasons the Maoris catch as many as 15,000 off this island, and they take them to a small isle in the neighbourhood where they hang them up to dry; you can imagine how fragrant the atmosphere becomes! Mr George tells me he has seen a wall three hundred feet long, and at least six feet high, of this unsavoury winter store.
Of course to me this glimpse of true Maori life has been most interesting. Afterwards the fishers came to see Sir George, for whom they have a great affection and respect, and with good cause. His knowledge of their language is said to be quite perfect. He has collected a great number of their old songs and legends, and published them; and now a sect called Hau-Hau, who have thrown off their early faith in Christianity, and made up an amalgamated religion for themselves, read this book in their churches as being the Maori Bible, and more edifying to them than the legends of Syria.
It is so strange to hear Sir George tell of all the changes he has seen here since the days when he selected the sites of the settlements, each of which is now a great city—Christchurch for the English Church party, and Dunedin for the Scots. When he first knew the latter it was the home of one old sailor. Later he visited the place and found a flourishing village. After fifteen years, when he returned from the Cape of Good Hope, about 7000 people came out several miles to meet him, and took him by a back way to the great town hall, built on the site where first he had pitched his tent; then they led him to the front, where he was received by upwards of a thousand well-dressed ladies.
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IN AN OLD MAORI PAH, KAWAU, _Sunday, Jan. 28, 1877_.
DEAREST EISA,—The day is so lovely that I have brought my writing up to this pleasant old fort, and am sitting on the grassy top of a yellow sandstone cliff which rises sheer from a sea so clear that, as I look over the precipices, I can see the white-breasted cormorants (the _kawau_) dive for fish, and swim after them under water for ever so far. The only symptom of fighting which remains on this peaceful spot is a deep ditch which runs round the land side; but every marked headland hereabouts has been a _pah_ or fort, where in old days tattooed warriors fought to the death. Those on this island were noted pirates, and at last all the neighbouring tribes united to destroy them. It is peaceful enough now, but matters are by no means over secure on the mainland.[51]
The state of things existing in this country ts most extraordinary. Imagine that, within twenty miles of Auckland, there is a vast tract of land on which no white man dare set foot. Only outlaws, murderers, and suchlike, are there allowed to take refuge, and justice cannot touch them. Sometimes out of respect to Sir George, they will give a personal friend of his permission to travel through the country; but when he sent Mr Maudslay up last week, they turned him back.
A number of them come here to consult Sir George upon various matters. Most of them are very fine men; and what particularly strikes us is seeing how well they look in comfortable woollen suits. I believe the Maoris always did wear plenty of clothes—at least large blankets, beautifully made either of flax or _kiwi_ feathers. When Mr Maudslay was in their country last week, he showed them a number of Fijian photographs, at which they looked with keen interest; but were much shocked by the undress of the girls, which, they remarked, was even worse than that of the ladies at the Government House balls!
The climate here is delicious: each day is like a very lovely English summer, or like our coolest days in Fiji. Indeed our life here is much the same as if we were living on one of the Fijian isles,—just as isolated and self-contained.
Only once a-week does a steamer call with the mails, and great is the excitement it occasions. All the families living on the island (numbering about six, gardener, carpenter, shepherds, and labourers) assemble on the beach with all their babies. The six house-maidens, three of whom are the daughters of one of the resident families, also turn out. They wear neat cotton dresses, and large straw-hats, trimmed with white muslin and black velvet; and very nice and simple they look. Sir George extends to all his people the same genial cordiality and genuine kindness by which he makes us feel so thoroughly at home here. His one wish is that all should enjoy this little paradise of peace and beauty as much as he does himself. So every girl in the house is allowed two hours’ walk every afternoon, and the whole of Sunday afternoon; and once a-week they have a dance, to which they invite the few swains within reach, and have a very lively evening. Most of their fathers own a bit of land somewhere, and they will probably marry small landowners.
Such a sad thing happened quite lately on the mainland just opposite here. A young man had just received his bride elect from her parents, and the two started alone to ride to Auckland (distant about twenty-five miles), there to get married. In the dusk he struck a match to light his pipe. His horse reared, threw him down a bank, and he was killed instantly. The wretched girl had to ride on alone till she reached a house, where she found people, who returned with her to rescue his body. Certainly the dwellers in thinly-peopled districts have to face many a rough bit on their path through life.
As to ourselves, life goes on very peacefully, and very pleasantly. We explore all the lovely bays and the little valleys and headlands, and admire the care with which every natural advantage has been preserved and fresh beauties added. Certainly this is a paradise for acclimatisation; and in a very few years it will be hard to guess what is indigenous and what imported. There are pines and cypresses from every corner of the globe; Australian gums; silver-leaved trees from the Cape; and all manner of fruit-bearing trees, planted for the enjoyment of all alike. And these mingle freely with all forms of hardwood peculiar to New Zealand, notably the stately _kauri_ pine (_Dammara australis_), which is peculiar to the province of Auckland, and very similar to the _ndakua_ pine of Fiji; and neither of them would at the first glance be recognised by the unlearned to be pines at all, their foliage being small oblong leaves, and their cones insignificant; their stem is perfectly upright. There is an indigenous palm here, called the _nikau_, a species of areka; and the green dracæna (_Cordyline australis_) flourishes on all moist soil. The settlers call it the cabbage-tree, though its cluster of long handsome leaves crowning a tall stem is nowise suggestive of that familiar vegetable. The Maoris call it the _ti_ tree—by which name the whites, in common with the Australian blacks, call a scrubby shrub, somewhat resembling juniper or gigantic heather, which to the Maoris is known as _manakau_. Its foliage consists of tiny needles, while its delicate white blossoms resemble myrtle. It grows in dense thickets, and spreads so rapidly as to cause endless trouble to the settler who endeavours to convert the hillsides into such pleasant slopes of English grass as those which here appear so perfectly natural, that I could at first hardly believe them to be the result of patient toil.
Just below the headland where I am now sitting, there are tufts of handsome green flags. This is the precious New Zealand flax (_Phormium tenax_). Its handsome stalk of red blossom (fully ten feet high) is a special attraction to the bees; and great are the treasures of wild honey to be dug out of the banks, by wily hunters. The long leaves of this flax are nature’s ready-made cords and straps, so strong is the fibre, and so readily do the leaves split into the narrowest strips. At the base of each leaf there is a coating of strong gum, which, I believe, is the chief difficulty in employing machinery in the manufacture of this flax, so as to render it a profitable article of commerce.
As to tree-ferns of many kinds, their luxuriance is not to be surpassed. In some deep shady places I have seen them growing stems fully thirty feet high; while other green gullies are wholly overshadowed by great fronds which on the under side gleam like silver. Imagine the delight of losing yourself in such a dream of loveliness, and perhaps coming suddenly on a thicket of figs or peaches, loaded with ripe fruit! Then wandering homeward through the meadows, by the course of a sparkling brooklet, and gathering mushrooms and water-cresses in abundance, while overhead the larks are singing in chorus.
Another luxury is the abundance of oysters. The island has a coast-line of about thirty miles, along which lie a succession of oyster-beds. Not content with covering the rocks, they grow on the lower branches of the beautiful “brine-sprinkled” _pohutakawa_ trees, which literally dip into the sea. And so we sit beneath their shadow and knock the oysters off with a sharp stone, and have feasts which any epicure might envy; for the oysters are of excellent flavour. I own that at first I did feel considerable repugnance to this method of eating my fellow-creatures (which certainly seemed near akin to the Fijian taste for eating various small fish alive); but having once been induced to try it, I plead guilty to being now foremost at every oyster picnic, being fully satisfied that the interesting mollusc must be devoid of nerves, and of all consciousness of the pleasures of existence!
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_February 13._
I must tell you about a wonderful effect of phosphorescence which I have seen on the last two nights while looking down from my window to the lovely little bay. On Sunday the 11th there had been violent thunderstorms, with vivid lightning and downpours of rain, leaden skies, and a bright-green sea. So heavy were the rain-storms that the whole bay was discoloured by the red mud washed down by the streamlets—a strange contrast to its usually faultless crystalline green. I chanced to look out about 11 P.M., and saw the whole bay glowing with pale white light; and fiery wavelets rippled right up beneath the trees and round the rocks, which stood out sharp and black. The effect was of a sea of living light, and as I beheld it, framed by dark trees, with tall flowering aloes cutting black against the dazzling light, it was a weird and wonderful scene. For about ten minutes I watched it entranced, then it slowly faded away, and the scene was changed to dense obscurity. Last night I looked out at the same hour, and saw nothing but darkness, but about midnight I was awakened by a deafening crash of thunder, followed by heavy rain. I guessed this would stir up whatever creatures caused the strange pallid light. Perhaps they are disturbed by the rain-drops, or perhaps they receive a small electric shock which starts them all dancing. Whatever be the cause, the result proved as I expected. Ere I could reach the window, the bay was illuminated by tiny ripples of fire, which gradually increased in size and number till all was one blaze of glowing dazzling light. This lasted for about five minutes, and then died completely away.
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_March 4._
The Fiji mail has brought us most sad news—namely, the death from dysentery of Mrs Macgregor, the last remaining of our original sisterhood. I was with her the very day we left Levuka, and within six weeks she had passed away, leaving one wee lassie, little Nell, about three years old, also an older boy in Scotland. It seems such a little while since we watched Mrs de Ricci pass away from the same dread illness. And now we hear that Mr Eyre is very ill at Nasova, and that he must be sent here on sick-leave as soon as he can be moved. Colonel Pratt was invalided some time ago, and has been for some weeks in Auckland. Sir George invited him to come here, and we expected him by several successive steamers, but each time he was too ill to come; once he fainted twice in one day. Certainly he ought not to risk returning to Fiji. It seems too foolish—and poor Mrs Macgregor’s death is a terrible warning of how little resistance to dysentery can be made by a constitution when once enfeebled by the climate, and Colonel Pratt has long felt it to be trying and exhausting.[52]