CHAPTER XXIV.
GOLD MINES—A NEW CITY—NATIVE DEFENCES—KAURI FOREST—A HARD RIDE—KATI KATI—TAURANGA GATE PAH, AND CEMETERY—OHINEMUTU—A VOLCANIC REGION.
GRAHAMSTOWN, THAMES GOLD-FIELDS, _March 23, 1877_.
MY DEAR ALEXA,—You see I have struck quite a new line of country—very different to peaceful Kawau, which we left a fortnight ago, returning to Auckland for a change. Now Lady Gordon and the children have once more gone back to the isle, but I determined to see something of the country, so in the first instance came here to see real gold-diggings. Five hours by steamer brought me to this great baby town, where kindest welcome awaited me in the home of Captain Fraser, the warden of the gold-fields, an Inverness man, who has lived out here for many years, and is immensely respected. His wife comes from Fife, and I find we have several friends in common. Though a gentle little lady, she must be a woman of rare pluck, for all through the Maori war, when her husband had contracts for commissariat, &c., she herself had, in his absence, to superintend all the farrier and blacksmith work, do what she could to prevent the men from drinking (in which task she was often unsuccessful), and look after the packing and despatching of a whole regiment of pack-horses. She had also to keep all the accounts, and attend to many other matters. At other times she was left quite alone—that is, with only one maid-servant, and was warned every night that it would probably be her last. These are the sort of incidents you gather in those new countries, in the history of lives that seem so quiet!
I am amused to find that the gold-fields here are really great rocky mountains, and that there is not a scrap of level ground in the place, except what has been artificially constructed. So, after all, I have not found my way to “the diggings” as I supposed. I find that term only applies to the alluvial gold-fields, where gold has been washed down from the mountains. Here it is all embedded in quartz-veins running through the rocks, and needs hard work to get it out.
Eight years ago this place was all wild New Zealand bush—the mountains densely wooded to the shore. Now not a tree remains (save those planted in gardens); and the well-scraped hills are all burrowed, as if a colony of rabbits had been at work. When first gold was found here there was a grand rush, and this great town sprang up. Then it fell off; but within the last three weeks such a quantity of gold has been found in the Moanatairi mine, that the place is once more in a ferment, and large fortunes have been lost and won in a day over mining shares.
Of course I went to see the lucky mine. We had to walk along a main tunnel, three-quarters of a mile long, all lighted with gas, and the whole roof sparkling with tiny green stars—the lamps of a very ugly worm (not our glow-worm). From this main tunnel shafts descend to the different mines, and, in some cases, side drives diverge. The latter, being easier of access, suited me best, and answered the purpose as well. I went into various burrows, where the men were hard at work—generally two in partnership; and some nice lads worked extra hard (with pickaxe) to try and find a scrap of gold for me.
Then we went to see the batteries where the quartz is crushed and the gold extracted by various processes (all this by mighty machinery). But the most powerful of all is the huge pump, whose shaft is 650 feet deep, and which pumps all the mines. The water deposits silica in such quantities that the great tubes are coated every few days with an incrustation about an inch thick, that has to be removed with a chisel.
A good deal of the gold can only be got by pounding the quartz till it becomes white mud (through which quicksilver is run to amalgamate the gold). Then the quicksilver is boiled and distilled, and it passes off in steam, leaving the gold pure. The gold is brought to the bank to be melted again and made into bricks. I was there yesterday when 12,000 ounces were brought in, in six lumps larger than a man’s head. They had to be broken up with wedge and sledge-hammer, into pieces small enough for the melting-pot, out of which the red gold was poured, when liquid, into moulds, already greased—or rather oiled—which oil blazed up; and then the mould was cooled in water, and the golden brick produced. I said red gold,—for so it looked when melted; but the bricks are sickly-looking, owing to the amount of silver in the ore—30 per cent.
So much for the gold which has produced this big baby town; but the town itself astonishes me most, as the growth of eight years—a large town, stretching along the shore for two miles; and apart from the huge batteries and chimneys and mining buildings of all sorts, it is quite a pleasant town,—great part of it built on land actually reclaimed from the sea by the mining-stuff thrown out (clean quartz and sandstone). Every miner has a nice house and garden, quantities of fruit and flowers, and generally a tidy wife and family.
On Sunday all work stops, and the whole population turn out, well dressed and orderly. There are churches of every conceivable denomination—all well filled. The Church of England, where we were on Sunday, is large and handsome, with a £300 stained-glass window. A very fine naval reserve corps, and a military cadet corps, were present (all miners); and there is a strong volunteer corps of Scotchmen (also miners). Altogether, I never saw a more satisfactory community than this big baby mining city; and having the beautiful sea is such an advantage—steamers always coming and going. I cannot help comparing the advantages of life in New Zealand with those of poor colonists in Fiji: why, in the matter of house-rent alone,—Captain Fraser bought this pretty house, with good garden and grounds, for £400; whereas at Levuka the Havelocks were paying £218 a-year rent for a much smaller house, with no garden to speak of.
Captain Fraser has just told me that he will make arrangements to enable me to ride across country into the wonderful volcanic district which I am longing to see. My luggage will return to Auckland by one steamer, and go thence by another steamer to Tauranga, where I shall find it, so I can only keep as much as can be strapped to my side-saddle. When the plan was first suggested, I was told the tracks would be impassable and the ride impracticable; but Captain Fraser says that if I can stand some rough work, I can do it well enough. So he is taking no end of trouble to plan a pleasant expedition for me, and make my way easy; he will lend me his own horses, and is writing to his friends all along my route to request them to show me hospitality, and act escort from one point to the next.
So next Tuesday I am to go by steamer up the river Thames to Ohinemuri, and thence ride to the house of Mr Allom, who is here now, but returns home to-morrow, and who will put me up for a night; and next day he and his daughter will ride with me to Kati Kati, a new Irish settlement of colonists from Belfast, headed by Mr Vesey Stewart. The colony includes one Englishman—namely, Arthur Fisher, Bishop Eden’s grandson! How I do stumble on home-links everywhere! He is to be electrified by a telegram, requesting him to meet us at the ford and guide us over. How astonished he will be!
All further stages of the road are planned with equal care, so I have the prospect of a very delightful expedition.
* * * * *
KATI KATI, _March 29_.
... I must tell you about my journey here from the Thames gold-fields. First, three hours in a capital little steamer, the Te Aroha, up the lovely river Thames, passing through forests of the white pine (_kahikatia_), with shapely blue hills beyond, and the banks of the river fringed with lovely vegetation—New Zealand flax, convolvulus, tree-ferns, masses of sweet-brier (imported), and splendid weeping willows, also imported, but now growing more luxuriantly than I ever saw them do in England. And here and there rich pasture-land and many cattle feeding, mostly the property of the Maoris, for we were now passing through lands reserved by the natives, and saw many of their villages.
We reached the steamboat’s destination at sunset, when the hills were crimson and purple, and had the luck to see a real native _pah_ which the inhabitants have just fortified, to prevent a hostile tribe from coming up the river. It was nothing to look at, only reeds and posts, but interesting of course. All the wild unkempt women came out to look at me, and we waved hands. Lucky for me that we were safe out of nose-rubbing distance! The civilised Maoris have taken to European ways in every respect—have English houses, carriages, &c.; even dressing-tables with white muslin covers and pink lining!
At the landing-place I was met by Mr Allom. One of Captain Fraser’s horses had been sent for me; I have my own excellent saddle, and we had a lovely moonlight ride of about five miles along the beautiful Ohinemuri river (that means “the girl I have left”). I received most cordial welcome from Mrs Allom, a handsome pleasant lady (none the less so for many years of severe roughing), and the mother of a large family. They are now living in a rough wooden shanty, and themselves doing all their cooking, &c., in the one living-room. They made me most comfortable; and at break of day Mrs A. was astir, quietly and unaffectedly, preparing a capital breakfast (having fed the horses herself at 4 A.M.), and at 7 A.M. Mr A., his eldest daughter, and I, started to ride here—a twenty-five miles’ ride, which became twenty-eight by our having to make a long circuit round a swamp, as the foot-track which we were following crossed an innocent-looking creek, in which the foremost horse got hideously bogged.
Our first mile lay through the most exquisite tract of bush I have ever seen anywhere, though my experience in tropical isles has made me somewhat fastidious in this matter. But here nature seems to have surpassed herself, as if rejoicing in her own loveliness, so artistic is the grouping of varied foliage and clumps of delicate tree-ferns, and so rich the undergrowth of all manner of humbler forms. I saw some clusters of tree-ferns whose stems were nearly forty feet high, and matted with luxuriant creepers. These just touched by gleams of sunlight, stealing through the dark masses of foliage overhead; groups of the tall _matai_ and _rimu_, the red or white pine, mingling with the various kinds of hardwood. You cannot conceive anything more lovely. Imagine my disgust on hearing the practical comment of a settler on this dream of beauty: “Oh yes, that block has been reserved for firewood!” implying that all the now dull country round was equally beautiful till it was “improved” by wholesome burning, to facilitate clearings. Such is the march of civilisation in all lands!
On the hills just above us lay a magnificent forest of the giant _kauri_ pine, which is found only in this northern part of the north isle. It is a noble tree, its tall upright stems standing ranged like the pillars of some grand cathedral. It is so highly prized for timber that it is largely exported both to the southern isle and to Australia, consequently vast tracts which but a few years ago were primeval forest are now utterly denuded. It is from the scrub-land where these forests once stood that the precious _kauri_ gum is dug up in large clear lumps like amber. They are found within two feet of the surface, and are supposed to have been formed by the melting of the resin when the forests were burned.
High up on the mountain-side lies the new gold-field, “the Ohinemuri,” only started two years ago. We could see the tiny tents and huts of the gold-miners, most of whom have their wives and families with them. It is a most romantic site for a camp, and one which I would fain have visited. The quartz is brought down thence by tramways to the batteries, which are placed further down the hill; and hard labour it has been to drag all that heavy machinery even so far, over hill and dale, through difficult bush, without even the semblance of a road. Such a gold-camp as this would be far more in keeping with our ideal, derived from Bret Harte, than the civilised city of Grahamstown, so I greatly regret that this was not included in my line of march; nothing could have been simpler, as my friends Captain Fraser and Mr Allom are in command of the whole.
As it was, I wistfully turned away from the exquisite fern paradise and the dark _kauri_ forests, and then commenced a long ride across uninteresting plains bounded by commonplace hills. Towards noon we overlooked the seaboard, and paused to learn our day’s geography from the vast map outspread below us, the horses, meanwhile, feasting on a kind of veronica, a shrub with purple blossoms, evidently highly appreciated. We, too, were conscious of having breakfasted at an unwonted hour, but could find no cool shady spot where we could halt for luncheon, till we reached a Maori settlement on the sea-coast.
Thence our way for the last few miles lay along the beach, on broad beautiful sand, with the wavelets rippling right under the horses’ feet. It would have been most enjoyable could we either have gone leisurely, or unburdened. But as it was, we had to hurry on, in order to cross a wide tidal creek at low tide, and already the tide was on the turn. So we had to keep up a hard swinging gallop, and (being as yet a novice in the arts of bush-travelling, in a land where there are no patient coolies ever ready to run miles and miles with luggage) I was encumbered with a heavy travelling-bag insecurely strapped to the pommel—sketching materials ditto—opera-glasses keeping time against my side, and a large umbrella, which I dared not open, though the sun was burning. Having to hold on to all these, and keep up our unflagging pace, was to me desperately fatiguing, and after all, we reached the creek too late, and there was nothing for it but to wait patiently at the little lonely telegraph-station for a couple of hours, when Mr Field, the civil young clerk, offered to row us to our destination (four miles).
This proved fortunate, for the hard gallop in the sun had exhausted me, and all in a minute I turned giddy and unconscious, which would have been awkward had we been half-way across the wide, and at all times unpleasant, ford; as it was, I was all right in a few minutes, and Mr Field made me lie down in his wee room till it was time to start, when we had a lovely moonlight row, and landed here—all three, total strangers—to find that Arthur Fisher and our host and hostess were all alike absent. But we were most hospitably received by two sweet lady-like girls under thirteen, and five sons, the youngest a dear little fellow of four, with a kind good nurse. It had been intended that we should continue the ride to Tauranga to-day, but when I found it was forty miles, and no resting-place by the way, I cried off, and am going down the lake (twenty-five miles) by boat. Mr Allom and his daughter will return home from here.
* * * * *
OHINEMUTU, _Easter Day 1877_.
Two years, this morning, since we sailed from Marseilles! This is not very like Easter Day, but is certainly novel. I might say, not suggestive of heaven so much as of the Inferno, for the land on every side of us is but a thin crust, through which boiling springs burst up in every direction, and clouds of hot steam rise from every tuft of ferns or tempting bit of foliage. Each spring seems to differ from all the others in the character of the water—the mineral qualities I mean; so when they have been duly analysed, there will be some to suit every complaint under heaven. Even now many people have been cured by them of long-standing rheumatism—but it is not safe to be the first to experimentalise. Not long ago two gentlemen determined to try all the springs in succession, and at last one of them became paralysed. However, it is safe enough to indulge in the usual regulated baths, in which you can remain as long as ever you please; and very delightful they are—no matter how tired you may be, you seem to come out all right. The regular thing, however, is for the whole population, of both sexes, to bathe together in the warm mud, and then swim about in the cool lake: and white gentlemen are apt to be rather startled when a dusky damsel swims up to them and offers a whiff of her pipe!
But I must take up the thread of my story where I left off—namely, the voyage down the lake from the Irish settlement at Kati Kati to Tauranga. It was in a small boat, rowed by one old man. He accepted me as a “pal,” and told me off to steer, and didn’t he just keep me in order! But owing to the tides and the mangrove-swamps, which had to be avoided, it was 4 P.M. before we were able to start, and it was 12 P.M. ere we reached Tauranga, and my poor old boy was so exhausted that he could not row round to the pier, so landed me on a mud-swamp half a mile off. Luckily it was a bright moonlight night, and so bitterly cold that a walk was quite a pleasure, though a good deal of it was ankle-deep in mud; so we left my saddle in the boat till morning, not without some qualms on my part, and started to find the house of Mrs Edgecumbe, to whom I had been consigned by Captain Fraser. Of course, the house was shut up, and I felt rather shy of walking up and knocking at such an hour. Happily my host was a light sleeper, and answered instantly; and in a second a cheery English maid welcomed me, took me to the kitchen and warmed me, by which time my host was dressed, and fed me with all good things. His wife had gone to Auckland with a sick child. They had arranged that Arthur Fisher was to be on the watch for me—on the pier—till all reasonable hours had passed. And there he actually did wait till 2 A.M., which, however, I did not know till next morning, when he came to escort me over the town of Tauranga, which has a deep interest, as the scene of one of the most dreadful fights with the Maoris—that of the Gate Pah, where so many English officers were killed. I found in the very picturesque cemetery the names of various men I knew. It is a lovely spot by the sea, and lovingly cared for—a green headland, where bright blossoms bloom beneath the shelter of English willows, and scented geraniums grow in wild profusion among the rocks.
This was on Good Friday, and Arthur and I had naturally intended going to church; but we found closed doors, the parson and his people being in a curious state of antagonism. In Auckland all church services are elaborate, and the two bishops were holding mission services, but I cannot say the country districts seem very well cared for. As concerns the Maoris (who began by being as warm Christians as our Fijians now are), a vast multitude who, previous to the war, were apparently most reverent and devout, have now a profound contempt for the white man’s religion: and so, having either banished or murdered their teachers, they have invented new religions for themselves—strange compounds of many creeds, mingled with most utter absurdities. But even such as continue to be Christians now seem to be deserted by their teachers, and the churches stand empty. Even to-day—Easter—there has been no service in this large settlement.
At Tauranga I was able to hire a good bush-carriage and strong four horse team, with relay, for the forty miles’ drive. Most of it lay through the bush, but its beauty has been destroyed by the wholesale felling of the tree-ferns, whose black stems are closely laid as sleepers across the worst parts of the very worst bush-road I ever saw. It seemed a more cruel misuse of these lovely plants than even the Fijian custom of employing them largely in house-building. Here, from their low estate, many of the forgiving plants put forth fresh fronds, and the muddy road was fringed with a border of tender green.
On arriving here I found two tidy little hotels, and decided to stay at Mrs Wilson’s, where I have received the utmost hearty kindness, and am very well cared for. There are three ladies and some gentlemen staying in the house, for the sake of the healing waters.
Ohinemutu is a native settlement on the shores of Lake Rotorua, situated in the very midst of boiling springs of every variety. As you look down on the village you catch glimpses of the little brown huts appearing and disappearing through veils of white vapour. The whole country round seems to be steaming, and every step requires caution lest you should carelessly plunge through the thin and treacherous crust of crisp baked soil, into unknown horrors that lie below. If you thrust a walking-stick into the ground, the steam immediately rises from the opening thus made. At every few steps you came to a boiling pool, often wellnigh concealed by a fringe of rare and delicate ferns of the most exquisitely vivid green—a peculiarity shared by all the plants which flourish in this perpetual vapour-bath. In some places a greenish gelatinous or slimy vegetable substance grows in the crevices of the rock where the boiling spray constantly falls. It belongs to the family of algæ, and ranks low in the scale of organisation. The marvel is, how any form of life can exist in such a temperature. It is the salamander of the vegetable kingdom.
Here, as in every other volcanic region I have visited, I am struck by the exceeding coldness of springs and streams lying close to boiling fountains,—a system of hot and cold water baths which the Maoris readily adapt to use, by leading a small conduit from each to a rudely constructed tank, in which they can regulate the temperature by turning on the hot or cold stream. Some of the ordinary bathing pools, which are not thus artificially cooled, are so responsive to the influence of the north and east winds, that while these blow the temperature rises from 100° to 190°, and bathing becomes impossible till the wind changes. Very often the wind blows from the north-east every morning for weeks together, and dies away at sunset, when the water (which at noon had reached boiling-point) gradually becomes comparatively cool.
The natives consider these luxurious baths to be a certain cure for all manner of ills. And so they doubtless are; but, as each pool differs from all its neighbours in its chemical combinations, it follows that bathing here at random must be about as unsafe, though decidedly not so unpleasant, as tasting all the contents of a chemist’s shop by turns. But a certain number of the pools have been so long tried by the Maoris that their beneficial results are well proven; and many sufferers, chiefly those afflicted with rheumatism, are carried up here totally helpless, and in most instances derive immense benefit from drinking and bathing in these mineral waters.
Of the many thousand hot and cold springs which bubble around us in every direction, a limited number only have as yet been analysed, but these prove that the various chemical combinations are practically without number, no two pools being alike. All the mineral waters of Europe seem to be here represented—Harrogate and Leamington, Kreutznach and Wiesbaden, and many another—so that doubtless ere long this district will become a vast sanatorium, to which sufferers from all manner of diseases will be sent to nature’s own dispensary to find the healing waters suited to their need. There are mud-baths, containing sulphate of potash, soda, lime, alumina, iron, magnesia, hydrochloric acid, sulphuric acid, sulphuretted hydrogen, silica, and iodine. Other springs contain monosilicate of lime, of iron, manganese, chloride of potassium, of sodium, sulphate of soda and of lime, silica, phosphate of alumina, magnesia, chloride of potassium, oxide of iron, and various other chemical substances. I believe that carbonic acid has not been found; but small quantities of lithium, iodine, and bromine are present in almost every instance. In some cases iodine is found in considerable quantities, notably in those springs to which the Maoris chiefly resort for the cure of skin diseases.[53]
All the ordinary cares of housekeeping are here greatly facilitated by nature. She provides so many cooking-pots that fires are needless—all stewing and boiling does itself to perfection. The food is either placed in a flax basket, and hung in the nearest pool, or else it is laid in a shallow hole and covered with layers of fern and earth to keep in the steam. In either case the result is excellent, and the cookery clean and simple. Laundry-work is made equally easy. Certain pools are set aside in which to boil clothes; and one of these, which is called Kairua, is the village laundry _par excellence_. Its waters are alkaline, and produce a cleansing lather; and they are so soft and warm that washing is merely a pleasant pastime to the laughing Maori girls. No soap is required. Mother Nature has provided all that is needful: sulphate of soda, chloride of potassium and of sodium, enter largely into her preparations for washing-day.
My good landlady has had a bitter grief connected with her laundry-pool. About two months ago her youngest child toddled down the garden and fell in, and was so terribly scalded that it died immediately. I have heard several other cases of grown-up people and horses falling into boiling caldrons, but it seems to me marvellous that such accidents do not happen daily, so vague are the little paths, and so numerous the dangers.
Even the narrow neck of greensward where the dead are laid in their last sleep is all steaming, and boiling springs bubble round the graves. We paused beside the grassy mound which marks where the little child was laid. There are no headstones to tell who lie there, but the place is marked by great wooden posts, with rudely carved heads, which at one time formed part of a noted _pah_, the greater part of which, however, has subsided beneath the lake. Only a few very fine pieces of quaint, grotesque, old Maori carving lie about the place, rotting on the ground; and none dare carry them away, for their ownership is disputed, and the place is _tapu_.
The walls of the native council-house are entirely covered with this grotesque carving—hideous figures, with faces much tattooed, and oblique eyes of the Mongol type, formed of iridescent pearl-shell, but this is all modern work, and less elaborate than that of olden days, when time was not so marketable, and skilled labour more abundant.
But I think the true village councils are held in the open air, where the favourite lounge is an open space rudely paved with large stones, which, by imprisoning the steam from some of the boiling springs, become pleasantly heated; and here the grave fathers of the hamlet love to recline, wrapped in their blankets or flax cloaks. Of course it is still more luxurious to sit up to your neck in a hot mud-bath, but it would not do to stay there all day. Some people prefer sulphur-baths, and these they can have to their hearts’ content within a short distance, as there are real sulphur-pools giving forth the most horrible fumes: and the ground all round is primrose-hued, being thickly incrusted with pure sulphur.
But I believe that sulphur is found more abundantly at Tiritere, on the shores of Rotoiti, a beautiful lake, only separated from Rotorua by an isthmus half a mile in breadth, and likewise surrounded by chemical springs and bubbling mud-pools.
Each of the little hotels has its own natural hot baths, in which it is the height of luxury and repose to lie for an hour or so at night after a hard day’s scramble. But, as I before said, the Maoris have no idea of such solitary enjoyment. To them bathing is a social delight, to be indulged in at all times and seasons, especially in the evenings, when young men and maidens, old men and children, assemble in the lake, which is pleasantly warmed by many hot springs. Certain pools are the special playgrounds of the children, and it is a most amusing sight to see these brown water-babies disporting themselves by the hour. They swim like fishes, as do also their elders, an accomplishment inherited from their beautiful ancestress, the lovely Hinemoa. She was the daughter of a grand old chief, whose tribe lived near the shores of this lake, and who would not suffer her to marry her heart’s choice, whose name was Tutenekai, and who lived on the island of Mokoia, in the middle of Lake Rotorua. They drew up all the canoes lest she should be tempted to go to him; and as the island is nearly four miles distant, they never dreamt that she would attempt to swim. But love triumphed. One night the sound of his lute came floating over the lake, and, determined not to be baffled, she took six hollow gourds and fastened them to her shoulders, three on each side. Then she fearlessly plunged into the dark waters, and swam till she was exhausted. Buoyed up by the gourds, she lay still and rested a while, then with renewed strength she swam onward, guided by the sound of the lute, and at last landed in safety. But having left her robe on the mainland, she shrank from appearing before her lover in the garb of Eve, so she hid herself in a warm spring, and there after a while he found her, and wrapped his cloak around her, and took her to his home, where she became his wife, and the mother of children beautiful as herself. And to this day her descendants are noted for their comeliness and for their clear olive complexion; and they love to tell the tale of how Hinemoa swam across the lake in the dark moonless night. On the Horo Horo ranges, on the road to Taupo, they point out a tall rock which bears her name.
This island of Mokoia was formerly strongly fortified, and was the scene of bloody fights between the Arawa and Ngapuhi tribes. Here, for greater security, the Arawas kept the symbol of their worship, which was merely a lock of human hair, twined round a rope of paper mulberry bark. It was treated with deepest reverence, and kept in a house of most sacred wood, thatched with _Manga Manga_, a lovely climbing fern, similar to the _Wa kolou_, or god fern, with which the Fijians used to adorn the ridge-pole of their temples. Both Maoris and Fijians are remarkable for an almost total absence of any outward and visible representation of the gods whom they worshipped, so this curious symbol possessed especial interest. The sacred lock of hair came to grief in A.D. 1818, when the _pah_ was captured by the Ngapuhi tribe, and the god of the conquered was ignominiously tomahawked.
I am now in the heart of a tract of marvellous volcanic country which extends from the great Lake Taupo to the sea-coast, and reappears at Whakari or White Island, about twenty-eight miles from the land, thus forming a volcanic chain extending over 150 miles. White Island, which is only about three miles in circumference, is itself an active volcano, and though the crater is not more than 860 feet above the sea-level, it sends forth volumes of steam which in calm weather are estimated to rise to a height of 2000 feet. Smaller geysers and hot sulphureous lakes cluster round this centre; and although some scrubby vegetation has sprung up, no living creature is here found.
As seen from the sea, the shores of the island are apparently rich green meadows, but on nearer inspection these prove to be composed of pure crystallised sulphur: and the whole land is so heated that it is scarcely possible to walk over it. I have seen some beautiful specimens of sulphur which had been brought from there, resembling lumps of primrose-coloured rock.
At the farther end of the volcanic chain lies the great Lake Taupo, which is about twenty by thirty miles in extent, and beyond which rises the sacred mountain Tongariro, an active volcano, vomiting fire and smoke from the cinder-cone, which rises dark and bare from a base of perpetual snow. Its height is 6500 feet, but it is overtopped by Ruapehu, the highest point in the island, one of its three snowy peaks rising to upwards of 9000 feet.
Geologists suppose the bed of Lake Taupo to have been one vast crater; and it seems probable that it has some subterranean outlet, from the fact that the lake receives a much larger supply of water than that which it discharges by the Waikato river, which flows through it. The Maoris dare not approach the sacred isle in the centre of the lake for fear of an evil dragon which dwells there, and swallows every rash canoe that presumes to draw near,—a legend from which some infer that there really is a whirlpool there, caused by the rush of water down the old chimney of the crater. A great part of the lake is hemmed in by basaltic cliffs, rising sheer from the water about 700 feet, and quite inaccessible. Over these dash mountain torrents, which fall in silvery spray. The lake is ofttimes swept by sudden storms, and its angry waters make a gloomy foreground to the grand mountains beyond.
The country between Mount Tongariro and Lake Taupo is all intensely volcanic; and the dark-green scrub which clothes the hills is dotted by columns and wreaths of steam, rising from thousands of boiling springs—those in the neighbourhood of the Waikato river falling over its rocky banks in seething cataracts, and depositing in their course a bed of white stalagmite, which adds greatly to their apparent size. At certain seasons these geysers are more active than at others. There is one which has been said to eject water with such violence as to swamp canoes at a distance of 100 yards; and another, the steam of which is visible at a distance of fifteen miles.
Below the lake, on the Waikato river, is the Tewakaturou geyser, which used to throw water right across the river—130 yards—but is now nearly quiescent, and only gives a sobbing gasp and spout every few minutes, throwing up a splash of scalding water, as if it would drive away the ruthless thief who tries to steal “specimens” of its work. The geysers thereabouts are so numerous that from some points you can count from sixty to eighty columns of steam in sight at one moment; and at the point where the Waikato enters the lake there are upwards of 500 pools, either of boiling mud or boiling water; while the neighbouring mountain of Kakaramea seems to have been so thoroughly steamed as to be little more than a soft mass of half-boiled mud, with scalding water and steam issuing from every crevice. A tribe of Maoris were once rash enough to build a village near here, but it was overwhelmed by an avalanche of mud, and all the inhabitants perished.
There is a Maori settlement in the midst of a very wonderful group of springs and terraces at Orakei-Korako, on the Waikato river, and the little brown huts are actually built on the mounds of white silica, with apparently no thought of danger. Chemical deposits of all sorts have stained the earth and rocks with every conceivable hue—copperas-green, ferruginous orange, the delicate primrose of sulphur, and every shade of salmon and pale rose colour, deepening to dark red, appear in marked contrast with the dazzling white silica and the dark-green scrub. Both the river-bank and the terraces are fringed with deep stalactites, streaked with these varied hues.
Near this point there is a fairy-like alum-cave. The entrance is veiled by tall silver tree-ferns, growing in rank profusion; and the red walls of the cave are incrusted with pure white alum, deposited from a pool of the loveliest light-blue warm water. This place is about forty miles from Ohinemutu and thirty from the village of Taupo, which stands on the shore of the lake.
Taupo is quite a large settlement, and possesses two hotels, a post-office, and even a telegraph. About two miles off lie a group of springs, which it is intended to treat as a sanatorium. They are Government property, and the land around them is fertile, and is laid out in gardens and grass fields. A picturesque blue river flows near, between steep crags, finely wooded: the descriptions of the spot are most attractive. One very singular boiling pool is known as the Witches’ Caldron. It lies in a circular hollow in the river-bank, about thirty feet above the stream. The water is pure blue, but every shade of orange, brown, green, and red appear on the rocks around it. Heavy clouds of steam are constantly thrown up with a roaring noise.
It matters little in what direction you travel in this weird region, fresh wonders reveal themselves on every hand. If, instead of taking the coach-road to Lake Taupo, you prefer riding there, you may follow a bridle-path along the Paeroa valley at the foot of a range of boiling mountains. Literally the whole Paeroa range is a boiling mass of chemicals, so thinly crusted over, that the most foolhardy adventurer dare not attempt to climb it, for even what to the eye appears solid ground, is all crumbling and brittle as pie-crust, from the constant action of internal steam, and all manner of gases. Sulphuric acid, sulphur and sulphuretted hydrogen, rise in intermittent clouds from the whole surface of the range, which, from base to summit, is covered with patches of yellow, grey, white, and red, which tell of solfataras and fumaroles, mud-pools and sulphur-banks. Some of the boiling springs take these colours, and the water of one is bright yellow, while the next is clear green. Many are fringed with purely tropical ferns, but the ordinary vegetation of a New Zealand bush contrives to flourish on the lower slopes of the range, and even fringes the Waikato river, which is quite hot.
There is a road all the way from Tauranga to Lake Taupo, and thence to Napier, with coaches running weekly; and I regret more than I can express, not having allowed myself time to make this expedition, and to see all this marvellous region thoroughly. I could easily have left Kawau a little sooner had I realised the amazing interest that awaited me here—as it is, I dare not linger, for those aggravating Pacific mail-steamers vow that they will call at Fiji next month, positively for the last time. They have kept us thus on tenter-hooks for a year—never knowing from one mail to the next whether our letters would be dropped or not. About five months ago, when Mr Gordon had been sent here on sick-leave he hurried back much too soon, in order to catch the very last chance. You know how, three months ago, we came to Khandavu, scarcely venturing to hope the big steamer would call, and now we are told that if we choose to be ready to return by next mail we shall be dropped at Khandavu. How we are to get from there to Levuka will be the next question, as it is a long day’s steam, and now poor little Fiji possesses no steamer of any sort or kind! She cannot afford even to hire the little steamer which she had when we came away.
So, much as we shall regret leaving New Zealand so hurriedly, we dare not lose this opportunity, as the option of going all the way to Sydney, on the chance of a steamer from there to Levuka, is not tempting. Therefore I must be satisfied with seeing the chief objects of interest in the neighbourhood of Rotomahana, “the hot lake,” round which are concentrated wonders of every description.
I do not know what link exists between the Maoris and the Fijians, but some of the words in common use sound to me strongly akin. For instance, the name of the river which receives the hot springs is Waikato. In Fiji, boiling water is _kata kata na wai_—surely the two are identical? The ovens in which food is cooked are just the same as Fijian ovens, except that when the fire has been kindled, and the stones heated, a wet mat is laid over the red-hot stones, and over that a layer of green fern; then comes the food, and next another layer of fern, over which water is thrown, and the whole is quickly covered up with earth to prevent the steam from escaping. I must say our Fijians are immensely superior to these people in the matter of house-building. The Maori _wharries_ are wretched dirty little hovels, from which every breath of air is carefully excluded: being built actually on the ground, they are necessarily damp, and, in a rainy season, must be swamped, as there seems no attempt at drainage. They contrast very unfavourably with the clean comfortable Fijian houses, built on well-raised foundations, in which we have lived so happily. I think that to have to claim a night’s shelter in a Maori _wharry_ would be quite as uninviting as to be driven to accept the hospitality of a very poor Highland bothy.
The people are alike in their love of smoking. Here men, women, and children smoke incessantly. They grow their own tobacco, and carve their own pipes from a sort of white stone found in this neighbourhood. I am glad the Fijians are content with the little cigarettes, which the girls twist up in bits of banana-leaf.
I am to start for Rotomahana to-morrow morning, and return here just in time to catch the steamer at Tauranga. I hear there are some very curious sulphur-springs, white cones, and mud-baths at a place called Whaka-rewa-rewa, about three miles from here, so I am just going off to see them. I have borrowed an execrable side-saddle from a Maori girl, having left my own at Tauranga, and have hired a horse for the afternoon. Sissie Wilson, daughter of my landlady, is going with me—she rides a man’s saddle. I am told that in January and February the principal geyser at this place throws up a column of water from forty to fifty feet high at intervals of eight minutes, but I fear it will probably be as sleepy as the great geyser here, which is sometimes very active, but is now at rest. Many of these fountains are intermittent. Sometimes groups play alternately, at other times periodically, at intervals of so many minutes. These geysers seem to be strangely influenced by atmospheric changes. Captain Mair, whose headquarters are at Ohinemutu, has made careful observations of these phenomena. He says the geysers at Whaka-rewa-rewa are most active when the wind blows from the west or south-west, when they frequently throw up a fountain fifty or sixty feet high. From 7 to 9 A.M. and from 3 to 4 P.M. are their working hours, while the noontide is almost invariably a time of rest. There is one geyser known as the Bashful Geyser (Whakaha-rua) because it only begins to play after dark.
10 P.M.—It is something to be able to say that I have returned here safely, for, indeed, exploring such a country as this is “no canny.” Certainly, I thought to-day that we were nearing the infernal regions. This morning I thought the springs here were fearful and wonderful, but they are nothing compared with those we have seen this afternoon. The great fountain refused to play, but I was fascinated by the white marble-like cones from which it and its smaller neighbours spout. They are like frozen snowdrifts, or heaps of gigantic wedding-cakes, from ten to twenty feet in height, with a thick coating of iced sugar. This is caused by the white silica, which is constantly deposited by the falling waters, rising from a funnel in the centre. To-day the geyser was so quiet that we were able to peer down into its depths, and could hear the water bubbling and boiling far below; but such prying is at all times rash, for at any moment a column of scalding water may shoot far overhead, and give one a shower-bath not to be quickly forgotten.
These silvery cones seemed to be veined with gold, for each tiny air-tube and fissure is incrusted with sparkling crystals of sulphur, very tempting to touch, but hazardous—as the invisible steam rushing through them is more scalding than that from any larger surface. In the midst of the gleaming white cones there is one which is pure yellow, being altogether composed of sulphur, though a thin treacherous crust of black mud has partly overspread it, luring the unwary to step on to very dangerous ground, which is apt at any moment to give way. The most remarkable of these cones and basins are clustered round, and on, a little hill, and I soon scrambled to a higher level, to sketch the whole group, in spite of the remonstrance of a picturesque Maori, who seemed to have some dim idea that he could exact payment for allowing me this privilege. He was accompanied by a little girl, with a tiny toddling brother, the latter hugging a kitten in his small arms. It is a strange home in which to rear a family, but all seem strong and healthy. They live in a little _wharry_ close by, where they offer mineral specimens and petrifactions for sale.
All along the Puaranga creek there are literally hundreds of geysers, solfataras, and boiling mud-pools, varying as much in temperature as in chemical properties. In two basins lying close together the thermometer registers respectively 185° and 55° Fahr.; and the colour of the water is equally diversified, varying from emerald-green or the clearest turquoise blue, to delicate rose or bright yellow, according to the character of the decomposed rock which chances to find itself in the great subterranean boiler. Some of the jets hiss and roar with deafening, bewildering noise; and, as the pools of black boiling mud gurgle and bubble, a feeling of creeping dread comes over one lest the ground should give way, or one’s foot slip, and so one should be engulfed in a grave of such unspeakable horror.
I passed on from one new marvel to another, grieving to leave any corner unexplored, not knowing what strange beauties might lie hidden by each dark clump of bush; and yet fully warned that every step off the beaten track was fraught with real danger. But not till sunset could I turn away from scenes so fascinating—and then, oh dear! how hateful was the ride home on the Maori child’s saddle! I wished I had had courage to try riding like my companion. However, once here, a blessed remedy awaited me in the delicious natural hot bath, in which I have lain for the last hour, and forgotten all my aches and bruises, and now need only a good night’s rest to be quite ready for to-morrow’s journey in search of scenes still more wonderful.