Part 7

TUESDAY, JANUARY 21.—We have made three trips today, looking at the wonders in the Wairakei field; we have devoted at least nine hours to sightseeing, which is not a bad day’s work. One of the wonders is the Blow Hole; a great hole on top of a mountain out of which steam pours constantly, and with a great noise. This is called the safety-valve of New Zealand. Surrounding it we found a number of empty four-gallon oil tins; cans in which old Rockefeller had shipped gasoline to this country. The driver of our carriage threw these cans into the blow-hole, and the steam shot them out again. The noise reminded me of steam being blown out of a locomotive boiler, in preparation for washing it. There are no hot springs or geysers within four or five miles of the Blow Hole; it is a solitary attraction, and the steam ascending from it may be seen many miles.... Although the big terraces were covered up by the earthquake of 1886, we have seen two or three small and imperfect ones. As you walk through the Wairakei valley you notice that the earth is red, and green, and yellow, and white, and blue in places. The guide gave me a card on which he had made many colors with mud; it reminded me of a painter’s color-card. All this is like the Yellowstone, and everything here is much like the geyser fields in our greatest national park, but it seems to me that the Yellowstone is much superior, in every way. Facilities for getting about are much the same, and prices about the same, but the hotel accommodations in the Yellowstone are undoubtedly better.... At one place in Wairakei valley, steam pours out of a number of small holes in the earth. Bottles are placed beside the steam holes in such a way that an incessant whistling is kept up, in half a dozen different keys. At another place, what sounds like cannonading may be heard deep in the earth; in another, at the bottom of a lake, you may hear what sounds like a blacksmith hammering on an anvil. As you walk along, the earth sounds hollow to the tread, and every little while there is a cave-in, and a new hot spring or geyser appears.... I have spoken several times, in a good-natured way, of the difference in American and English pronunciation. A change may not be expected; indeed, I think the difference is becoming greater all the time, since the English children have a worse pronunciation than their parents. We have been traveling several days with a father and mother and two young daughters. The father and mother pronounce their words almost as we do, but both the daughters have a brogue that is the most pronounced I have heard. I hope I have written good-naturedly of the differences in pronunciation, for I like the people I meet. Most of the travelers are New Zealanders or Australians, but I can’t tell them from the English, except that the New Zealanders and Australians frequently criticise the English to me. They say, for one thing, that young Englishmen who have nothing to do, come over here, and set a bad example; that here, young people are expected to work, and are not much respected unless they do. Many New Zealanders have told me that they have too many holidays; too many amusements.... I hear exactly the same talk here of high taxes and public extravagance that I hear at home, and I am told that politicians are about as mischievous, active and troublesome in New Zealand as elsewhere. At home, we hear a great deal about the value of the single-tax system. New Zealand has that system, and today I heard a Wellington lawyer criticising it very severely. It is a single tax in theory only, since New Zealand has about as many different forms of taxation as any other country. New Zealand has tried more experiments than we have, but gets no better results from its laws than we get. It is attacking the trusts, just as we are doing, and the trusts continue to flourish; there are some things you can’t do by law, and New Zealand can’t accomplish the impossible any more than we can. I hear that compulsory arbitration worked for a time, as I hear that a week, or month, or year, before I came, the geysers shot three hundred feet in the air; but it is positively known that the country now has as many and as ridiculous strikes as any other, and the best geysers have done only twenty or thirty feet in my presence. The New Zealand railroads are primitive compared with ours, and their rates higher; yet they have government ownership, which many Americans say would solve the railroad problem. New Zealanders do not say their methods are better than ours; on the contrary, they regard the United States with a great deal of respect, and know that we are far in the lead. New Zealanders have the same respect for the United States that you find in Kansas City for Chicago; we are the Big Boy in the family of nations, and nobody seriously disputes it. Some foreigners make fun of us, because they are envious, but the New Zealanders do not.... Men are about the same everywhere: the native who today drove me to see a wonderful rapids in a river, said he knew the best fishing-hole in the entire stream, and wanted me to remain over tomorrow, and go fishing with him. But I do not intend to do it; I have no confidence in tips—particularly fishing tips. The same native, in showing us the rapids, pointed out several deep caves along the rough path we were compelled to climb, in getting the best view of the rapids.

“Maybe dead man in there,” he said, pointing to the deepest of the caves. “Stay tomorrow, and we’ll look.”

But I could not be persuaded by this tempting offer, and leave tomorrow for a trip that will keep me busy from 6 A. M. until 12 P. M. If anyone is finding fault because I am idle, I hope that day’s work will satisfy them.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 22.—Continuing our pleasure trip, we started at 6 o’clock this morning, and traveled almost continuously until midnight—by stage, boat, and railroad train. Our destination was Taumarunui, and when we arrived there at midnight, we left an order with the hotel clerk to be called at 5:30, to catch a boat on the celebrated Waunganui river for Pipiriki.... The first stage of our journey today was by coach to Lake Taupo, seven miles. On the way, we passed several waterfalls and geysers, but as we had been called at 5 o’clock, we were sleepy, and did not much enjoy them. At seven o’clock we were at Taupo, where we took a boat for a ride of twenty-six miles across the lake. There were only five passengers, and the pilot read most of the three hours, looking up from his book occasionally to see that the boat was going right. When we were out an hour, he asked all of us if we were going on by stage. We said we were, whereupon he produced a little cage containing a pigeon. Writing the figure “5” on a thin piece of paper, he fastened this to the bird’s leg by means of a light wire, and the bird was released. This is the means used every day to notify the stage people, eighteen miles away, how many passengers are coming. The bird has been in use two years, and never fails. If the boat has a big load of passengers, two or more stages are made ready, but the day we crossed, one was sufficient. In some islands, a regular carrier-pigeon post is maintained, the pilot told me.... We landed at a little Maori village at 10 A. M., and found a five-horse stage waiting for us, the carrier-pigeon having delivered the message entrusted to it. We picked up several passengers here, and when we started over the mountain, the top of which showed patches of snow, the coach carried fourteen, including the driver. We called at a house in the village and picked up a very fat Maori woman, two children, and two men. The woman said good-by to all the women and girl children in the house by rubbing her forehead against theirs, and considerable time was required for this ceremony. When we finally started, a light rain was falling, which continued until 7 P. M., when we reached the railroad. Three passengers had paid extra for seats with the driver, and all of them were soaked, while those of us on the inside were protected. During the stage ride from 10 A. M. to 7 P. M., we passed through a wild, mountainous country, and saw almost no houses. We stopped twice to change horses, and both times the passengers drank tea in a little hut warmed by a fire in one of the tin fireplaces so common here. The tea was boiled in the fireplaces by the hostlers of the stage company, and we gave them what we pleased. I drank tea four times today: at breakfast, at noon, in the afternoon, and at dinner at 7 o’clock.... Wherever there was a house, the people came out to see the stage go by. At two or three places we saw pigs of the Arkansas razor-back variety; there is no corn here, and pigs do not amount to much. The passengers were all New Zealanders, and they told us they knew we were from the United States as soon as they saw us. They said they could always tell English and Americans. And then we told them we knew they were New Zealanders, and not English, because we had heard them abusing the English. When you see a man who is exactly like an Englishman, but who abuses the English, you may know he is from New Zealand or Australia. A woman and her daughter who were passengers told us New Zealanders always admired Americans; particularly American women. All the passengers, except the Maoris, were making about the same trip we were making, and we had met several of them at different places, and become acquainted. In traveling, it is almost allowable to speak to anyone.... At 7 o’clock in the evening we reached the railroad at Waiora, and waited an hour and twenty minutes for a train to Taumarunui. This is the only night train operated in New Zealand, and connects its two most important cities: Wellington and Auckland.... It is a universal custom at hotels here, when a servant serves you, to say “Thank you.” A waiter will hand you a bill of fare, and you indicate that you will take soup, whereupon the waiter says “Thank you.” When the waiter brings the soup, you say “Thank you.” The people here are much politer to servants than Americans.... Ten minutes before midnight we landed at Taumarunui, which is a switch-engine town; I heard a switch-engine puffing in the yards nearly all night. A town that has a railroad switch-engine is a grade above the ordinary electric-light town.... Soon after we entered the train at Waiora, the conductor entered our car, and asked: “Anyone from Waiora?” Then those of us who had entered the train at that station, handed him our tickets. In America, railway conductors have a way of tagging passengers. I should think it would be easy here to steal a ride. Stations are not called, and there is no train porter, so when we arrived at Taumarunui we were compelled to hunt up the conductor and ask him if that was our station.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 23.—The Waunganui river is known as “the Rhine of New Zealand.” We journeyed down this river eleven hours today, and it was the big event of our stay in New Zealand. The Waunganui river is a series of rapids, and during the eleven hours of the journey we were always in a crooked mountain gorge. We saw no farm land, no settlements; nothing but wild mountain scenery, and a rapid, roaring river sometimes not more than forty feet wide. The boat in which we traveled was a very narrow one; not so wide as a street-car, but probably sixty feet long, and supplied with powerful engines. In going down some of the rapids the engines were stopped, and occasionally reversed. The government has spent a great deal of money in improving the river, and the only houses we saw were occupied by river workers. I have made a trip down the St. Lawrence, and I think we passed through one rapids, which was thought to be remarkable; but today we passed through hundreds. And the boats didn’t poke along; they ran like racehorses, and every minute missed great rocks by only a few feet. Probably no other river trip in the world is equal to this one. About 11 A. M. we changed to a boat of a little heavier draught, and about noon we stopped at a houseboat for lunch. This houseboat is a complete hotel, and many people stop there a day or two in the journey up or down—usually down, for very few people make the slow journey upstream. We had forty-six passengers, and this number packed the boat, it was so small. I am certain that every five minutes during the eleven-hour journey, we passed a waterfall. Some of the mountain scenery is really fine, and we were twisting and turning all the time. We knew seven or eight of the passengers, having met them at various places during the present trip. At 6 P. M. we reached Pipiriki, which consists of a fine hotel perched on top of a mountain. It has electric lights and modern conveniences, and is a joy after some of the hotels in the geyser district.... Although the Waunganui is called the Rhine of New Zealand, it is not at all like the Rhine of Germany. It is not so large, and the country through which it passes is very much more rugged. The Rhine is lined with old castles and towns, whereas in traveling down the Waunganui all day you do not see a single town, and only a few cheap houses occupied by river laborers.... The boat on which we were passengers had one very handy employee. He handled baggage, and also served tea in the afternoon. When we stopped for lunch at the houseboat he assisted in waiting on the tables, and when we reached the hotel at Pipiriki he helped wait on the tables. He also assisted with the ropes when the boat landed, which it did a few times, to throw mail out on the bank where there was no town, no houses, and no people in sight. It also delivered a little freight in the same way, and one passenger landed at a lonely place and disappeared in the bush.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 24.—We were aroused at 4:30 this morning, and departed at 5:30 to complete the journey down the river to the railroad and the sea. The lower portion of the Waunganui is as interesting as the upper; although we rode in a larger boat, there were as many rapids today as yesterday—the road was covered, but the pilot was compelled to follow it as closely as a chauffeur follows an automobile road. One rapids was so narrow and crooked that the only way to get through was to trust to luck, and bump through. The captain was the pilot in all the critical places, but at least three other men seemed to know the river, and took turns at the wheel. One of them was a Maori dude, with fancy clothes, and every native along the way waved at him. The pilot was also the engineer; the men down below had nothing to do but keep up steam. Beside the pilot was a throttle whereby he shut off steam, reversed, went half speed, or full speed; he did not ring bells for the guidance of an engineer below, but had complete control of the power himself. I never before saw a steamboat so rigged.... Two or three hours after leaving Pipiriki, we began to see evidences of civilization; including a cemetery. For several days we had been in the wilds where a cemetery was not seen. The river still ran through mountains, but we stopped frequently, and took on mail and passengers. At some places the boat ran its nose into the bank for a moment, a deck hand jumped to the shore and grabbed a mail sack hanging on a stick, and then we backed into the stream. At other places we stopped at villages, and took on wool, fruit, passengers, and sheep-dogs. A good sheep-dog is worth $50 in New Zealand. At some of these places passengers on the boat would call out to men ashore and ask them: “Got your wool out yet?” At one lonely place several native women came aboard, and they said good-by to dozens of women at the landing in the peculiar Maori way. When we pulled out we saw those on shore riding up the hills, on horseback, followed by a lot of dogs. There were many native passengers, and they occupied one section of the boat; whether this was a sort of “Jim Crow” arrangement, or whether the natives preferred being together, I do not know. At breakfast I did not see any of the natives at the tables.... We passed a boat coming up, and our captain called out to the pilot: “Water twenty-one, Jake; look out for Wintoni shoal.” We passed the boat on the left, instead of on the right, which is the custom with all traffic here. It was cold on the river early in the morning, and we hugged the smokestack, but by ten o’clock the weather was quite warm.... There were several very small men on board; race-riders. They seemed to have been making the tour of the geyser district, and I judged they were on their way to Wellington, where there will be racing next week. People living in the United States cannot realize how popular horse-racing is out here. Nor can they realize how popular the tea-drinking habit is. Every railroad train stops at frequent intervals, to afford the passengers opportunity to drink tea. At the hotels, when the maids bring us tea early in the morning, and we do not take it, you cannot imagine how astonished they look.... Another impressive thing in this country is the fact that all the people are very polite. I haven’t seen a rude person since arriving in New Zealand, and, in addition, they are all well-dressed and prosperous-looking. I have met one drunken man, but he was polite in spite of the load he carried.... On a boat a few days ago we met a bride and groom, and have been traveling with them since. They had with them every day a little newspaper, printed in a town of which I had never heard, and, as I saw them consulting it frequently, I knew it contained their wedding notice. I managed to get hold of the paper this morning, while they were at breakfast, and read the notice. It was the usual thing. A Miss Ruth Simpson played the wedding march; there were flower girls, a wedding breakfast, etc.; the bride was one of our most amiable young ladies, and the groom one of our most promising young business men; the bride threw her bouquet, and it was caught by one of her bridesmaids: I greatly enjoyed reading the wedding notice of our friends, whom we had come to know very well, and who were very nice. It’s the same old thing all the world over.... At 11 A. M. we passed out of the rapids, and the river became broader. At noon we came to Waunganui, a town of fourteen thousand. Here we took a train for Wellington. The train was packed, and I hate a crowd. The farming country between Waunganui and Wellington is probably as good as there is in New Zealand, which isn’t saying much. Every three or four miles we saw a field of oats or turnips. In between, we saw sheep in hilly pastures. There are more sheep here than I ever dreamed of; and I doubt if there is a black sheep in New Zealand: anyway, I haven’t seen one.... On the train was a father who could take care of a baby, but the mother was perfectly helpless with it.... The dining-car on the train is run by the government, and no doubt the waiters take civil-service examinations. When we reached the dining-car there was almost nothing left, owing to the crowd, but the waiter said he could get us a chop. Here, mutton chops are as common as bacon or ham in the United States.... At 7:20 P. M. we arrived in Wellington, after passing through a number of tunnels, and stopping at many seaside resorts. We went to the Grand Hotel, the best we have encountered since leaving San Francisco. Early tomorrow we shall call on Thos. Cook & Son, tourist agents, and see what they desire us to do next.