round York; and we shall find little difference as we follow the
railway southwards to Albany, keeping always about a hundred
miles from the coast. There are the same wheatfields and sheep
and occasional orchards; it is not very different from the
country round Perth, except that it is rather cooler as we
travel southwards. In the summer, especially on the eastern edge
of this belt, it is very dry and parched; but after the winter
rains, though there is too little water for trees, the flowers
and grasses spring up everywhere, especially everlasting flowers
which grow in great profusion, as we see from the picture before 43
us.
So we have a coast belt associated with timber, and a parallel
belt inland where agriculture is developing along the track of
the railway. The southern terminus of the railway is Albany, on 44
King George’s Sound, one of the best harbours of the Australian 45
continent. Albany is a fortified coaling port, and is likely to
grow in importance with the organisation of Australian defence
in the future. This seems a small corner on the map, yet the
area available for agriculture is considerably larger than the
total area under cultivation in Great Britain; while beyond it,
in the region of lessening rainfall, is a wide belt suited for
sheep-raising. Further eastward still, beyond this belt, we
enter another type of country. The railway from Northam Junction
carries us across the dry country and through Southern Cross
to the mining centre of Coolgardie. A little further on, at
Kalgoorlie, it turns northward, to end at Laverton, about four
hundred miles from Perth and the same distance from the sea to
the south. This is the limit of that part of West Australian
settlement which is based on gold.
The gold-bearing country is in two bands, running north and
south, through Southern Cross and Kalgoorlie; and we find quite
a large population in the midst of waterless country. Here is
a view of Kalgoorlie, a prosperous-looking town, in spite of 46
its arid surroundings. This is the region of Australia where
gold-mining has developed most rapidly in recent years. It is
very different from Ballarat or the Queensland mines, where the
gold lies in the midst of a fertile agricultural country, easily
reached from the sea.
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 90._
MILFORD SOUND.]
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 91._
DUNEDIN.]
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 94._
LOOKING UP TASMAN GLACIER.]
[Illustration:
_Copyright._) (_See page 97._
THE AVON: CHRISTCHURCH.]
After leaving the agricultural belt we pass through a stony
country with low hills covered with deadwood and scrub. Yet the
map shows us many lakes and pools, and as it is winter we shall
find them according to our expectations. Here is a pool of fresh 47
water just after the rains; notice that it even has trees growing
round it. Here again is one of the larger lakes; though there 48
seems to be plenty of water here it is really only a flat clay
marsh, flooded to the depth of a few inches. Notice the gold mine
in the distance. In the hot weather the water in these shallow
lakes soon evaporates, often leaving a deposit of salt, so that
in place of a sheet of water there is a dreary clay flat covered
with stones. On these flats near the shrunken lakes the only 49
vegetation is the salt-bush, with occasional patches of very dry
scrub.
There is nothing to attract the settler to country such as this,
except gold. There is little water, and that mostly salt or
brackish, so that in the early days of the mines it was distilled
and sold by the gallon at a high price. There was none available
for washing the gold, so that it had to be separated from the
earth and rock by the method known as dry-blowing. Now all this
has been changed. The mines are supplied with water from far away
in the Perth district, where the rainfall is heavy. The whole
river is held up at Mundaring, twenty-one miles from Perth, by 50
a gigantic weir, and the water is raised at one pumping station
after another, and so carried up and over the plateau to the
mining districts. The pipes are laid along the railway and the
water is carried for about three hundred and fifty miles, or
rather further than from London to Berwick. Without this great
work, the Coolgardie region, with its large mining population,
could not exist.
Let us now examine the mining. Here we see its primitive methods
in the bush. There is probably alluvial gold in the bed of a 51
stream, buried under the surface sand and clay. The stuff is
merely hauled up in buckets and thrown out on to the “dump” to 52
await further treatment. Here again, instead of sinking a shaft,
the miners have burrowed into the bare hillside. In some places, 53
where water is to be had for a short time after the rains, the
miners contrive a primitive washing machine such as we see here. 54
The large trough is merely a hollow log, where the gold-bearing
dirt is washed to free it from clay, while the larger stones are
picked out. Then it is put into the long trough and sluiced, so
that the gold settles among the small stones while the lighter
stuff is carried away. The troughs are of wood and the pump is
distinctly home made; the water is used again and again until it
becomes too thick or evaporates altogether.
Now let us turn to another picture. Here is an up-to-date mine,
with machinery and tanks for the chemical extraction of the last 55
atom of gold, after the mass has already been treated in great 56
batteries. There is a deep shaft here with mechanical winding as
in a coal mine; but often the gold-bearing quartz is near the
surface, and we have an “open cut,” or practically a quarry. 57
Here is one showing the rock at close quarters: the white is the
rock which contains the gold, while the dark is the “mullock,” 58
or “country” rock, as the miners style it. There are other
goldfields nearer the coast, in the district north-east of Perth.
Although near the sea this is a very dry country with much mulga
scrub; for, as we go northwards, the scanty rainfall is more and
more limited to a very narrow strip along the coast. We have
noticed already that the forest zone ends not far north of Perth.
The rest of the interior in this part of the State is a stony
desert whose chief product is the spinifex, or porcupine grass,
which we have seen before. This often forms an impenetrable
scrub, as many explorers have found to their cost. Over very
large areas the surface is covered with great boulders; these may
be troublesome to the traveller, but they are not without their
uses. The storm water runs off them and does not contain salt,
so that it can be caught in a tank for the cattle on the stock 59
routes, as we see in this picture.
In the south-east, towards the great Australian Bight, there is
a change. There is much limestone country here, with pasture,
but the water sinks away through the porous rock. Access, too,
is difficult, owing to the cliff barrier stretching for fifteen
hundred miles unbroken by any stream or gap. Here is a view of 60
these cliffs; sometimes they come down to the sea, sometimes they
lie some distance inland, but they are always present. Here, too,
we find the water, which sank into the plateau above, breaking 61
out at the foot of the cliffs and giving us unexpected vegetation.
One part of West Australia we have not visited, that beyond the
Tropic to the north. Here is a moderate rainfall similar to that
in the Northern Territory and in Queensland; while in the extreme
north we meet the heavy downpour of the Tropics. Much of it is
well suited for cattle, but at present it is hardly touched, and
it is separated from the populous district of the south by a wide
stretch of dry and inhospitable country.
LECTURE VI
NEW ZEALAND--SOUTH ISLAND
We now return to the east and leave Hobart, with a westerly wind
astern, and following the course of the great Dutch navigator
Tasman, steam south-eastward across the deep sea which still
bears his name. We are bound for the southern end of New Zealand.
The islands of New Zealand are often compared to the British
Islands, but we must be careful not to press this comparison too
far. We must notice that their position on the globe corresponds
not to that of Britain, but to that of Italy; while the long
toe to the north is even nearer to the equator than the toe of
Italy. In shape, too, the main islands remind us somewhat of
Italy; for Cook Strait is shallow, and we may think of them as
forming one continuous land mass. We may notice also that Stewart
Island lies on a bank which extends from the mainland southwards
as far as the Auckland Islands. There are similar shallows to
the northward, with island points upon them projecting above the
surface of the sea; so that we may think of the whole area as
one great bank below the water, with the higher parts showing
as land, while east and west of it lie the deep abysses of the
Tasman Sea and the Pacific. So though we have at first sight
a group of scattered islands, they have a certain unity if we
look at the under-sea platform on which they stand. There are
also certain scattered islands, more remote from the New Zealand
group, but dependent politically on the Dominion. Of these the
chief are the Chatham Islands, 500 miles east of Lyttelton, the
Kermadecs, 600 miles north-east of Auckland, and beyond them the
Cook Islands, far out in the Pacific.
Though in shape and position New Zealand may resemble Italy, in
one important respect it differs alike from Italy and the British
Islands. It is surrounded by the open ocean, and there is no
great continent near enough to affect its climate or the life
of its people. Its plants and animals are largely peculiar to
itself; its native races are widely different from the aborigines
of Australia; its past development has been on independent lines,
and we may remember that it still remains outside the circle of
Australian Federation. We may contrast the position of Italy, in
a land-locked sea and with a continental frontier; or the close
connexion with the neighbouring mainland which has affected all
the past history of our own islands.
We are visiting South Island first, since its geography is more
simple and easier to grasp than that of the North Island; we
shall find, too, that some of the conditions are not unlike those
which we have lately seen in Tasmania. Our steamer will land us 1
at Bluff Harbour, in the extreme south of the island. Fifteen
miles away, across Foveaux Strait, we can distinguish the hills
of Stewart Island, famous for its oysters. Bluff is the port of
Invercargill which lies some distance up the estuary of the New
River, and is not visited by large vessels. It is a busy little
town, and here we see the steamers loading wool, frozen meat, and
perhaps oats. The tall chimney in the background belongs to one
of the largest meat-freezing factories in the colony, while that
smooth green mass is the Bluff itself. The wharves of a seaport
are an excellent guide to the district which it serves; and wool,
meat, and oats may suggest to us the nature of the country which
we are about to visit.
A journey of seventeen miles by rail brings us to Invercargill.
We have seen the products of the country at the port; here
we shall learn something more of the people who own them.
Invercargill is a grey, solid-looking town, with very wide and
clean streets and a general air of comfort and prosperity. The
town is full of people who have come in for the great summer wool
sales. Among the crowd we come across some highland pipers--a
rather surprising meeting in the southern hemisphere. Our
surprise will not last long. Let us look around us: here are Dee 2
Street and Don Street, whose very names, like that of the town
itself, carry us back to Scotland. Or let us look at the people
and listen to their talk: we shall find Scots everywhere, not in
this town only, but all over the south of the island. In fact,
the original settlement at Otago, which we shall visit later, was
a Scottish Free Kirk colony.
From Invercargill we can reach the mountains of the south-west
and some of the most magnificent scenery in the southern
hemisphere; but before we start we must take a brief glance at
the island as a whole. The country which is to be surveyed is 3
about the same size as England and Wales. We remember that we
approached it from the west but landed in the extreme south; the
map may suggest a reason for this. Not far from the west coast,
from end to end of the island, runs a backbone of mountains, with
a steep face towards the Tasman Sea but a long and more gentle
slope to the Pacific. Thus the rivers flowing to the west are
short and rapid, for the most part mere mountain torrents, of no
use for ships; while their narrow, deep-cut valleys give little
space for settlement or roads into the interior. Their mouths
also are blocked by sand-bars, owing to the strong winds and
currents which sweep along the coast.
In the south-west corner, instead of rivers, we find a whole
group of fiords, deep inlets running up between mountain walls
and leading nowhere. Here is some of the most beautiful but
least known country in New Zealand; there are no railways and
practically no settlement, as we shall find on our visit. In
short, the island looks to the Pacific and turns its back on the
Tasman Sea. On the east side there is more room. The province of
Otago is hilly, but further north is the great expanse of the
Canterbury Plains. North of the plains are more mountains, the
Kaikoura Ranges, lying parallel to the east coast; so that even
on this side of the island there is no through communication from
end to end. We shall see later that this peculiar grouping of the
physical features has had a great deal of influence on the nature
and history of settlement in South Island, or Middle Island as
some prefer to call it.
[Illustration: SOUTH ISLAND: OROGRAPHICAL.]
We will now start on our trip to the mountains, lakes, and fiords
of the south-west. The first part of our journey is by train,
past fields of oats and rough grazing land with sheep scattered
about, and here and there a clump of firs. Soon we are running
through a valley between the hills, and following the line of a
grey-looking stream, to the town of Lumsden. We are coming to the 4
end of the railway and must change into a motor car to complete
our journey. Our destination is the beautiful Lake Manapouri,
one of a group of lakes which wind in and out among the valleys
of the western mountains just as the fiords which run in from
the sea. Here is a piece of our road, with the mountains in the 5
distance; notice the team of horses carting wool.
We sleep at an accommodation house, and in the early morning go 6
down to the little pier and board the launch which is to take
us up the lake. Here we see it lying below one of the tree-clad 7
slopes. In the distance, veiled in cloud, are the Hunter
Mountains; here is a nearer view from which we can form some idea 8
of the wonderful colours in which these mountain lakes abound.
Further up the lake on the north side we see the Cathedral Peaks, 9
with patches of snow still lying, although it is past midsummer;
while all the lower slopes, right down to the water’s edge, are
covered with green beech, called birch by the natives, with here
and there the scarlet blossoms of the _rata_ tree making a patch
of bright colour. Finally we see the end of the northern arm, 10
with Spire Peak shooting up in the background.
From Manapouri we drive across to another lake, Te Anau, where we
again find a launch. From the northern end of this long, narrow
and somewhat uninteresting lake we must walk the thirty miles
over the Milford track, if we wish to see Milford Sound, one of
the grandest of all the sea fiords. We are now beginning to
realise how very much out of the world we are in this corner of
the island.
Our path lies for many miles through a dense forest of beech.
From the roots, and far up the trunks, the trees are covered
with mosses, lichens, and small ferns. On the ground are more
thick mosses and myriads of ferns great and small. Everything is
moist and green in this part of the island, where the perpetual
westerly winds bring heavy rain all the year round to the
mountain slopes. In fact, we shall be lucky if we finish our walk
without meeting with a downpour. Here we see part of our track on 11
the way up to the Mackinnon Pass, with the dense bush below and 12
the snow-capped mountains above. All the way through the trees
we have glimpses of cataracts, seaming the rugged slopes above
the limit of the forest. Many of the torrent beds are dry now,
like the one in front of us, but we can easily imagine the force 13
of the flood water from the appearance of the stones and debris
strewn about it.
It is a long walk, and we stop for the night, wet and tired, at
the Government huts at Pompolona, where we sleep, if we can, in
rough wooden bunks fixed round the inside of the walls. In the
early morning we start again, making our way by the side of the
Clinton River which flows down the pass between dark woods not
yet touched by the sunshine. So we go on over the Divide and 14
down the valley of the Arthur River, through more dense jungle
of tree ferns, to Sandfly Point, on Milford Sound, where Donald
Sutherland is to meet us with his launch. It is growing late, and
there are sandflies in plenty, but no sign of the launch or its
independent owner. Sutherland was the original discoverer of the
Sound and of the famous falls named after him, and for a long
time he lived here in sole possession. He is now a kind of guide
and guardian of its magnificent scenery, and has the air of a
landowner showing visitors over his private estate. Here is his
portrait, that of a typical blue-eyed Scot. He arrives at last 15
and takes us by moonlight to the little landing near his house.
In the morning we make a voyage down the Sound. All around us
are steep mountain slopes with wisps of cloud hanging upon them
not yet dissipated by the sun. At the head of the Sound we can 16
see the Bowen Falls, and our boat will take us right up to their
foot for a closer view. We pass Mitre Peak, with its remarkable 17
shape, and then are shown Two Man Beach, where Sutherland landed 18
first with one companion, prospecting for gold, thirty years
ago. The rock above is dark purple-grey, with splashes of green
and scarlet from the small trees clinging to it and the blossom
of the _rata_. Finally we reach the Heads and the open sea, and 19
turning look back. Notice how the mountain walls close in on
the blue-black water. Sheer above the surface they tower for
half to three-quarters of a mile, carved and polished by the
great glacier which filled the Sound long ages ago. We may see
something like this in the West of Scotland, though on a far
smaller scale; but to find a close parallel we shall have to
search among the fiords of Norway. Here is a map showing the 20
district of the Sounds. When we have seen Milford, we have seen
the essence of all the thirteen Sounds; though each has its own
special beauty; so we start on our long tramp back, turning aside
a mile or two from the Quinton Huts to visit the Sutherland 21
Falls, which claim to be the highest in the world; and so to our
motor car for Lumsden and the railway to Dunedin.
Before reaching Dunedin we cross the Clutha, one of the largest
of the New Zealand rivers, as it drains three lakes among the
mountains, and these in their turn are fed from the snows of the
southern Alps. The river flows for the most part through a narrow
rock-bound channel, in hilly country, and so has no broad valley
for settlement; but its sands are rich in alluvial gold, and
we may perhaps catch sight of an ugly floating dredger, moored 22
in the stream. Much of the gold in New Zealand is alluvial,
and dredging for it in the river-bed is one of the most common
and profitable methods of mining. This part of Otago owes its
population and prosperity almost entirely to its gold and the
sheep which are scattered everywhere over its rolling downs; in
the west, as we have already seen, it is occupied by mountain,
fiord, and forest, and is scarcely inhabited.
Dunedin, the Edinburgh of New Zealand, is the most important
commercial city in the South Island. It is much larger than
Invercargill and has many fine buildings of the Oamaru stone,
the best building stone to be found in the island. Here was the
original Scottish settlement in 1848, and the natural outlet of
the rich gold and pastoral district behind. The city lies at the
head of a long inlet, Otago Harbour, which is formed by a narrow 23
peninsula connected only by a small neck with the mainland.
The peninsula and the surrounding hills together make a kind
of funnel through which sweep the winds from the north-east or
south-west. It is always cool and breezy here, a fit place for a
strong, healthy, and energetic race; but people coming from the
warmer regions of the North Island do not always appreciate the
change. Here we have a wide view of the town and harbour, looking 24
northwards, from the Town Belt, a fine stretch of public land
on the hillside encircling the city. Here is a nearer view from 25
which we can gain some notion of the size and character of the
city itself. Notice the church spires, the tall factory chimneys,
the warehouses and offices. Dunedin has its flour mills, its
woollen mills, its manufactures of boots and clothing. Here is
the interior of one of the large woollen mills, showing the 26
combing and spinning machines; we might easily imagine ourselves
in Yorkshire. Another picture gives us a glimpse of one of the 27
many beauty spots on the coast within a short distance of the
city.
Just as the ocean trade of Invercargill was carried on at Bluff,
so the outlet for Dunedin and the usual landing-place for large
steamers is at Port Chalmers, some miles further down the inlet; 28
though a recently dredged channel now enables them to reach the
wharves of Dunedin itself. Here we see the port from the west,
looking towards the sea. Dunedin is the headquarters of the
largest steamship company in the southern hemisphere; the company
trades especially with the coast ports of New Zealand and with
Australia. It is a curious accident which has given us a fine
harbour in this position. The east coast, like the west, takes
the form of long, smooth bights, with very few natural harbours.
The peninsula which forms Otago Inlet is volcanic in origin, as
is the larger Banks Peninsula further north. There are no live
volcanoes in South Island; but these interesting relics of past
activity have proved of the greatest value to settlement. They
even attracted here the Maoris, who confined themselves for the
most part to North Island.
We must now resume our journey, by the trunk line of railway, 29
which follows the coast all the way, with occasional branches
running inland between the south-eastern spurs of the central
mountain chain. We pass Oamaru, whence comes the stone for many
of the public buildings of New Zealand, and stop at Timaru,
where we change trains. We are going up one of the branch lines
to visit another district of magnificent scenery, though quite
different from the southern lakes and fiords. This is the
district of the New Zealand Alps, the Switzerland of the southern
hemisphere. At Fairlie the railway ends and we must once again
trust to a motor car. In the distance, as we start in the early
morning, we see a great mass of snow-capped mountains: this is
our goal.
Our road at first lies across a flat plain, with sheep and
cattle, and here and there a field of corn or a clump of trees
and an isolated homestead. Then we reach Burke’s Pass, with its 30
firs and poplars and little group of houses. Mount Cook, the
highest peak in the island, is just visible in the distance. We
are crossing over one of the long spurs which spread eastward
from the main chain. Soon we find the mountains, with snow peaks,
closing in on either side, as well as in front, and so we come 31
down to Lake Tekapo.