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.