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.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 25.—The first thing we do when we reach a strange
town is to walk around and look at it, after being comfortably settled
in a hotel. Later, we hire a messenger boy, as guide, and go riding.
We like Wellington better than we liked Auckland, and we were in love
with that town. The Grand Hotel is really excellent, yet the price is
only $3.12 a day, which includes three regular meals, supper at 9 P.
M., early morning tea, afternoon tea, and room. The house has a good
elevator service, electric lights, and plenty of baths. My room looks
out on the main street of Wellington, and has a little stone balcony
in front. Across the street is the barroom of the Empire Hotel, with
two lady bartenders. I amuse myself watching them. They are stylishly
dressed, and it is funny to see them step up to the bar and ask a man
what he will have.... We swing along the streets in comfortable
fashion, and hope that drinking tea four times a day causes us to
look Colonial, if not English, but when we step into a store and
ask a price, the clerk replies, “Ten and six; that is, two dollars
and sixty-two cents.” Which causes us to realize that our gait, our
manner, our clothes and our talk are still plainly marked: “American.”
We went into a dry-goods store this morning, and Adelaide bought a
pair of gloves. The price was three and six (about half the price we
would have paid at home), and I gave the clerk what I thought was
the exact change. As I walked out, I was thinking the English system
of money is easy to learn. When we were in the street, a girl came
running after us with a shilling change.... Railroad trains run
through one of the busiest streets of Wellington, and this morning
we saw a train start for the races. It consisted of half a dozen
passenger coaches, and twelve flat cars provided with board seats.
One of the passenger cars was a sleeper. This is the capital of the
country. Think of the government owning the railways in the United
States, and, in Washington, D. C., compelling the people to ride on
flat cars. I imagine that “Tax Payer,” and “Citizen,” to say nothing
of “Old Soldier,” and “Vox Populi,” would write stinging letters to
the newspapers.... There is a paper printed here called “Truth,”
and I venture the opinion that it is the biggest liar in the Dominion.
The last issue has a leader entitled “Christ—Cæsar—Napoleon.” Under
such a title a writer might lie abominably.... In Australia, a Mr.
Beeby was recently elected to the legislative assembly against the
wishes of the labor unions. Mr. Beeby challenged the right of the labor
unions to order his every political act, and become the keeper of his
conscience. So he appealed to the people, and told the labor men to
go to the devil. They made a tremendous fight against Mr. Beeby, and
said he was trying to take bread out of the mouths of starving people,
etc., although he was really a very fair and sensible friend of the
working class. The result was a surprise; Mr. Beeby won, although by a
small majority. The Wellington _Times_ of this morning, speaking of Mr.
Beeby’s success, says:
“There is a good deal of hostility to the labor element, because of its
disregard of the best traditions of constitutional government.”
It was a fair and square fight between conservative people and the
labor unions, and the people won. There is a great deal of the same
sentiment everywhere in New Zealand and Australia; the people believe
the labor unions have become more exacting than circumstances warrant,
and that some day, somewhere, the limit will be reached.... This
has been a very enjoyable day, because there are no sights to see.
Fortunately Thos. Cook & Son didn’t want us to go to the South Islands
to see the glaciers; they say we haven’t time. We have walked about
in a leisurely way today, and, living far from the sea, the docks
attract us everywhere. This afternoon we engaged in conversation with
an officer of a ship sailing to London by way of South America, and
he took us all over it. He said sea-travel is safer now than ever
before, because of the “Titanic” disaster; that every seaman is more
careful.... Last night, two bands went by the hotel. The players
were neatly uniformed, and there were at least sixty men in the two
organizations. They were Mission bands; the Mission is a rival of the
Salvation Army, but a little quieter in its methods. The Salvation
Army also has a large band here, and both play in the streets every
evening. The papers give advance notice of the location of the
concerts, and large crowds gather to hear the music. The bands are
very creditable; nothing amateurish about them.... The men who work
in the slaughter-houses here are on strike, and the papers of this
morning say that the Farmers’ Union has adopted resolutions condemning
the slaughter-house employees for failure to accept arbitration....
In this country, when a newspaper prints a telegram, it prints the
day and hour the telegram was received, as a guarantee that it was
received by wire. If an editor prints a faked telegram, he is liable
to fine and imprisonment. The idea isn’t a bad one. The government has
lately ordered an investigation of the wireless telegraph business.
The people desire to know just what is actually being accomplished
by wireless. I shall watch the investigation with interest; I should
like to know, too.... Tomatoes are generally sold here at fruit
stores. Which revives the old conundrum: “Is the tomato a fruit
or vegetable?”... A place in Wellington is known as “The American
Lounge.” It is a soda-water place, and this sign appears in the window:
“Coca-Cola; something entirely new in New Zealand.” The soda fountain
is a small one-spout affair that a suburban grocer in America would
not tolerate.... In one of the suburbs, this afternoon, children
followed us, as though we were Chinese. “They are American people,”
the children said, apparently not knowing that we could understand
what they said. An old gentleman reprimanded the children, and
apologized for their conduct.... The race track is twenty miles
from Wellington, as there is not enough level land in the vicinity to
accommodate a mile track, and most of the people are out there this
afternoon. We were walking in the wholesale district at 3 P. M., and,
looking in every direction, were able to see only five people; and
they were hurrying to the railroad station. Wellington is very hilly,
and mountains are only a stone’s-throw from its main streets....
Yesterday a man named James Cole brought an action against his wife,
Fanny, because she failed to properly support him. Cole said he
was unable to work because of an accident, whereas his wife had a
profitable fish-supper business. Counsel asked Cole:
“How high are you able to lift your arm since the accident which you
say disabled you?”
Applicant lifted his arm nearly up to his shoulder.
“How far could you lift it before the accident?” counsel for Mrs. Cole
asked.
“Oh, up to here,” Mr. Cole replied, holding the arm high over his head.
Whereupon the magistrate dismissed the case. All of which appears in
the Wellington _Times_ of this morning; in the local news, and not in
the joke department.... We have a mandolin orchestra at this hotel,
and the leader is an old gentleman who looks like a member of the
Supreme Court of the United States whose picture I have often seen, but
whose name I have forgotten. He plays to the lady guests as the first
violinist does in a Paris café, and is altogether a very interesting
character.