bounded by the ranges, so that whichever direction the eye travels
along the straight, wide roads it meets with either the sea or the
hills, an impression always being given of restricted area, of living
on a ledge, as it were, beyond which exit could only be gained by
climbing high hills or going out to sea. But it must be remembered,
first, that the area is far less restricted than it seems, there being
land enough for all the expansion there appears likely to be for many
years to come, and next, that although New Zealand is undoubtedly a
hilly country, it is only in the interior that the hills attain any
great magnitude, and that, as I have before noted, those hills are of
great value in the pasturage of sheep. As in Gisborne, one may look
in vain for any evidence of hustle, of determination to go ahead.
A Sabbath calm even at noon of every day seems to pervade all the
streets. Nobody is in a hurry, nobody seems to consider that haste
in anything is necessary or desirable. And they are doubtless right;
but it is curious that men who have lived in this calm atmosphere for
thirty or forty years should be anxious to impress the visitor with
what they have grown to believe is the fact--that the city is growing
very fast. With all my admiration for New Zealand and her institutions,
I must say that as far as growth is concerned she appears to me almost
at a standstill, especially when compared with provincial towns at home
which might be named by the score. I should not have mentioned this
but that every one with whom I converse seems to be under the same
curious misapprehension, based I suppose upon the fact that they have
lived here so long, or have only travelled to similar or even smaller
places that they know every brick and plank in the place, and watch the
erection of each new edifice, however tiny, with an almost parental
solicitude.
The railway runs from here to Wellington, but except for places _en
route_ is but little patronised, owing to the fact that in the
splendid steamers which call here and are replete with every modern
comfort the traveller may leave Napier late in the afternoon and be
alongside the wharf at Wellington early in the morning--a method of
travel which in a country where the inhabitants are as peripatetic as
they are here, is of course immensely favoured. But as yet the harbour
is not sufficiently commodious or safe to invite ocean-going liners,
and considering the enormous expense which the making of an harbour in
an unprotected roadstead (for Napier is nothing more) entails upon a
very small population, I doubt very much whether the present generation
or even the next will see one completed. It is to me a really
marvellous thing how these tiny communities do shoulder burdens of this
kind though, and an almost tragical interest attaches to the way in
which such a painful mass of expenditure is sometimes wasted entirely.
But I must bid farewell to pleasant, sunny Napier. It was Midwinter
Day when I was there--the 21st of June--and the summits of the
loftier ranges were lightly powdered with snow, but the air was mild
and balmy, the sky cloudless, and the shade temperature at 9 a.m.
52°--a delightful day, which I was earnestly assured was not at all
exceptional, but rather the rule, in this sweet and equable land.
I am extremely glad to have made Napier's acquaintance, but I feel
that, in spite of its being in the most progressive land on earth,
it is, like other places which I have visited lately, a spot where
men take life easily, where nothing is strenuous except football and
horse-racing--two sports which out here seem to constitute the chief
business of life for the majority of the male population, speculation
coming next, commerce next, and production last of all. If this
judgment sound too severe, I have only to say that I have no prejudices
at all, I merely record my impressions with an entirely unbiassed mind.
We left Napier in the afternoon of this lovely day, skirting the
coast at thirteen knots, to be reduced later on so as not to arrive
in Wellington before daylight. We steam closely along the land, which
everywhere presents the same rugged, irregular appearance of wooded
ranges of hills, some of which indeed are high enough to be dignified
by the name of mountains, these latter being now capped with snow.
But I am not again likely to make the mistake of supposing that these
rugged lands have no value, since I have learned their possibilities
in sheep and timber, for both of which products New Zealand justly
stands in the very front rank as regards quality. Nevertheless, I
cannot help noticing that on this long stretch of coast between Napier
and Wellington, there are only two tiny hamlets, there are scarcely
any roads, nothing that could by any stretch of courtesy be called a
harbour, and only a few little streams pouring their tribute into the
Pacific Ocean. It is here, if anywhere, that the visitor realises the
sparsity of the population, and by contrast the amount of energy that
_must_ be concentrated somewhere in order to have made New Zealand
the much-discussed country that she is. It is worthy of note that
with great wisdom the Government of New Zealand have established
a tourist department under the charge of a Cabinet Minister, the
Postmaster-General, Sir Joseph Ward.[3] Under him, as general manager
or agent, is Mr. Donne, who is given control of a very large sum
for advertising purposes, in order to bring to the notice of the
pleasure-seekers of the world generally the wonderful possibilities
for sport and pleasure that New Zealand presents. Owing to wise
precautions taken in stocking the country with game and fish, which
have been, and are, most carefully protected, New Zealand is a thorough
sportsman's paradise, red deer and fallow deer abounding, and trout
of extraordinary size swarming in the lakes and rivers. There must be
something amazingly congenial in the climate of this little wonderland
to British game, whether fish, fur, or fowl. For the trout especially,
which having been brought here from home or from Canada, in the form
of ova, are now often caught up to a weight of 20 lbs., while other
game is equally hearty and plentiful. The Government issues licences
to shoot and fish at a very cheap rate, and the restrictions are only
against indiscriminate slaughter or wanton destruction of any kind.
Then the natural beauties of the country--its fjords like those of
Norway, its Alps like those of Switzerland, its geysers and hot springs
like those of Yellowstone Park--are extremely fascinating, while
an additional charm is lent by the fact that all these wonders are
easy of access, are at no great distance from each other, and that
the charges are everywhere extremely moderate and the accommodation
is exceptionally good. As indeed it must be, for the hand of the
Government is extended over all in paternal care, and ill would it
fare with any hotelier's prospects who should by rapacity or neglect
of his guests do anything to hinder their efforts to make New Zealand
a popular pleasure-ground. Then perhaps the greatest charm of all
is the delightful climate. Even in midwinter, except in the extreme
south, it can hardly be called cold, while in summer the climate is as
nearly perfection as it can possibly be. The Union Steamship Company
have also established a good service of steamers to the delightful
South Sea Islands, with all their manifold charm, and Tonga, Fiji,
or Samoa can be reached in a few days from Auckland through shining,
slumberous seas and velvet nights, until, upon those Lethean shores,
the peace of perfect rest descends to the wearied man or woman almost
crushed out of existence by the mill-wheels of civilisation. Owing to
the wise and fostering care of the Government of New Zealand of its
oversea communications, it has, in spite of its Antipodean distance
from the Old World; of its being, as it were, the very last outpost of
civilisation on the confines of the globe, a splendid choice of routes
thither, and by one of these routes, the dearest but certainly the
most interesting, Auckland may be reached in well under a month from
London. That is the route _viâ_ New York, San Francisco, and Honolulu.
For those who prefer to take the Australian Continent on their way and
touch the East also _en route_, there are the Orient-Royal Mail, P. &
O., and other lines according to choice, but at practically the same
rates, while to others who have plenty of time and no objection to a
long sea journey, there is offered an economical route in magnificent
ocean steamers of the largest size either direct by New Zealand
Shipping Company or Shaw Savill and Albion Line, or _viâ_ Australia by
half a dozen lines running thither round the Cape. In the former case
the journey is made in about six weeks--a sumptuous rest cure for those
who are good sailors; in the latter of course another week must be
added in order to reach New Zealand from either Melbourne or Sydney.
But I have said enough to indicate my belief that as a relief from the
so-called pleasure-grounds of Europe with their terrible expensiveness
and nerve-racking pleasures, it is a change of the most perfectly
delightful and health-giving kind to pay our Antipodean brethren a
visit, remembering that in these days of luxurious ocean travel the
distance is, as Mr. Micawber said with less truth, merely imaginary.
FOOTNOTE:
[3] Now (1907) Prime Minister.
XVII
THE CAPITAL OF WONDERLAND
At daylight I came on deck to witness the steamer's arrival at
Wellington. I have often heard many hard things about the capital
of New Zealand. How, for instance, it was so subject to tremors of
the unstable earth that no buildings could be erected save of the
flimsiest character, how every day was evil, in that gales of wind
were the rule and fine weather the rarest exceptions, while rain was
almost a permanent feature of the atmospheric conditions. All of which
statements were, of course, exaggerated, but still I felt must have a
certain basis of truth; and I wondered why. This morning I know, and
although I gladly admit the exaggeration, I feel fully persuaded that
Wellington, despite its truly splendid harbour, is hardly used in the
matter of climate. It lies at the foot of a closely investing range
of high hills, the other sides of which are exposed to the full fury
of the brave westerly winds which sweep around the world, only just
deflected slightly by two outlying points of the South Island, Cape
Farewell and D'Urville Island. Consequently the immense amount of
moisture brought across the mighty Southern Ocean finds a congenial
arrestment by the hills on whose eastern slopes Wellington lies, and
the fierce squalls which sweep through the streets are only what
will always be experienced on the lee side of high lands. Then, too,
Wellington lies in the direct line of the backbone of New Zealand,
the mountain chain which, with hardly a break, extends through its
whole length from north to south, or, more correctly, from NNE. to
SSW.; which, in view of the fact that this is essentially a volcanic
country, will, I think, sufficiently account for Wellington's liability
to seismic disturbance. At the same time it must be remembered that of
late years these terrifying vibrations of the earth's crust have been
so few and feeble here as to encourage the erection of substantial
buildings, all of which, however, have been put up with the greatest
possible attention to such details of structure as may be expected to
minimise as much as possible any earthquake effects.
Fortunately my first view of Wellington was a favourable one. The
weather was fine but overcast, still, although the sun was hidden,
the air was clear, and I was able to take in the details of the grand
land-locked harbour, the really splendid system of wharfage, and the
imposing appearance of the buildings, which came right down to the
wharves themselves. But I was, I remember, also impressed by the fact
that Wellington looked cramped for room, and I was not at all surprised
to hear, as I had been at Auckland, that an enormous amount of this
crowded foreshore was reclaimed land, won back from the sea by an
enormous expenditure of capital and labour, and returning a very high
percentage upon the outlay. As in recent places which I have visited,
but in a more restricted sense, Wellington appears from the bay like a
town on sufferance, incapable of being extended in any direction save
seaward, which extension has, of course, severe limits. But I learn
without surprise that the surrounding hills are gradually being taken
up for suburban residences, for the electric car takes little account
of hills, and Wellington has a very fine system indeed, exactly like
our own at home.
The business aspect of Wellington, especially as regards its
shipping, is so striking as to make it difficult indeed to realise
that its population is less than 60,000, or a quarter less than that
of Auckland. The wharves here have an enormous area, and such monster
ships as those of the White Star Line and New Zealand Shipping Company,
that is to say vessels up to 12,000 tons register, lie at these
wharves and load quite comfortably, while the position is so easy of
access and so sheltered that vessels may come and go at any time of
the day or night. This is the great distributing centre for the whole
of New Zealand, most advantageously placed, geographically speaking,
and with its people most keenly alert to extend their trade in every
conceivable direction. Here may first be realised what a gigantic
concern the Union Steamship Company of New Zealand has grown into from
its very small and tentative beginnings about thirty-five years ago.
It has now a fleet of fifty-five vessels, speedy, efficient, and well
kept up; from vessels of nearly 6,000 tons gross register and 6,000
horse-power, which carry the "all red" mails to Vancouver, and the
scarcely less splendid steamers of the Intercolonial service, in one
of which I shall presently be sailing--the _Manuka_, of 4,505 tons and
4,500 horse-power twin screw--down to the few small vessels which act
as feeders from the tiny outlying coast hamlets. This fleet, which
is almost essentially a coastal one, has a total tonnage of 112,540
tons, which is not surpassed by any similar service in the world with
the sole exception of the British India. And there the comparison is
manifestly unfair, since quite a large proportion of the B.I. fleet
are ocean liners in the fullest sense of the term. It is nothing
short of marvellous how so small a country as regards population
should have developed so splendid a fleet out of its coastal trade and
communications with Australia.
I took a walk round the well-groomed, busy thoroughfares of Wellington
as soon as I could get ashore, just for a casual glance in the few
hours that I am to remain to-day. My next ship for a short and
interesting trip to Picton and Nelson is the _Pateena_, of 1,212 tons
and 2,000 horse-power, which is to sail at one o'clock; so that I must
leave any detailed remarks about Wellington for my return here, when I
hope to spend a few days. I note, in passing, that the city seems to be
as yet completely dazed by the shock of Mr. Seddon's death, but that,
I think, is because yesterday the public funeral was carried out, and
the remains of New Zealand's idol were laid away to their long rest.
Getting tired, I returned to the wharf and boarded my new ship to
enjoy the spectacle of a couple of large steamers getting away in
truly British fashion, that is without fuss or bawling, but as if the
movements of the ship were directly controlled and regulated from the
brain of the master. It was a beautiful sight, and it was hardly over
before our ship also glided away from the wharf, and in a quarter of
an hour was outside the harbour heading directly across Cook's Straits
for the wonderful series of fjords which must be navigated in order to
reach Picton. Then I became aware of one of the main difficulties of
our modern navigation. Here is a man charged with the care of (on an
average) 200 lives, to say nothing of property, who from week end to
week end never gets more than three hours' continuous rest. By day the
intricate navigation of these wonderful sounds and bays is severe; at
night, in fogs, in gales, and pelting rain the strain is terrible. And
it is incessant. Talk about business strain! Wherein does it compare
with this? To the thinking man the spectacle of this overwrought son
of the sea in such a position of authority, watching lynx-like each
headland as it looms like some glooming cloud upon his view, making
mental combinations of the direction and force of the tides according
to the time of day (or night, for people ashore do not understand that
the maritime day counts twenty-four hours) taking into the hotchpot the
age of the moon, and withal to combine these facts with the temporary
contingencies of wind and weather, is fraught with deepest wonder that
any man should be equal to it at all. Yet these men are, and by the
universal rule that those who do the most get the least are always
in what are subordinate positions. Although it must be admitted that
compared with our coasting skippers at home such men are well paid. Yet
no pay can compensate any man for such a wreckage of manhood as must
result from the incessant strain of such a life. It is more than flesh
and blood can stand.
I did not see the worst part of it going out, because at Picton I went
fishing in the dark, and got so tired that I slept through the passage
of the French Pass, in the anticipation, too, that I would see it on
my return. So when I awoke in the morning the _Pateena_ was stopped
off what I find every one here imagines to be a phenomenon of unique
quality, the Boulder Bank. It is a natural bank of pebbles nicely
graduated from fine sand at the water's edge up to the huge pebbles
weighing a couple of hundredweight at the summit of the ridge and
stretching parallel to the foreshore of the port of Nelson. It begins
far beyond the limits of the port, having indeed a total length of
eight miles or thereabouts, and has, hitherto, compelled all vessels of
any size entering the port to wait for tide in order to get round its
extremity and between a curious outlying rock perched upon a bunch of
reefs of the most dangerous character. Now, however, the harbour board,
greatly daring, have cut through the natural bank at a spot nearly
opposite to the town and speak of having a channel deep enough to
bring in ships like the _Athenic_ and the _Corinthic_ of 12,000 tons.
_Nous verrons._ I hope their enterprise will bear fruit, for here, as
elsewhere, the expense of such works falls with tremendous weight upon
a population, all told, of some 9,000 souls.
Now comes the joke. This "Boulder Bank," as they call it, is an almost
exact replica of the Chesil Beach, which extends from Portland to
Weymouth, or _vice versâ_, according to which way you look at it. In
the composition of the Bank itself there is absolutely no difference
from that of Portland, but in direction and situation there is a great
dissimilarity. Chesil Beach runs directly seaward from Weymouth in a
very slight curve, having at its Channel end the English Gibraltar,
Portland Bill. As most people know at home, the naval haven of Portland
has been constructed by running a massive breakwater from Portland to
the western horn of Weymouth Bay, or to leeward of the Beach, with two
small openings almost like dock entrances without gates thereto. In
Nelson, as I have mentioned, the beach runs parallel with the shores
of the port, and the authorities have cut through the beach itself at
a point nearer to the wharves already built, in order to bring the big
oversea ships in for such modicums of cargo as there are to give them.
Nelson is a typical New Zealand coast town. Its streets are wide, its
buildings humble, and the ranges shut it in to its little foothold on a
foreshore. Its growth is imperceptible. It seems hardly credible that,
remembering the natural advantages of Nelson that after over half a
century of enjoyment of these natural privileges it should still remain
so small and feeble in point of population. Yet the fact remains, and
it is due to the same causes to which I have so often adverted, that
I hardly dare to recur to them again, the determination not to have
anybody come here who has only his labour to sell. That is beginning
to change, but in spite of the progressive legislation in labour
questions, for which New Zealand is famous the world over, the Labour
member and the labourer already established in a comfortable position
looks sourly upon any proposition to introduce a competing element
whether of his own blood or alien. And as far as I can see it will ever
be thus with Socialistic schemes, so called, because they never seem
to realise the _individual_ factor. And until they do every form of
legislation adopted is bound to be a failure, as all such schemes must
fail which run in opposition to the fixed laws of nature.
One feature of all these New Zealand and Australian towns always
strikes a stranger from England at once--the number of huge telegraph
posts through the streets, laden with telegraph and telephone wires.
No matter how small the town may be, these great mast-like posts bear
their complex burden, for the telephone is a necessary of life here as
it is in America. Indeed this particular feature reminds a visitor who
knows both countries, of the United States, except that out here the
people show their British love for order and neatness by having the
posts neatly squared or rounded and painted, while the Americans, even
in quite large cities, are content to have the rough tree with just the
bark off, and sometimes not even that. Nelson, small and sleepy as it
seems to be, is no exception to the general rule, but it has puzzled
me more than a little to understand what use can possibly be made of
all this network of wires. There does not seem business enough done to
employ the half of them. Perhaps what business is done requires a much
more liberal use of the telephone than is the case with us.
XVIII
A NATURAL MARVEL
Many things might doubtless be written about Nelson which would be
intensely interesting to people who live there, some indeed who, in
spite of the absence of bustle and general air of ease, have managed
to make comfortable fortunes there. Of its glorious climate I can
unfortunately say nothing, having been favoured during my stay of
five days with exceptionally cold and very wet weather, which you are
always told in such places is something unknown, even to the oldest
inhabitant. But I have no doubt from its beautiful sheltered position
that Nelson must for most of the year enjoy a climate almost ideally
perfect, and a strong proof of this is to be found in the establishment
there of several higher grade schools or colleges for both sexes, to
which I am told parents send their children from all over New Zealand.
It has, however, one eminently undesirable feature, such as I have
noticed nowhere else in New Zealand, a vast foreshore of unpleasant
mud flats which are laid bare at low water, looking and smelling most
unpleasantly. Of course, the daily lavation by the tides makes even
this of no effect upon the health of the town, but it is curious,
to say the least of it, that in a coast where steep-to shores are
the rule--and it is quite common to get a depth of 50 fathoms almost
touching the rocks--that this long stretch of shallows should have been
formed. I put it down to the influence of the Boulder Bank; and perhaps
some day when Nelson has grown, that mud flat will be reclaimed, as at
Auckland and Wellington, and be worth much money for building upon.