leave in the middle of the day, I am looking forward with a great
deal of interest to the return journey, because of the opportunity of
witnessing the intricate navigation between here and Picton. For a
slow steamer, unless under very favourable conditions, and for sailing
vessels at all times, this route through the French Pass from Tasman
Bay into Pelorus Sound is impossible. The passage is between D'Urville
Island and the main South Island of New Zealand, which here forms
a series of fjords and bays of great depth of water and wonderful
picturesqueness. There is very little cultivable land, but as on
the rest of the ranges I have hitherto mentioned, there is splendid
pasture for sheep, which may be seen quietly grazing all over those
desolate-looking hills. Many of the settlers' houses, nay, most of
them in this locality, are right down on the foreshores of sheltered
little bays, and the people find easy and swift communication with each
other by water owing to the amazing spread of motor-boat industry.
It is no exaggeration to say that the petrol motor for boats has
caused a perfect revolution in travelling by water out here, there
being hundreds of these neat, swift, and handy little vessels all
round the coasts. Of course the great petroleum companies are largely
responsible for this, in the same manner as the gas companies at home
by introducing the penny-in-the-slot meter and free fittings have
enormously extended the use of gas among the poorer of the people.
These companies have made the acquisition of a petrol motor, which can
be fitted to any ordinary boat at a very trifling expense, most simple,
easy, and cheap, trusting to the increased sale of petrol for their
profits. Again and again I have been compelled to notice the spread of
the use of motor-boats throughout Australasia, especially for fishing
purposes, but nowhere is this so marked as in New Zealand, for which
country, with its deeply indented coast-lines and rugged land surface,
this form of locomotion by water is particularly suitable. It is also
found most useful for schooners and other small sailing craft, which by
its aid are independent of towage in and out of harbour, and also on
the failure of the wind at sea can, by starting the motor, make from
three to five knots through the water in a dead calm.
Viewed from a distance, the French Pass did not look particularly
formidable; I judged it to be about two miles wide. But as we came
nearer the captain pointed out to me that the actual passage was
reduced to less than a quarter of a mile by the upheaving of rocky
obstacles until at last the deep-water channel was limited, as I have
said. On the two extremities of the reefs which form the "heads" of the
pass there are erected beacons, on one of which there is a light of
about four candle-power, I should think; at any rate, as the captain
said, it looked as if you needed another light to see it by. The tide,
coming in from the vast open Pacific, fretted and foamed and boiled
through the narrow pass and over the adjacent rocks, the vessel being
hurled forward over the ground at the rate of twenty knots an hour,
her own speed being about fourteen. A fool could see how bad a place
it would be for a slow ship or an ill-steering one, such having often
been swept right round against the helm, perfectly unmanageable. And I
shudder to think what this passage must be like with a westerly gale
blowing, an enormous breaking sea on, and darkness over all. Yet it is
done, and twice in twenty-four hours, too, by men who from week to week
never have their clothes off except for a bath. Personally, I feel that
it is utterly unfair to subject any man to such nerve-wrecking strain
as that, especially when he has hundreds of lives depending upon his
coolness, courage, and skill. Promotion to a long-distance clear run
must seem to these sorely tried men like a change to Paradise.
We had hardly dashed through the foaming, whirling pass into the smooth
waters beyond when a motor-boat, or oil launch as they always call them
here, darted out from behind a headland to intercept us. The engines
were stopped, the visitor swung alongside, and in five minutes had
cast off again, having hove half a ton of potatoes and some fish into
us for the Wellington market, due to arrive there soon after daylight
in the morning. Away we went again, the forecastle now being crowded
with passengers to see what, I believe, is the most interesting and
extraordinary sight in the world connected with natural history--the
visit of Pelorus Jack. Prior to my coming here I had heard numberless
stories about this strange sea-monster's ways (he is usually spoken of
as a fish), but although I could not refuse to believe altogether, I
confess I made many mental reservations until I should see for myself.
Fortunately the day was fine, the sea smooth, and the light good, it
being about four in the afternoon. And as we passed the point off
which he is expected and nearly always seen, he joined us, taking up
his station on the starboard bow, right alongside of the stem. The
first sight of him was sufficient to determine what he was--_Grampus
griseus_, one of the smaller whales of the _Orca_ species, whose colour
is usually chocolate-brown, this one, however, being piebald, brown and
grey in patches, which show him almost white when he is just beneath
the surface of the sea. Now the ship was going fourteen and a half
knots, yet that grampus maintained his position by her side with the
utmost ease, only the slightest quiver of his tail being noticeable.
Occasionally he changed his position from starboard to port, pausing
for a few moments right ahead of the swiftly moving ship, then,
dropping astern a few feet, he would cuddle up lovingly against her
side, turning over as he did so, as if he enjoyed feeling her chafe
against his body. When thus engaged he rolled over sideways, presenting
his back to the ship's side, but never once exhibiting any energy, as
does the porpoise when accompanying a ship. It was an amazing instance
of power in locomotion, and I could not help feeling that if he had
chosen to exert himself he could have made rings round the vessel,
_i.e._, travelled at the rate of about thirty knots an hour.
Now there are some facts recorded about this wonderful sea mammal that
are of keenest interest. No other creature of his kind has ever been
seen in these waters. He is of so quaint an appearance that the many
thousands who have observed and snapshotted him--including, of course,
mariners from every sea--all say that they have never seen his like
before. That is, of course, in colour and habits. I have seen rorquals
come and chafe the barnacles off their huge bodies against a ship lying
becalmed, but never come near a ship in swift motion. And there are
men who have been on this coast for half a century who aver that they
always have seen him; he seems to be a permanent institution. Nay,
more stories are told by the Maories, as well authenticated as such
stories can ever be, that he has been known as long as their verbatim
history extends. I do not profess to believe that he is immortal, but
as we know nothing practically of the longevity of whales, it does
not do to be too sceptical. What I do know I have told, and it is,
I think, sufficiently marvellous to be entirely disbelieved by the
average person as savouring of a sea yarn. I can only add that he
remains with the vessel for the space of twenty minutes or half an
hour, during the whole of which time, by day or night, he is in plain
sight of any who choose to look over the bows. At the conclusion of
his visit he departs, as he came, in a straight line for the shore. It
is said that he was once injured by one of the regular steamers, or by
some one on board of her, and that since then he has never been near
that particular ship. This may be true, and I confess it does not seem
to be a more wonderful instance of animal instinct than what I have
myself witnessed, but it is not necessary to believe it in order to
appreciate fully the strangeness of this natural history phenomenon.
There are several photographs of him on sale in the form of postcards,
and on them it is stated that he is the only "fish" in the world that
is protected by Act of Parliament. That, I find, is an accretion of
imagination. There is a resolution of the New Zealand Parliament on
record to the effect that he ought not to be molested by any one, but
no special legislation exists. His dimensions are about fourteen feet
long by six feet in girth at the thickest part of the body, behind the
pectoral fins or forearms.
As the shades closed down upon us we skirted closely the bold and
rugged headlands of that picturesque coast and entered Queen Charlotte
Sound, a deep fjord or indentation at the innermost point of which lies
Picton, a tiny town of about 1,000 inhabitants, connected by railway
with Blenheim, another similar place. Not having been privileged to see
it, on either of my visits, in daylight, I can say nothing about its
appearance except that there is a fine substantial wharf, and that as
far as its accessibility by water and shelter for vessels is concerned,
it may safely challenge comparison with the whole world. But it has
no growth, does not appear likely to have, for reasons which I did
not care to go into, but which I shrewdly suspect are much like those
applying to other stationary towns out here--dearth of population and
consequent paucity of production and utilisation of the great natural
resources of the land. In this connection I may note that I have just
seen, with intense surprise, that the New Zealand Government are
advertising extensively in the United States for English-speaking
farmers to come here and take up land; and I wonder why this should
be so, in face of the oft-repeated assertions of love for the
Mother-country which has so many of her citizens unemployed and eager
to make their homes in new lands under the old flag. It is on a par,
I suppose, with a series of paragraphs which I saw here in one of the
papers the other day upon the discovery of oil in New Zealand. There
had apparently been inquiries on the part of the agents of the American
octopus, Rockefeller, and some people were indignant at the idea of
"Standard Oil" getting a footing in a free country like New Zealand.
But the editor of the paper in question suggested that it would be a
very good thing for the stock-holders, and, anyhow, whether they liked
it or not, the Standard Oil Company could compel them to sell their
property or prevent them from selling their oil! Unpleasant reading
that for free people of the British race!
Daylight saw the _Pateena_ steaming up Wellington Harbour again to her
snug berth at one of the fine wharves, and there, opposite to her, lay
the splendid steamship _Manuka_, twin screw, 6,000 tons gross, looking
more like some grand ocean liner than any coasting vessel. I was glad
to find that I had been able to catch her, and thus travel in her down
to Dunedin, although it reduced my stay to a few hours only, as before.
Nevertheless, I was able to get about a bit and note some of the more
obvious improvements in the city. It was rather ominous, however, to
note, as I did in the case of one large building in course of erection,
the structural precautions necessitated by the extreme possibilities
of earthquake shock. I feel that nothing could induce me to settle
comfortably in any spot, however beautiful otherwise, where at any hour
I might find my own abode and the adjacent buildings tumbling about
like houses of cards before a strong breath. Yet in how many parts of
the world is this indifference to one of the most terrible calamities
that can befall humanity to be witnessed! It is a curious phase of the
influence of hope upon man.
XIX
NEW ZEALAND SHIPPING
Wellington has certainly, as far as my experience of it goes, been
grossly maligned for its weather. To-day is again as nearly perfect
as possible, and that, I remember, in midwinter out here. I have had
another pottering day such as I love about the city and its environs,
and among my experiences has been a visit to the suburbs _viâ_ a sort
of funicular railway, a cable-car running up the side of a steep hill
starting from a tunnel, the entrance to which is in a back street
only to be found by the initiated. The service is frequent and swift,
and the journey to the summit and back well worth the taking, if only
for the beauty and comprehensiveness of the view. It compels me to
admit that beautiful as other parts of New Zealand undoubtedly are,
the capital has charms peculiarly its own, especially now that the
ingenuity of man has overcome the difficulties of transit.
Looking down from the great height to which the cable-car has carried
us, the panorama spread out before our eyes is full of beauty, and
without going back one word on what I have said of the glories of
Sydney and Auckland Harbours, I gladly admit that Wellington has no
reason to be ashamed. She has a harbour that the proudest nation in
the world might well envy for its capital. It is, as I have before
had reason to say, immensely difficult to realise, looking down upon
that splendid series of wharves, with its thronging ships of the
largest size, that I am in a city of less than 60,000 inhabitants,
the capital of a country whose total population is less than that of
three of our London boroughs. It is, of course, only to be accounted
for by remembering that here we have a selected population whereof
every adult unit is of account. There are neither unemployed nor
unemployable paupers or pauperising agencies. Intensely Socialistic as
is the legislation, it must be accounted unto them for righteousness
that they do not tolerate the loafer, the workshy, and the unfit. They
do not make the mistake which our Socialists do at home, of fostering
and coddling the parasites of the proletariat at the expense of their
fellows who _will_ work, and scorn to accept doles from anybody while
able so to do. It is impossible to imagine out here the spectacle of
able-bodied men being driven to pauperism because they see so clearly
that it pays better than work.
Now the _Manuka_ is ready to start, and I am charmed by the manner in
which this huge steamer is manipulated in truly British fashion--_sans
bruit_, as the admiring Frenchman says. Hardly a sound is heard as she
slips away from the wharf, and in a space little larger than herself
is turned around and headed for the open sea. A delightful discovery
has dawned upon me since travelling upon this coast, which is that the
fine fleet of the Union Company and Messrs. Huddart, Parker & Co. are
largely, if not entirely, officered and engineered by the native-born:
if not exactly native-born, then brought out here so young that they
are to all intents and purposes New Zealanders. Is this not as it
should be? and should it not teach us a lesson at home, if we could
learn a lesson, which seems doubtful as far as the Merchant Service is
concerned, how good and useful and profitable a thing it is to have
our most important trade in the hands of our own people? If only our
clamorous so-called Free Traders at home could be brought to see the
extent of the evil they are permitting in allowing the enemy--that is,
the foreigner--to get his molluscan grip upon all our industries while
our own best blood is being driven out of the country! No such mistake
is being made here, although, of course, plenty of other mistakes are
made, which is only natural.
I have wandered about this beautiful ship until I feel quite
happily familiar with her, and I have finished up with a tour of
her engine-room under the guidance of a chief engineer, a native of
Port Chalmers, Otago. She is up-to-date in every detail, possessing
everything in the nature of machinery to enable her to take a position
in any ocean line whatever. In fact, she exemplifies the peculiar
genius of the Scotch who, while keen to economise to the ultimate
baubee, never begrudge the most lavish outlay which makes for
efficiency and durability. I am quite proud to be a passenger by such
a coasting steamer, and yet I am assured that the new ones now being
built for the same trade are far ahead of her in every way. But then
I learn that this Company, far away at the under side of the world,
have in several matters of ship-owning been pioneers, owning the first
steel steamer, the _Rotomahana_, whose experiences on a reef of rocks
showed how vastly superior steel was to iron for shipbuilding, owning
the first ocean-going turbine steamship, the _Loongana_, of twenty
knots, presently flying between Melbourne and Launceston, Tasmania,
and running their ships at present with 95 per cent. of British crews,
while aiming steadily at their ideal, which is to have them all British.
It was an evil night, cold and drizzling rain with strong landward
gale, so I did not stay on deck late, but retired to my spacious
cabin, feeling certainly that I should be awakened at Lyttleton. And
it was even so. When the steward brought my tea and fruit at 6.30 he
informed me that she was alongside--a fact of which my senses had
before apprised me. The weather was still coarse and blustering, the
high hills which hem in the deep bay of Port Cooper, at the inward end
of which has been formed the snug and secure harbour of Port Lyttleton,
being covered with dense mist, and everything being especially cold
and cheerless. When I was here before the majority of the ships lay
out in the bay, in a somewhat exposed position, with a gale from the
eastward. But even then they did their discharging and loading on
the inner side of the infant breakwater, where they were perfectly
sheltered and served by the railway which ran along the breakwater, but
they were only usable by small vessels, such as the coasting steamers
of the Union Company then were. Now I saw, with some considerable
surprise, that not only has the original breakwater been nearly doubled
in length, curving round in front of the town, but another arm has
been extended from the opposite shore, so that the two now embrace a
deep-water area as secure as a dock, within which great wharves and
piers have been erected capable of accommodating vessels of the largest
size. Close to us, at wharves where in my day only vessels of 400 or
500 tons could lie, were the _Oswestry Grange_ and _Turakina_, two
10,000-ton steamers of the Federal and New Zealand Shipping Company
lines respectively. There were five or six of the Union Company's
steamers and one or two small sailing craft, but not one representative
of the old sailing ships that used to be such a feature of the port
thirty years ago.
The feature that I have so frequently noted as characteristic of most
New Zealand ports, viz., that of nestling at the foot of the ranges on
a little ledge of foreshore, is especially noticeable at Lyttleton,
which town looks so absolutely cramped for room that the houses in many
cases seem to be clinging to the sides of the encompassing hills. The
latter, too, look higher than usual, but that perhaps is because of
their nearness to the bay. But long ago the energetic colonists of the
province of Canterbury took the bold step of tunnelling through that
lofty range and connecting Port Lyttleton with the great area of level
country beyond, the far-famed Canterbury Plains upon which the city of
Christchurch is built. In certain parts of the city on a clear day I
have been bidden to look away off at the ranges eighty miles away over
a level plain no part of which was ten feet above high-water mark, and
yet it was not boggy or swampy. So I should say that Christchurch was
probably more favourably situated than any other New Zealand town when
all the requirements of a town are taken into consideration.
As to the appearance of Christchurch architecturally, I confess I
was disappointed. Of course I know that the day was vile as regards
its weather, and no place will look well in drizzling rain and
driving gale. But still, I saw that the usual mean wooden buildings,
interspersed with pretentious edifices of stucco-covered brick, were
here, as in Wellington and Auckland, the regular style, and I was
disappointed, because I had great hopes of Christchurch developing into
a fine modern city when I was here before, and it seems to me (I hope
its citizens will forgive me for saying so, but I don't suppose they
will) to have become somewhat slipshod and down-at-heel in appearance.
But, as I say, I had no fair opportunity of viewing it as a whole, and
what I did see was a bird's-eye view at the best, my visit only lasting
a few hours _en route_ to Dunedin.
We left the harbour at about five o'clock in the usual quiet, easeful
fashion, despite the weather, I being mightily struck by the manner in
which this 6,000-ton steamship was turned round in a space less than
twice her own length without the aid of a single spring or warp, or a
sound being heard save the occasional clang of an engine-room gong, and
the deep sob of the propellers. It was a fine piece of ship-handling,
and when she pointed out between the closely confronted ends of the
breakwater and sped seaward, I retired below, glad I had witnessed
it but conscious that I had gotten chilled through by the inclement
weather while thus deeply interested. So I went early to bunk, knowing
that at daylight again she would be off the well-remembered Taiaroa
Heads, the entrance to Port Chalmers Harbour, and felt that I must be
on deck to see her going in round the spit. Surely at dawn the next
morning I came on deck to face a wind bitter as any North-easter at
home--a searching, cutting blast, sending the spume flying high over
the long sand-bank that blocks the entrance to Port Chalmers Harbour,
all but a narrow, curving channel of deep water close under the high
land of the Heads, which seems terribly restricted for such vessels
as do negotiate it. To enter it is necessary to make a complete
half-circle, and keep within very narrowly restricted limits--almost
as narrow, indeed, as when entering a dock, but under far severer
conditions as regards ship-handling. Bor! but it _was_ cold. I used
to pride myself upon my indifference to cold, but this morning has
searched me out so that I could hardly endure to stay on deck while the
big ship ploughed steadily up the harbour and around the end of the
sand-spit across the front of the pretty little port where thirty-two
years ago the fine, big sailing-ships of Patrick Henderson & Co., New
Zealand Shipping Company, and Shaw, Savill, used to lie thickly during
the season. It looked so deserted now, so lonely, for since then the
narrow and almost unnavigable channel up to Dunedin has been dredged
and buoyed so that ships of almost any size can be brought up to the
city wharves. But without a pause she swung round Flagstaff Hill, and
held her way steadily onward until we reached the city front with its
great extent of wharfage, and a big Shaw, Savill liner, the _Karamea_,
was lying cosily alongside her berth, and was secured at once, while
just a few carriers and cabmen asked for hire, without, however, any
bustle or fuss, because it was Sunday morning. I walked ashore, and
just glancing around at the many alterations in the front of the city
that have been effected since last I saw this place, made my way up to
where I had elected to put up during my stay.
It was a most pleasant change from all my late experiences in this
thriving Antipodean Colony. I always have borne kindly recollections
of Dunedin, as of all the Australasian ports I used to know seemed to
fill the requirements of the mind as carrying on the traditions of
the Mother-country; and verily there was no disillusionment. It was
as it had been, only more so. No sham buildings here. Massive stone
edifices of a fine type of architecture, and where brick had been used,
as in the General Post Office, it was honest, good work, not at all
pretentious or hiding itself under a flimsy veil of cracked stucco,
but reminding me forcibly of the sturdy fashion of the Midland Railway
Company's buildings at home, good red brick, well-pointed, with white
stone facings and parapets, not needing to be ashamed by comparison
with any other erections around. In that comprehensive glance, I saw
that Dunedin had maintained her high promise in youth as regards her
buildings, and whatever had been done since was surely in keeping. The
streets were beautifully paved; there were many well-laid electric-car
lines, and I noticed that up the sides of the steep, encircling hills
there were cable-car lines running, enabling the citizens who lived in
the suburbs to gain their homes with great ease and little expense.
I saw that Dunedin was a city of which none of her citizens need be
ashamed, and I was very glad. Moreover, although this southern part of
New Zealand has an unenviable reputation as regards weather at this
time of the year, the drizzle cleared away, and the sun came out,
showing up the grand buildings clearly and pleasantly.
XX
SOME POLITICAL REFLECTIONS
Here, as elsewhere in New Zealand, I am astounded at the paucity
of the population when looking around upon what has been done. It
seems impossible that this beautiful city with its environs has less
than 60,000 inhabitants. According to appearance it should have been
200,000; but there are the figures, and no amount of manipulation can
alter them. I am told that the bulk of the trade of Wellington is
carried on by Dunedin merchants, and certainly, judging by the names
I saw over the principal mercantile buildings in Wellington, there
would appear to be much truth in the assertion. That, however, will not
explain why this wonderful little city still deserves the diminutive.
It is, as I have elsewhere noted, the headquarters of the most compact
and go-ahead coasting Steamship Company in the world--a Company, too,
that is launching out now in directions that will make it anything but
a coasting concern. Of course everybody (to use a colloquialism) knows
that Otago is preeminently a Scotch Colony, but if the visitor did
not know that, and had been an observant globe-trotter, he would at
once perceive on arrival here that the Scotch passion for solidity and
permanence of buildings so manifest in all Scotch towns, is abundantly
in evidence here.