interior of the country, although, be it noted, the traveller never
gets very far from the sea. I am to-day paying a visit to a town of
which I have heard a great deal more than would at first sight seem
to be warranted by the official numbers of its population. Palmerston
North is on the great central plain, which is, equally with the South
Island, a feature of the formation of New Zealand. There are two ways
of getting there from Wellington. One direct by the privately owned
Manawatu Railway, and the other circuitously by the State Line. And
as travellers usually do not care to waste time, however much they
may have on their hands, it follows that the privately owned line is
extensively patronised. Its chief station in Wellington is not, to say
the least of it, at all imposing, being only a collection of humble
wooden buildings. But then all these Antipodean railways have followed
the example set them by the Yankees in that they do not believe in
spending overmuch money upon stations or permanent way, although, to do
them justice, they are not nearly so casual in their arrangements as
are the Americans, who seem to regard, in railway matters especially,
expenditure such as we at home deem a necessity, sheer improvident
extravagance. Another thing which I was sorry to see was that the
rolling stock was exclusively American, with all the temporary features
that implies. But this is, of course, purely a domestic matter in which
a visitor from home has no right to interfere.
I confess, however, that I was not prepared for the question put to
me in the train to-day by a middle-aged gentleman who was the editor
of a newspaper devoted to the farming interest. In all seriousness
he asked me whether we had any dining-cars on the railways at home!
I was compelled to ask him whether he was joking, but it appeared
that he was quite sincere in his ignorance, and it then appeared in
further conversation that he had a fixed idea that all our catering
arrangements in England on the railways had been taught us by the
Colonies. Now it is quite true that there was a good dining-car on
this train, wherein was served a comfortable, well-cooked meal, but
in all its appointments it was very far behind what we get upon any
of the long-distance lines at home. And when I endeavoured to explain
the difference between the train in which we were then travelling and
a Great Northern or Midland express, he said, "Oh yes, but then you
have the advantage of the broad gauge!" It was impossible to pursue the
conversation at any length, because I could see that he did not believe
a word I was saying, so I relapsed into a book.
Now no one would dream of comparing the railways in a settled old
country like Great Britain, where safety, permanence, and comfort of
travelling are the main considerations and high speed is a necessity,
with the first tentative efforts at railway communication in a new
country where people are quite satisfied with an average speed of
about fifteen miles an hour, and where, the line being single, it is
necessary to wait at certain stations until the train bound in the
opposite direction has passed. I am very glad indeed to say that the
railways in New Zealand are well managed, the stations generally quite
adequate and easy of access, and the refreshment business, on the
prohibition principle, well attended to. But when I am calmly asked
whether we know anything about railway management at home, I find it
difficult to keep from making sarcastic remarks, as I do when I am told
that agriculture in Britain is still generally conducted on the lines
of reaping-hook or sickle and flail.
Ah well, I suppose this curious state of mind will continually be
found among those who have been bred or born in a new country, and I
do not know that it does much harm. They are so inordinately proud of
the progress they see that they cannot imagine anything being more
up-to-date or go-ahead.
The distance from Wellington to Palmerston North is about forty miles,
and leaving there--Wellington--at 8 a.m. we arrive at 11.40, this being
an express train, the next train leaving at 10.10 arrives at 4 p.m.
The journey was not in any way remarkable, except for the occasional
glimpses of great stretches of down land, literally covered with
fallen, bleached trees, in many places so thick that they covered the
whole ground. This is where the fire has been run through them, and is
the preliminary process of making grazing land. But I could not help
thinking that it was a sinful waste of timber, either for firewood or
paper-making, and no attempt was being made to clear the land or to
expedite in any way the process of its conversion into pasture. I
ventured to ask several times whether nothing could be done with all
that wood. I always received the same answer, "that it did not pay to
cart it away for firewood, and as for dealing with it in any other way,
well, labour was too dear." So it remained an eyesore and an hindrance.
Occasionally, where the fallen trees were fewer in number, cattle were
to be seen grazing between the trunks and apparently doing very well
indeed. Where the land was quite clear, as on our Wiltshire and Sussex
downs, there were plenty of sheep, all looking in splendid condition,
so that the pasture must be of a very high quality. Here and there the
sheep were feeding in fields of turnips, being specially fattened I
suppose, but these were few and far between.
One curious feature of the land to me was its extremes. It was either
very flat or very hilly; no gently undulating country such as we have
so much of at home; but all of it worth money, and big money at that,
mostly for grazing purposes. Every little town that we passed through
wore a delightful air of quiet comfort, while both men and women
looked fairly well-to-do, although they let their children run about
barefooted in a way that is disconcerting to an Englishman. That,
however, is probably only a fad, since the kiddies looked anything but
poor in other respects.
Palmerston North came really as a surprise. Owing to the fact that it
lies upon a perfectly level plain it is not nor can it be picturesque;
indeed it might, only the word sounds unkind, be called straggling. It
certainly does cover a very large area for its population, and those
responsible for its laying-out have been most generous in the matter of
streets. Also wherever there are any public buildings they are as usual
in the North Island of the prevailing construction, stucco-covered
brick. I have often wondered what could have become of all the
plasterers when stucco went out in England. I know now: they came to
New Zealand, and here they revel in their favourite medium, imitating
stone to their hearts' content.
There is a spaciousness about Palmerston that is delightful. It fills
one with the idea that it must some day be a great city, although
the railway running along through the main street for its whole
length bordered by grassy breadths upon which may be seen feeding the
casual horse or cow, does not inspire much hope that it ever will
be. Nevertheless, there is a great hotel a-building which would not
be unworthy of a town ten times the size, and so I feel that there
must be some basis for all this confidence. Here let me say with all
the emphasis at my command, that my first impressions of hotel life
in Australasia given you in my second chapter have been deepened and
confirmed by every fresh one that I have stayed in, until I am fully
prepared to swear that of all the countries I have ever travelled
in Australasia is easily first in the matter of hotels. The food is
always excellent, well-cooked, and abundant; the accommodation is
invariably comfortable, the attendance all that could be wished, and
the prices on an average about one-half of what they are anywhere else.
Sorrowfully do I confess that I have never stayed in any British hotel
that was nearly as good, as far as personal comfort is concerned,
as the worst hotel I have sampled out here. These hotels are less
pretentious in appearance, but they have no irritating extras, baths
are not considered a luxury for which you must pay a high price,
but are free at any time; a cup of tea at early morn in bed, and a
newspaper is brought you and not charged for, afternoon tea is also
free, and--whisper it gently!--if you are meanly inclined, you need
not tip anybody. I would rather stay in the smallest way back hotel
in Australia or New Zealand that I have visited than the most swagger
hotel in London, while as for America--but there, to stay in any
American hotel is to suffer penance for sin unrepented of--and the
punishment is fully adequate.
Palmerston also boasts the finest opera house (so they say) in the
Southern Hemisphere. I am inclined to take this sweeping statement
with a considerable grain of salt when I remember Buenos Ayres, for
instance, but there is no doubt that this opera house, built by the
municipality, is a splendid building, worthy of Melbourne or Sydney as
far as its appointments, size, and appearance is concerned. Of course
it is decorated with stucco on an exceedingly ambitious scale, and
therein, to the visitor accustomed to the stone erections of other
cities more favourably situated for durable building material, is to
some extent discounted. Moreover, it is a debatable point whether any
municipality has a right to burden its citizens with such a heavy
debt as this has entailed for such a purpose; but as this is a purely
domestic question it may safely be left.
Its public buildings are dignified and stately, the Post Office
especially being ten times finer and a much larger building than the
Post Office in Auckland, which has nearly ten times the population
of Palmerston. Yes, it is a bright, breezy, ambitious place, whose
citizens manifest the most robust faith in its future, although, of
course, there are many pessimists among them who talk dolefully about
outrunning the constable, &c. It is the centre of a large dairying
district, and from hence comes a great quantity of the splendid butter
and cheese which is largely consumed at home. It is indeed an ideal
country for such a purpose, owing to the richness of its pastures and
the mild, equable climate which it enjoys. And I have been told that if
only the farmers would manifest a little more energy the yield might be
largely augmented with but slight increase of outlay.
I went on from here to Wanganui, on the beautiful river of the same
name, through a most beautifully diversified country, the level plain
gradually narrowing as we went north, although there were occasional
stretches of rich-looking valley land. A change has to be made at
Aramoho Junction for Wanganui, the train from Palmerston going on
direct to New Plymouth, Taranaki, where it connects with the steamer
for Auckland. Wanganui is only two miles from the junction, and when
reached comes as a great surprise. It is still more difficult here than
elsewhere in New Zealand to believe that so beautiful and imposing a
town, with such fine public and private buildings, can be run by a
population of under 10,000 all told. The hotel in which I stayed was,
in every detail of its appointments--in everything, in fact, that a
hotel should be--worthy of any town or city in the world, while its
charges were simply ridiculous.
Here I came in contact for the first time to any extent with the
civilised Maori. He and she pervaded the streets of Wanganui in almost
equal numbers with the white folk, and I learned that there were more
natives in evidence here than in any other town in New Zealand. But it
is not fair to begin this subject at the fag end of a chapter and so I
will deal with it in the next.
XXIII
THE MAORI
Like all other primeval races the Maori does not bear the transition
to civilisation at all well. The noble savage in his native state
is a picturesque and romantic figure, with of course many customs
that we pale children of modern days cannot away with. Now the Maori
has unquestionably many noble qualities, but he shares with all
other native races an intense and invincible repugnance to settled
employment. As long as he can get his few primitive needs supplied he
will not work. In his native wilds this reposeful languor is graceful
and correct; it fits in with his environment. But in a town the Maori,
with the garments of civilisation hanging awkwardly upon him, lounging
at the street corners apparently indifferent to the flight of time,
or indeed anything under the sun, will not appear to the visitor
as anything else but an exceedingly unprepossessing loafer. It is
necessary, in order to keep back the feeling of repugnance that will
arise at sight of these groups of huge, seedy-looking men, to remember
that they are the descendants of the original owners of the soil, and
that they are now existing peacefully upon the rents of their lands
leased to the energetic white settlers.
In Auckland I noticed a good many Maori men and women about the town,
all the latter and most of the former looking curiously slouchy and
ungainly. But they were, after all, an exceedingly small item in the
thronging population, although they were usually found on the street
corners in the busiest part of the city at all hours of the day,
looking as if nothing that ever happened could possibly concern them.
Here in Wanganui, however, every street corner has its knot of lounging
Maories looking curiously out of place in the midst of civilisation.
They are all, men and women alike, of splendid physique, but of course
too fat, owing to the lounging habit, all equally, of course, are clad
in European clothing, and all without exception strike the visitor as
being exceedingly undesirable and unornamental. For they have, with but
rare exceptions, a peculiarly unprepossessing cast of countenance, and
withal an expression of languid contempt for the _pakeha_ (white man)
who goes bustling by that is not good to look upon.
Now I know that this is very harsh-sounding, but it expresses my
feelings exactly. I grant the Maori exceptional ability, especially as
an orator; I know that he is the original owner of the soil for which
he fought so doughtily that his enemies conceived a great respect for
him. I am sure that he is fully entitled to all that he receives by way
of rent for his lands and to the reservation which no white man may
interfere with; but I do wish he and his _wahine_ would not get into
shabby European clothing and hang about street corners in the towns. If
they want civilisation, let them by all means become civilised and fit
in with their surroundings; but if not, why! oh why do they not stay
in their native encampments and loaf to their heart's content where
loafing looks natural, dignified, and proper?
In order that I may not be misunderstood, I hasten to say that in the
colleges and in certain Government positions are to be found some
most admirable specimens of the Maori race, rising to a height of
intelligence and responsible feeling such as a negro seldom or never
attains to, and with an admixture of white blood, whether half or
quarter breed, many splendid specimens of manhood, both physically and
intellectually, are developed. The Hon. James Carroll, Minister for
Native Affairs, is a fine specimen of these last, and a gentleman whom
it is pleasant to know.
Unfortunately time did not admit of my going up what is here termed
the New Zealand Rhine, the Wanganui River. But even if I had, I could
hardly have ventured to describe its beauties after the flood of purple
writing on this and kindred scenic delights of the country which
has been poured forth from the Government printing works, under the
auspices of the Government Tourist Department. For, wisely enough, New
Zealand rulers, being thoroughly alive to the fact that their country
is the little wonderland of the world, spare neither pains nor expense
to make the fact known in order to attract, not so much settlers
as visitors. I am afraid to mention the huge sum which this small
community spends every year on advertising New Zealand as a playground
and health resort. It was told me by the gentleman who "runs" the great
business under the Minister in whose department it is, but he assured
me that, large as it was, the assessable returns fully warranted it. An
ever-increasing number of tourists come here from America and Great
Britain, come prepared to be disillusioned, but go away enchanted, full
of wonder that one small group of islands could possibly contain so
much to be marvelled at, to look upon in speechless admiration.
Also under the fostering care of the Tourist Department, game, fish,
fur, and feather is increasing, making the country a sportsman's
paradise, as well as a wonderland for tourists. There are no game laws
as we understand them; during the season appointed any one may shoot
or fish on payment of a small fee for the season--ten shillings. And
out of the season no one, however highly placed he may be, can either
shoot or fish, for here, as perhaps nowhere else on earth, the law is
no respecter of persons; if it is ever biassed at all, it is against
those who have in favour of those who have not. A curious feature of
the fauna is that creatures indigenous to other temperate countries on
being brought here thrive amazingly, although the native fauna was,
even when the islands were discovered, contemptible in variety and
number, there being practically no native game but the rat. Only on the
coasts and in the bays might be found overwhelming abundance of the
finest fish in the world. Now the lakes and rivers are stocked with
trout and other foreign fish, the woods with game of all kinds, while
domestic animals, such as sheep and cattle, are amazingly prolific
and splendid in quality. To complete the present brief sketch of New
Zealand's advantages, there are no noxious animals or reptiles, and
very few unpleasant insects, what there are being mostly imported and
easily dealt with.
I really feel sorry to say goodbye to Wanganui, for it is essentially
a place that invites to pleasure in the midst of all that can charm
the eye and comfort the body. Sea, river, lake, mountain, forest, and
fertile plain. I can quite enter into the feelings of a man whom I
met the other day, who, having been a confirmed globe-trotter, came
here for a week and stayed two years, only leaving then because he was
compelled to. And I feel thus having only seen it in the winter; I find
myself wondering what I should feel if I saw it in the summer! But the
call to leave was imperative, and I was carried back to Palmerston
North, through the golden sunshine and balmy airs of this midwinter's
day, feeling glad that the dwellers in New Zealand were thus highly
favoured. But as we crossed the Wanganui River I noticed that it was in
spate, and I wondered if these beautiful, fat, level lands were ever
flooded. There was no one at hand of whom I could ask the question, so
I turned to my newspaper--for be it known unto you that each of these
small towns will support a morning and evening newspaper--and there I
read of the sorrows of Gisborne, the thriving town on the shores of
Poverty Bay of which I wrote some time back. It has been the prey of a
devastating flood which has overflowed those fertile levels and done
enormous damage.
At the hearing of which I feel very grieved, for I learned to know
and like much many of the people there. Moreover I read also that the
communications have been greatly interrupted, and steamers have been
unable to call, or if they had the state of the sea between the two
breakwaters would effectually prevent the tender from going out.
The calamity, however, was purely local, for the smiling country
through which I was now passing showed nothing of flood, although it
looked as if it might be particularly liable to such visitations, being
so flat and surrounded by hills. We swung into Palmerston again, and,
so rapidly does one make acquaintances in a new country, I found myself
welcomed like an old friend. I am not likely to forget that night at
the cosy "gentlemen's club," as it was quaintly termed to me, but
which I accepted as merely plain statement of fact. Song and story,
and, executed by my own blood-kin, a _haka_, or Maori dance, fearsome
in leapings and boundings and yellings, and concluded with fiendish
grinning, the mouth gaping wide as possible, so as to show the teeth,
and the tongue protruding to the roots. Savage indeed, and I felt that
it should certainly be introduced at Adelphi Terrace.
Late though the hour was when I reached my hotel, and sinfully early
as the train departed next morning--6.55--there were brave and genial
souls awaiting to speed the parting guest. Leave-taking was after our
own fashion, entirely undemonstrative, but I felt sad, as I always do
on these hurried journeys, knowing that, pleasant as the meeting has
been, it is unlikely to be renewed, except by purest chance, in the
centre of things, London, whither all roads seem to lead. I am afraid
some of my untravelled friends that night thought that I was poking fun
at them when I told them of strange meetings, foregatherings from the
ends of the earth in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, and more so than
ever when I expressed my conviction that I should probably meet every
one of them again in the vicinity of that classic region.
Back again in what the New Zealanders proudly call the Empire City,
oblivious entirely of the misnomer. It is a beautiful little city,
a well-groomed and orderly city fully worthy of its position and is
prospering in a very high degree. But to call it the Empire City is to
ape the flapdoodle of the United States citizens, who, like the average
users of forceful adjectives, see nothing incongruous or ridiculous in
calling a collection of shacks a city, and cannot call a magnificent
aggregation like New York or Philadelphia anything else. I would not,
for a great deal, say anything that could even seem derogatory of
Wellington. It is a place worthy of the utmost love and admiration of
its citizens. In its surroundings it is peculiarly happy. They are
romantic, picturesque in the extreme, which qualities, in days not so
far distant, constituted a serious drawback to the city's expansion.
Now, thanks to the electric and cable car service, those encircling
hills have become easily accessible to all, and the citizens may and
do enjoy, not merely the most delightful of panoramic views over sea
and land that can well be imagined, but can pass to and fro between
home and business swiftly, easily, and cheaply. True, this case of
communication has brought in its train enhanced expenditure, land, on
these erstwhile unsaleable hilltops, now fetching fabulous prices; but
then these are the conditions which must always obtain whenever art
and science step in to assist people to enjoy nature.
And now the time approaches when I must leave Wellington for good.
Therefore it is only just to put on record that all the reports I
ever heard of its weather before I came here were base and malignant
inventions as far as my personal experience goes. While it is quite
true that occasionally the city experiences three days' steady rain
without a break, it is false to say that dirty or windy weather is
anything like normal--in fact, it would be far truer to say that such
climatic conditions are abnormal. Earthquakes do occur undoubtedly,
but so infrequently and of such slight importance that they are
practically ignored. The old _régime_ of wooden buildings which I had
often been assured were the only ones which would stand Wellington's
insecure foundations has vanished, and splendidly ornate edifices of
great height and imposing size are in evidence throughout the business
district, and are also being rapidly added to. The streets of the
city proper are beautifully level, paved like a billiard-table and
well kept, while the roads up the hills, with all their winding and
steep gradients are wonderfully well made. Indeed, taken altogether,
Wellington, apart from the delightful character of its citizens, is
one of the most desirable places to live in that is to be found in the
whole world, in my opinion.
XXIV
AUSTRALASIAN JOURNALISM