_MY FIRST RAILWAY JOURNEY._
I omitted in the last chapter to state that Auckland possesses a
hospital (perfect for its size), and some grand butchers' shops.
The hospital I have been all over, thanks to the courtesy of the
resident physician, and I do not believe that for brightness,
ventilation, and all other essentials, its wards are to be surpassed by
those of any hospital in London. I trust my readers will not imagine by
my speaking of the butchers' shops and the hospital in the same breath
that I desire to indicate that these institutions have anything in
common or are sympathetic.
With this explanation I will proceed to the butchers' shops. Meat
is the principal feather in New Zealand's cap: it is the one really
substantial cheap necessary of life, and New Zealanders have not
forgotten to make the most of it. It is the bait that has been found
most attractive in the immigrant fishery, and by the use of which the
agent-general has landed the majority of the immigrants in this colony.
The shops where it is sold are quite a feature in the town, and must
on no account be neglected. They are very large--larger, I think, than
any in London, with the exception perhaps of one belonging to Messrs.
Spiers & Pond near Blackfriars Bridge. They are also very bright and
clean looking, being lined throughout, ceiling and all, with white
glazed tiles. On horizontal bars of bright steel suspended from the
ceiling are hung the carcasses of sheep and bullocks in vast numbers,
while legs and shoulders of mutton, sirloins of beef and other joints
are disposed on tables projecting from the walls. They are without
doubt the most killing-looking shops in Auckland.
The auction marts form another prominent feature in the town, and of
these I will have something to say by-and-by; for the present I think I
had better return to my own affairs.
The letters which had taken a trip to Cambridge (Waikato) had now
returned, in company with one from Mr.----, who informed me he would be
in town in a day or two, and would call. We therefore had nothing to do
till then but amuse ourselves.
A trip to Remuera, the prettiest suburb of Auckland, in an
uncomfortable omnibus, occupied one day. On the next, as my wife wished
to do shopping, I decided to find out what shooting was to be obtained
in the neighbourhood, and in furtherance of that object entered the
shop of one of the two gunsmiths in Queen Street and accosted its
proprietor, from whom I learned that there was some grand curlew
shooting to be had at Onehunga, a place about eight miles off, on the
Manukau Harbour. I immediately determined to go there, and see if I
could not make a bag. As I found Onehunga was to be reached by rail as
well as omnibus, I decided to try the former, with a view principally
to the saving of time; so taking my gun, cartridge belt, and game bag,
I made, in colonial parlance, "tracks" for the station, and took ticket
for Onehunga and back, the high charge made--half-a-crown--astonishing
me considerably. I was fortunate in just catching a train, but not so
lucky in my choice of compartments, for I discovered, after the train
had given its preliminary jerk--a mode of progression peculiar to New
Zealand railway trains--that the gentleman by my side was suffering
from an injudicious application of alcohol.
The seats in New Zealand railway carriages run "fore and aft"--that
is, lengthways--and when the first jerk came the afflicted gentleman
toppled over against me, and I had some trouble in getting him fixed up
perpendicularly again; the next jerk, however, found me prepared, and I
met him half way, with a force that sent him over against his neighbour
on the other side. This evidently did not meet with approbation, for
he was shot back to me promptly, and we kept him going between us like
an inverted pendulum. The "overcharged" individual operated upon took
it perfectly quietly, evidently considering his oscillations quite
the correct thing when travelling on a New Zealand railway. Playing
battledore and shuttlecock with a drunken man is tiring work, however,
and I was glad to change my seat at the first station we stopped at.
After three quarters of an hour of the roughest railway travelling I
had ever experienced--progress being attained by a series of violent
jerks--Onehunga was reached, and I descended and strolled away from the
station, fully convinced that the railway authorities charged by time,
not mileage; and this conviction I have since seen no reason to alter.
Onehunga is not an interesting port, and I have no intention of
describing it; suffice it to say that it is decidedly straggling.
Going into an hotel near the station, I procured some lunch, and was
directed to the most likely place for curlew. I laid up for them in
some all swamp grass, and waited patiently, but never saw a curlew all
the afternoon, and what is more, have never seen one since I have been
in New Zealand. I am positive there is not such a bird to be found in
the colony, or, at any rate, in the province of Auckland; what are
called curlew here are really godwit--the feathering of the two birds
is almost identical, and both have long beaks, but the curlew's curve
downwards and the godwit's upwards. The latter is a splendid bird for
the table, while the curlew is scarcely worth the picking. I have shot
dozens of them in the old country, and hundreds of godwits out here, so
I ought to know.
I would not have wearied the reader with the above remarks had I not so
often read in books, and more than once in newspapers out here, of the
curlew in New Zealand.
When I reached the railway station, homeward bound, I had a long time
to wait for a train, and walking up and down the dreary platform,
I did not, no! I greatly fear I did not, bless that Queen Street
gunsmith. The train arriving at last, I was jerked back to Auckland in
an unenviable frame of mind.
The bag I made that day at Onehunga consisted of one king-fisher, which
I looked on at the time as a great curiosity. I am wiser now, for they
are the commonest bird we have in this part of the colony--commoner
even than sparrows; but that Onehunga king-fisher I skinned and got
stuffed, and that Onehunga king-fisher I still value highly. He is the
first bird I ever shot in New Zealand, and he is the last bird I ever
intend shooting at Onehunga.