Auckland, the northern metropolis of New Zealand, was formerly the
capital of the country until Wellington was selected for the
headquarters of the government, as being the more central and accessible
from the several islands. So beautiful and picturesque are the bay and
harbor that one is not surprised to hear its citizens call it the Naples
of New Zealand. Before the European settlers came here this was the
locality where the most savage wars were carried on by the natives, and
where the most warlike tribes lived in fortified villages. Though the
country has virtually no ancient history that is known to us, it has a
recognized past extending back for some centuries. When the missionaries
first came here about the year 1814, the main subsistence of the natives
who lived around what is now Auckland harbor, was human flesh. The first
white immigrants, as well as the seamen of chance vessels driven upon
the coast, were invariably killed and eaten by the Maoris. Not only did
cannibalism prevail here, but it was common in Brazil, in the West
Indies, in the other Pacific Islands, along the coast of North America,
and among the Indians of Chili, who ate the early navigators who landed
upon their shores.
The isthmus upon which the city of Auckland is built is undoubtedly one
of the most remarkable volcanic districts in the world, though the
agency of subterranean fires is visible enough to the traveller all over
the country. Mount Tongariro, six thousand feet high, is even now in
activity, with occasional fiery outbursts. The earthquakes which occur
in both the North and the South Islands, cause alternate depressions and
elevations. That of 1855 raised the coast line four feet for many miles
in length. As in the peninsula of Scandinavia, we here find a grand
longitudinal mountain range from the extreme of the South Island through
the Auckland district to the far north, forming, as it were, a backbone
to the country.
Mount Eden is the nearest elevation to the city, and is seven or eight
hundred feet in height. On this hill there are abundant evidences still
left of the native fortifications, but of the large Maori population
that once covered the peninsula and lived in these _pahs_, or fortified
villages, not a soul remains. The harbor is one of the best in
Australasia, having ample depth and good wharf facilities, besides being
quite sheltered. Its shorter distance from the ports of America gives it
an advantage over all others in this region. It is reached from London,
across the American continent, in thirty-seven days, while to reach
Sydney requires four days more of steam navigation across a boisterous
sea.
Auckland occupies a series of hills divided by valleys trending in the
direction of the sea or harbor. The slopes and hill-tops are dotted by
villas, each of which is surrounded by flowers and ornamental trees. The
business part of the town is not particularly attractive, though Queen
Street, the principal thoroughfare, contains some fine stores and brick
edifices, as well as public buildings of stone. Both the level and the
hilly streets are traversed by street railways, upon which horse-power
only is used. The population, including the immediate environs, is
about sixty-five thousand. The educational interests of the city are
well provided for by primary schools, as well as by means for secondary
education in a college for boys, and a high school for girls, both taxed
to their full capacity.
The Ponsonby suburb and the village of Whou are composed of pleasant
residences tastefully ornamented. Parnell forms another suburb, rendered
attractive by hedgerows, drooping willows, and prettily arranged
gardens. From this point one gets a fine view of the outspread bay lying
below, full of various busy maritime craft. Steam ferry-boats are
constantly gliding across the harbor, little white-winged cutters bend
gracefully to the breeze, the tall masts of sailing-vessels line the
piers, and tiny row-boats glance hither and thither. The lofty
marine-signal hill looms up across the harbor, in its verdant garb,
while volcanic cones, a little way inland on either shore, form an
irregular background. Far away and beyond all is seen the swelling bosom
of the great Southern Ocean.
This metropolis is situated in the centre of rich timberlands, and also
of an abundant coal deposit. Should the Panama Canal be completed,
Auckland would be the first port of call and the last of departure
between Europe and the colonies of the South Pacific.
The kauri-tree--the pine of this country--is not at all like our North
American pine; instead of needles, its foliage consists of leaves of
sombre green. It produces a timber which for some purpose is unequalled.
It is very slow of growth, is remarkably durable, easily worked, of fine
grain, and does not split or warp by atmospheric exposure. It is said
that the kauri-tree requires eight hundred years to arrive at maturity.
To visit the forest where it is found in the Auckland district, one
takes cars from the city to Helensville, a distance of about forty
miles, where the Kaipara River is reached, upon which small steamers
ply, taking us directly to the desired spot. Here, the busy saw-mills
which are gradually consuming these valuable trees are so situated that
vessels of two thousand tons can load at their yards and with their
cargo pass directly out to sea. It is singular that while this district
is the only place in New Zealand where the kauri-trees are found, nearly
every other species of tree native to the country is also found here,
among them the rimu, the matai, the white pine, the tooth-leaved beech,
and the totara, all in close proximity to the kauri. The commercial
prosperity of Auckland is largely due to the harvest reaped from these
forests. The kauri-tree grows to an average height of a hundred feet,
with a diameter of fifteen feet. It is a clannish tree, so to speak; and
when found near to those of other species it groups itself in clumps
apart from them. One often sees, however, forests where the kauri reigns
supreme, quite unmixed with other trees.
The kauri-gum forms a large figure in the list of exports from Auckland,
and the digging and preparing of it for shipment gives employment to
many persons. The natives have a theory that the gum descends from the
trunks of the growing trees, and through the roots becomes deposited in
the ground. But this is unreasonable; the gum is a partially fossilized
production, showing that it has gone through a process which only a long
period of years could have effected. It is usually found at a depth of
five or six feet from the surface. It is undoubtedly a fact that this
northerly part of New Zealand was once covered by immense forests of
this gum-tree, which have matured and been destroyed by fire and by
decay, century after century, and the deposit, which is now so
marketable, is from the dead trees, not from the living. Experiments
have been tried which have proven that the gum exuded by the growing
tree has no commercial value. It is very similar to amber, for which
article it is often sold to unskilled purchasers; but its principal use
is in the manufacture of varnish.
The immediate neighborhood of Auckland is almost denuded of original
trees, but ornamental species are being planted, and flowers are
plentiful. The Maoris had distinctive and expressive names for every
bird, tree, and flower, before the white man came. There is a lovely
little native daisy called tupapa, and a blue lily known as rengarenga,
also a green and yellow passion-flower named by the aborigines kowhaia.
A glutinous, golden buttercup is known as anata, nearly as abundant as
its namesake in America. All these are wild-flowers, cultivated only by
Nature's hand. New Zealand seems to be adapted for receiving into its
bosom the vegetation of any land, and imparting to it renewed life and
added beauty. Its foster-mother capacity has been fully tested, and for
years no ship left England for this part of the world, without bringing
more or less of a contribution in plants and trees, to be propagated in
the new home of the colonists. The consequence is, we find pines and
cypresses, oaks and willows, elms and birches, besides fruit-trees of
all sorts, which are grown in Europe, thriving here in abundance, in the
grounds surrounding the settlers' houses. The range of temperature is
here very limited. Summer and winter are only known as the dry and the
rainy seasons; flowers, vegetables, grapes, in short, all plants, grow
thriftily the whole year round in the open air. Tropical and hardy
plants are equally at home; Scottish firs and Indian palms, oranges,
lemons, india-rubber trees, and the lime thrive side by side. As in
Japan, so it is here. One can gather a pretty bouquet out of doors any
day in the year.
At Auckland, we are in the vicinity of the famous Hot Lake District of
New Zealand, the veritable wonderland of these regions, to reach which
we take the cars for a distance of a hundred and thirty miles, then
proceed thirty miles further by stage to the native town of Ohinemutu,
on Lake Rotorua. This route carries us in a southeast course and leads
into the very heart of the North Island, among the aborigines. The
railway passes through a level country or valley, which, however, is
bounded on either side, five or six miles away, by lofty hills,
presenting a confusion of irregular forms. These hills contain an
abundance of mineral wealth in the form of gold, silver, iron, coal, and
manganese. Many low-lying marshy fields of native flax are seen, and the
Waikato River is three times crossed in its winding course, as we thread
our way through the valley. Large plantations, each containing several
thousand young pine-trees of the American species, are seen, covering
gentle slopes, and many broad acres of level land, where the government
is endeavoring to establish artificial forests throughout wide reaches
of unwooded country. These trees grow more rapidly here even than in
their native soil. Small Maori encampments, composed of a dozen lodges
each, are scattered along the way, the lazy tattooed natives--men and
women--lingering about the stations, with blackened pipes in their
mouths, smoking the rankest sort of tobacco, while they chatter together
like Benares monkeys.
The last part of this brief journey, that from Oxford to Ohinemutu,
takes us through one of the grandest forests in all New Zealand,
extending eighteen or twenty miles, with scarcely a human habitation or
sign of life, save the cabin where we change horses, and the occasional
flutter of a bird. In this forest, mingled with tall columnar trees of
various species, are seen frequent examples of the fern-tree thirty feet
in height, and of surpassing beauty, spreading out their plumed summits
like Egyptian palms, while the stems have the graceful inclination of
the cocoanut-tree. The picturesque effect of the birches is remarkable,
flanked by the massive outlines and drooping tassels of the rimu. For
miles of the way on either side of the narrow road the forest is
impenetrable even to the eye, save for the shortest distances,
presenting a tangled mass of foliage, vines, and branches such as can be
matched only by the virgin forests of Brazil, or the dangerous jungles
of India. Ground ferns are observed in infinite variety, sometimes of a
silvery texture, sometimes of orange-yellow, but oftenest of the various
shades of green. Here, too, we make acquaintance with the sweet-scented
manuaka, the fragrant veronica, and the glossy-leaved karaka; this last
is the pride of the Maoris.
Specimens of the lofty rimu-tree are seen, about whose tall white stems
a parasitic vine (a plant which obtains its nourishment from another
plant to which it attaches itself) slowly and treacherously weaves
itself, clasping and binding the upright body with such marvellous power
of compression as literally to strangle it, until ultimately the vine
becomes a stout tree and takes the place of that it has destroyed. The
most noted and destructive of these vegetable boa-constrictors is the
gigantic rope-like rata, whose Gordian knot nothing can untie. The tree
once clasped in its coils is fated, yielding up its sap and life
without a struggle to cast off its deadly enemy. Many trees are observed
whose stems bear branches only, far above the surrounding woods, laden
with bunches of alien foliage,--parasites like the mistletoe. Indeed,
this forest seems like vegetation running riot, and with its clumps of
dissimilar foliage fixed like storks' nests in the tops of the trees,
recalling the same effect which one sees on the St. John's River in
Florida.
Once fairly within the area of the Hot Lake District, which is the most
active volcanic region of the Antipodes, nothing seems too strange to be
true; geysers, vapor-holes, boiling springs, and dry stones burning hot
beneath one's feet, surround us, as though the surface of the land
covered Nature's chemical laboratory. Sulphur, alkaline, and iron
impregnated pools of inviting temperature cause one to indulge in
frequent baths, and it seems but natural that the natives in their
half-naked condition should pass so much time in the water. Near the
shore of Lake Rotorua, where it is shallow, a boiling spring forces its
way to the surface of the surrounding cold water, telling of a submerged
fiery caldron underlying the lake at that particular point. It is,
however, no more significant than the scores of other steam-holes and
spouting geysers which force themselves to the surface of the land all
about this sulphurous region. In short, the little town of Ohinemutu is
built on a thin crust, roofing over as it were a vast fiery furnace,
whose remarkable volcanic eccentricities form the marvel of this
locality. Here, the traveller eats, drinks, and sleeps above a series of
suppressed volcanoes, and is apt to recall the fate of Pompeii. Many of
these springs and geysers are so hot that a mere touch of the water will
blister the flesh as quickly as contact with red-hot iron. Others are
of a temperature suitable for boiling vegetables; and still others by
artificial means--that is, the introduction of cold surface water--are
rendered of a temperature suitable for bathing purposes. One must walk
cautiously among these boiling mud-pits, open springs, and steam-holes,
for a misstep might prove fatal. Dangerous caldrons lie on either side
of the path, within a few inches of where one may be walking all
unsuspiciously.
The natural conclusion as to the cause of these remarkable phenomena
would seem to be that the waters of the lakes, rivers, and springs
descend by various channels to the fiery regions below, and are returned
by the force of the steam thus created, bringing up with them the refuse
which is deposited about the surface. Of the hundreds of these boiling
springs only a score or so have been analyzed: no two, however, exhibit
the same properties. The various chemical combinations seem to be
without limit, and bathing in them is considered to be a specific for
some skin-diseases, as well as for rheumatic affections. There can be no
doubt but that all the medicinal virtues possessed by similar springs in
Europe and America are found in these of New Zealand.
Ohinemutu is the most typical home of the natives, and for ages has
formed the chief settlement of the Arawa tribe. Nothing could possibly
be more grotesque than to see groups of the native women, from the
wrinkled old grandams to the girls of a dozen years, bathing at all
hours of the day in the warm, steaming pools. It is their daily, almost
hourly resort. As a rule, a blanket forms their only covering; and if
they are cold, day or night, casting this aside, they at once resort to
the hot springs for warmth. Their chief occupations are literally
bathing and smoking tobacco, the women using the pipe even more freely
than the men. Of regular occupation they have none. A few potatoes are
planted and allowed to grow without cultivation, and these with pork
form their chief food. The little cooking in which they indulge is
usually performed by the boiling springs, in which they hang their
potatoes in small wicker baskets; and for baking purposes they use the
red-hot stones that are to be found everywhere in this vicinity. These
broad, flat stones are the identical ones on which the natives not long
ago were accustomed to roast their prisoners of war before eating them.
A certain consistency is discovered in the manners and customs of this
people who live so nearly after the style and laws which governed their
ancestors, and which have been carefully preserved for hundreds of
years. Superstition is born in a Maori. He is a professed Christian in
most cases and accepts the Bible, but he is apt to give to it his own
interpretation. These children of Nature follow their ancestral
traditions modified by Christian influences. The original religion of
the natives, if we may call it by that name, consists in a dim belief in
a future state, quite undefined even in their own minds. It was largely
a sort of ancestor worship, according to the missionaries, with a vague
idea of some Being higher than anything human or finite. The sorcery
which was universally practised among them filled up a certain measure
of religious conviction and observance, nor is this by any means disused
among them to-day. Many of the tribes can read and write, and
educational facilities are freely offered to the rising generation by
the English government.
The Maori differs in many essential particulars from most savage races
with whom we are more familiar. He does not, as has been mentioned,
foster a spirit of secret revenge, but when his enmity is aroused, it is
openly displayed. This has been a tribal trait with the Maoris for
centuries. Before declaring war the Maori always gives his enemy fair
notice; still for ages he has been accustomed to go to war upon
imaginary grievances, or, to put it more clearly, his great object was
to make prisoners of war, and when made to cook and eat them. The early
Maoris, and even so late as sixty years ago, looked upon war--what we
call civil war--as being the only legitimate object of life.
Though these natives have mostly become Christianized, as we understand
the term, still they live more like the lower class of animals than like
human beings, seeming to prefer that sort of life even after half a
century of intercourse with the whites. They now isolate themselves as a
body in what is called the King's Country of the North Island, which
embraces the Hot Lake District, where they live under their own laws and
customs which are held inviolate by treaty with the English crown. Their
decrease in numbers seems to be as rapid in their own district as it is
where they are brought into more intimate relations with the whites. The
English authorities respect their ownership of lands, and not an acre of
it is to be had without just payment for it.
No intelligent person can be blind to the favorable position of New
Zealand or to the promise of its future commercial importance. Situated,
as it were, in the centre of this Southern Ocean, the future highway of
the world, it is accessible from all quarters. On the west, not very far
away, lie the busy harbors of Australia, with which her exchanges of
merchandise are constant. Within easy reach of India and China on one
side, she has California, Mexico, and South America on the other. To the
north lie the hundreds of islands which constitute the groups of
Polynesia, notable for their voluptuous climate and primitive fertility.
With the opening of the Panama Canal or other available means for ships
to cross the isthmus of South America, New Zealand will lie directly in
the highway between Europe and the gold-fields of the great inland
continent, between England and her largest and most promising colony.
The many beautiful islands of the South Sea must sooner or later come
under the commercial sway of New Zealand, as they may be explored and
civilized. Her admirable harbors, noble estuaries, and navigable rivers
are elsewhere unsurpassed. If destined to achieve greatness, these
islands, like those of Great Britain, will do so through the development
and maintenance of maritime power; and with so many natural advantages
as they possess we confidently predict for them this final
accomplishment.