THE WONDER-LAND OF THE ANTIPODES [Part 1]
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THE WONDER-LAND OF THE ANTIPODES.
ON one of those bright summer evenings in Auckland when the whole landscape is bathed in a luscious light which serves to intensify the beauty of the surrounding scenery, and bring out with wonderful distinctness the clear-cut outlines of the trees and mountains against a warm blue sky (unrivalled elsewhere in the world), I rode up the Grafton Road towards Mount Eden, where I was to spend the night with some hospitable friends, before starting on my journey overland to the Waikato Settlements, Hot Lakes, and Napier. My whole equipment was comprised in my horse, saddle and bridle, mackintosh, and a leathern valise weighing about fourteen pounds, which contained change of clothing, etc., and a small packet of plug tobacco for presents to the natives. With an exhilarating sense of freedom from care, and the anticipation of a pleasant companion to the end of my first stage at Hamilton, I felt thoroughly contented. I could not help gazing back at times on the lovely Waitemata harbour beneath me, with the extinct volcano of Rangitoto gracefully rising in the foreground, and far in the distance the purple ranges at Coromandel and the Thames, across which, though miles away, I could see my track lying over the Razor Back, like a white line on the side of the mountain. No one without actual experience of it can realize the life-giving buoyancy of the New Zealand and Tasmanian climates; they are "as cream to skim milk" compared with the atmosphere of our own little fog-bound
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island; so that the mere sense of existence, "breathing and having our being," is vividly delightful in these latitudes. These are lands from which, as a Californian said of his own country, "you must go away if you want to die." Then, too, a man feels so completely his own master on horseback (unless indeed the case be exactly reversed, and the horse be master of the man); he can stop when and where he likes, and watch the coach-passengers hasten away from a half-eaten, uncomfortable meal, with all that inward satisfaction which (selfish though it be) we really do feel when contemplating the misfortunes of others and prosperous ourselves. Leaving Mount Eden in the early morning, we struck into the Waikato road, stopping at Drury for dinner, and rode fifty-two miles that day to Rangirirei, where we saw the remains of the old pah or fortress, so celebrated during the last war with the Maories. I found myself rather saddle-sick with the effects of the first day's ride; but in a very short time became hardened with continual exercise, until fatigue and I were comparative strangers. As we cantered along the left bank of the Waikato, the pheasants, which have been acclimatised, and are now rapidly spreading over the island, kept rising in twenties and thirties at our horses' feet from the road, where they were feeding on the swarms of crickets; and we caught occasional glimpses on the other bank of flax-mills, with their snowy fibre drying on the fern; of the wild peach groves, for which Auckland province is so justly famed; of coal mines; and of native enclosures, with their little patches of tobacco, cumera (sweet potato), and maize. And before I forget it, I must here relate an amusing incident which took place en route. My horse, which had been very leg-weary at starting, and had pitched heavily on his head as we rode into Rangirirei at dusk, the previous evening, sending me
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head first among the manuka or ti-tree scrub, suddenly "gave out" to such an extent that I had to stop at an "accommodation house" (or way-side inn) to sponge him down. In course of conversation with the proprietor, I happened to mention that the poor beast had covered about two hundred miles in three days just before I got him, whilst the detectives were in search of a notorious convict named Robinson, who had recently escaped from Mount Eden gaol; the man slipped away into the house, and shortly afterwards, when I requested them to give me a "nobbler" or drink, his wife informed me that not having a spirit license, she must refuse to serve me; evidently mistaking me for one of the constabulary in disguise. It took a considerable amount of persuasion to convince her that I was no informer, but I eventually succeeded in obtaining what I wanted. On crossing the ferry at Ngaruawahia or Newcastle, where the Waipa joins the Waikato, we were a good deal interested while waiting for luncheon, with the primitive way in which the resident magistrate, who had joined us on the road, held his court on the verandah of the hotel. He had to decide a case of horse-stealing, or disputed ownership; the prisoner and accuser argued their own sides of the question, marching up and down the common in front of the house, with violent gesticulations as each in turn spoke, and occasionally throwing back the blanket from their shoulders as if about at once to settle the dispute vi et armis. "Much cry and little wool," however, for the decision once pronounced, the defeated individual quietly lay down, without a trace of excitement, and smoked himself into a comfortable doze.
I spent the night at Hamilton, a neat little town, situated on either side of the river; and devoted the next few days at Ohaupo, to observing the marvellous energy
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and rapidity with which settlers are transforming the dusky brown fern land of the surrounding country into the most charming dairy-farms and sheep-runs, with less labour and expense than is the case in any district I had before visited, except perhaps the virgin prairies of Kansas, which, however, cannot compare with this district for climate and scenery. I stayed for a time at the house of Mr.C--, a squatter, who has migrated hence from Canterbury, with whose son I had ridden up from Auckland, and who is largely engaged in reclaiming the vast swamp which lies between Ohaupo and Hamilton. Behind us rose the mountain of Pironghia, on the border of the "King's country," near which Todd, the road surveyor, was murdered by the rebels a year or two ago, whilst working well within the boundaries of the confiscated lands. It is a subject of regret with me that I did not visit Alexandra and Te Awamutu, which lie in that direction, as I have been since told that the homesteads there present even a more thoroughly English appearance, with their neat enclosures and country stiles, than the districts I rode through. Crossing the plain from Ohaupo to Cambridge, on a still close day, the notice of the traveller is attracted by the pillars of dust, exactly resembling a waterspout in appearance and shape, which rise at intervals in a whirlwind to the clouds, scud across the fields, and then as suddenly collapse. Shortly after arriving at the hotel, I made the acquaintance of Major Drummond Hay, whose amusing anecdotes and hair-breadth escapes by land and water enlivened an ever memorable evening. This gentleman told me that he had not seen his "young brother Frank," our Consul-General at Tripoli, for nearly twenty years; and as I myself had spent six months in that town, during 1870, to investigate the circumstances of the murder of Miss Tinne, the Dutch Traveller, and had been
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in pretty constant communication with the British Consulate, a bond of union was at once established between us in my African reminiscences. Among other bush-stories, some of which savoured a trifle of Munchausenism, one especially tickled my fancy. A "new chum," or novice in colonial life, was consulting my friend as to what amount of luggage he would advise for bush travel. "Well!" replied the Major, "I myself prefer to carry nothing but an empty canvass bag of moderate dimensions."
"What on earth is the good of that?" said his friend.
"If it rains," said the Major, "I immediately take off my clothing, place it in the bag, and walk on till it stops, when I am in the enviable position of having a dry suit to fall back on at the end of my journey."
I was just thinking of retiring to bed, when I heard a familiar voice in the adjoining room, and, looking in, found an Auckland man, Mr.M--, who was on his way to the Hot Lakes, in company with two friends from Australia. They invited me to join their party so far, and, as I had not yet secured a guide, I was glad to avail myself of their kindness. We appointed M. commissariat officer to the expedition, and it was chiefly owing to his prudence in catering, that we owed our successful journey; a verier desert for man or beast than the Lake district I never saw; the stores are nearly always empty, and beyond the mere necessaries of life, such as potatoes and bacon, literal starvation. threatens the unwary traveller in these parts. We laid in a bountiful supply of sardines, canned salmon, jams, biscuits, tea, cocoa, and sugar; also a tin pannikin apiece, and a "billy" for boiling the water. Meanwhile I mounted my "bag of bones" and rode out to "Walker's Swamp" at Moana-tui-tui, to try and obtain a change of horses. I was fortunate enough to find a strong black mare, which, though slow, was in good condition, and likely
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to last me through to Napier. My visit to Mr.Walker was otherwise interesting, for he explained to me the curious history of his "swamp," which at first appeared to me a "lusus naturae" from its height above the surrounding plain, and facilities for drainage. It seems that centuries ago, the Maories, who even now subsist to a large extent on eels and sharks' fins, had dammed up the stream running from this plateau, with a strong and wide barrier of ti-tree fascines, which I could still see at the bottom of the deep drain recently cut through the land; and having thus formed immense eel preserves in the soft mire, they left a very small opening in the centre of the dam, where they laid their wicker basket eel traps, and thus secured a regular supply of food. Rejoining my party, we made a late start for Maunga-tautari, the first halting-place, about twelve miles distant, where our guide lived, the only, white man in the settlement. My English friends would have laughed to see us, after we had made up our beds of fern in the tents, sitting round the camp-fire with our new acquaintances, and subjected to their running fire of criticism and wit. Many of the women were suckling small pigs and puppies at their breasts, a disgusting habit, for which I can offer no reasonable explanation. The pigs do not always reciprocate the affection that is thus shown them, for we were informed that they had half-eaten an old Maori woman a week or two before, as she lay sick on the floor of her hut; and her friends, on returning from work, found her body in a shockingly mutilated condition. The women, after they have done smoking, have a nasty practice of sticking the pipe through the place where an earring ought to go, which disfigures the lobe of the ear immensely. Very often, by way of quieting their squalling babies, who are strapped on to their mothers' backs, you see them hand a half-finished pipe of tobacco
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to the child over their shoulder, who immediately stops his cries and sucks away with the utmost contentment. Fancy these tamariki, piccaninnies or brats of one or two years old, indulging thus early in the herb nicotiana. They were immensely delighted with some comic songs which I sang to them, and joined in the chorus of "When Johnny comes marching home again," with rather laughable pronunciation, but evidently a quick ear for music.
I was much pleased with one little trait of their good nature; they noticed that I was the only one of the party without a blanket, and, after peeping into the tent several times, a young girl pulled her new shawl off with a muttered ejaculation of pity, and threw it over me, running away immediately to nestle in the adjacent mass of Maori humanity round the fire, where I hope she found warmth enough to compensate for the loss of clothing. I rewarded her next morning with a plug of my best tobacco, which evidently more than repaid her for the loan of the shawl. In the grey dawn we saddled our steeds and reached the ferry, where we crossed in canoes, having previously swam the horses over under the leadership of one old "stager," who took to the water more like a duck than a quadruped. The morning's ride was rather uninteresting, over endless plains of tussock grass, and small but rapid streams of the purest water. We reached Te Whetu, a village of Hau-haus, or former rebels, very early in the afternoon, but decided to travel no farther that day, as the sky had already become overcast, and we should have had to bivouac under a drenching downpour of rain, in lieu of enjoying dry and comfortable quarters at the great "whare-puna," or meeting-house, of the tribe. This building was a fine specimen of Maori architecture; the walls being formed of raupo or rushes laced together with flax, and fastened to the huge beams
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of totara, on which I noticed carvings more ingenious and grotesque than decent. We were treated here with the utmost hospitality; the old "rangatira," or gentleman-farmer and his wife who were in charge, made a mess of pottage, with chickens, onions, and potatoes, for which Esau would have sold his birth-right a second time; whilst they apologised with finished courtesy for not having a Union Jack to hoist on the flag-staff in honour of our arrival. This latter want we have since rectified, by sending them a flag from Auckland with which to welcome future travellers. Our journey on the following day was rather more exciting. After a precipitous descent of eight hundred feet from the Pass of Painuiorehua, down which the pack-horse, a one-eyed but sagacious beast, rather slid than walked, to the imminent risk of our "swags;" and, crossing a series of tantalizing swamps, at times glancing past an old geyser-hole within a few inches of the track, with its treacherous depths half concealed by an over-growth of lovely creeping ferns; drenched through and through with rain, autoi aimenoi te [Greek], we at last reached Kaiteriria, a pretty settlement on the shores of Roto-Kakahi, and found there the head quarters of Captain Mair, of the Arawa contingent of Native Constabulary, who gave us a hearty welcome, and in the evening invited us to visit him and inspect his rare collection of Maori curiosities, such as kiwi-feather capes; flax mats; tobacco-pipes carved from the ti-tree wood into quaint little figures with huge mother-of-pearl eyes, the work of a hunchback, named Bartholomew, from Opotiki on the East Coast, whose art has now become obsolete with his eyesight; and, lastly, the great Toutanikai's flute, made from a human thigh-bone, to which I shall refer later on in the legends of Rotorua.
Rotokakahi is "a very pretty lake, completely shut in
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by precipitous but verdure-clad mountains, with the bright little island of Motu-tawa; set like a jewel in the midst of its cold dark-blue waters." Here we spent a day to recruit our spent energies and dry our clothes, whilst the native lads strummed away on their Jew's harps, or danced the "haka" outside the door of the "whare." We started hence too late to make Kariri and Tarawera Lake, and had to sleep in a hut at the old mission-station of Wairoa, where even Keating's Persian Insect Powder proved ineffectual to stay the appetite of certain unwelcome bed-fellows, which actively assailed us throughout the night. As there seemed to be a faint chance of our horses obtaining a bite of food about the settlement, and our oats were rapidly running short, we walked on next morning to Tarawera Lake, where we were to embark, and sat down on arrival to a repast of potatoes, apples, and cray-fish, which I thoroughly enjoyed. A difficulty now arose about manning the canoes, as the men were all absent road-making, and the women very naturally refused to leave their babies behind them alone. Finally, we arranged "to take the lot," and accordingly stowed away our own party of six, seven Maori women, a steersman, manifold children and dogs, and numerous kits of potatoes, into one large but somewhat leaky canoe. I shall never forget our paddle across Tarawera; the women, working like demons (their eyes rolling and tongues lolling), bursting ever and anon into a wild excited chorus of Hekate-korare-hekate as we shot rapidly over the waves, towards the hot river which flows from Rotomahana, the gem par excellence of the whole volcanic district. This little lake is situated in the midst of the most astounding natural phenomena, each one of which would at once make any more civilised locality the Utopia of invalids and sight-seers. The tepid waters of the lake itself are the resort of innumerable water-fowl,
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which, however, are "tapu," or sacred from the gun of the sportsman, as they glide peacefully on the bosom of the waters, or scream defiance at the intruder on these fairy precincts--the wonder-land of the habitable world.
Landing at some dilapidated huts on the edge of the lake, we were soon luxuriating in the delights of a "waireka" (hot tank), the temperature of which may be regulated at pleasure by turning in boiling water from the neighbouring geyser, in which our pots of potatoes were being rapidly cooked; the natives warned us against laying our clothes on the ground, as the exhalations of vitriol rapidly destroy anything with which they are brought in contact. I spent a very restless night, for the whole surrounding country seems alive with escape-pipes of steam, and I could hear the grumble of the water at no very great distance beneath my head. I awoke in the morning with my clothes perfectly soaked by the vapour which rose from the holes in which the side-posts of the huts were fixed. In our immediate neighbourhood also we noticed that several whares had completely sunk through the crust into the boiling mud, at no very recent date; and we shuddered as we thought of the possible fate of their poor inmates. We had a partial exemplification of this danger when on our way to the geysers, for one of my companions was imprudent enough to place his foot down, a few inches from the beaten track, and immediately began to sink into the scalding mud. He cried for assistance, and I caught him by the hand before any very serious injury was done; but on cutting off the boot we found his ancle and instep badly blistered, which incapacitated him from further exertions that day. A most vexatious incident to commence our explorations with!
The first sight of interest was Te Tarata or the White Terrace, a series or gradation of seven or eight most lovely
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white basins, formed by a deposit of silica from the overflowings of the great geysers at the summit. The water itself is strongly sulphurous, and of the deepest azure blue; whilst the edges of each basin are adorned with the most delicate incrustation, almost resembling lace-work in its delicate regularity. We found several insects, such as grasshoppers and beetles, beautifully petrified; but were unable to bring away specimens owing to the brittleness of the substance, which would have involved more careful transport than we could give. The temperature and depth of the water vary considerably, as the wind backs up the overflow, or drives it down the face of the terrace.
As we picked our way across the Terrace, one of the old Maori women suddenly began to yell with fright at the increasing temperature of the water, which was beginning to penetrate the horny soles of her feet; so we had to make stepping-stones of ourselves till we got her to the edge again. Although she bitterly complained at first of her parboiled state, a small douceur proved a very efficacious cure, and she soon walked as soundly as the rest. Retracing our way past the whare, where we had slept, and stopping here and there for the amusement of "chocking" a geyser-mouth with stones and lumps of earth, to see it suddenly burst thirty or forty feet into the air with redoubled vigour, we found ourselves on a large flat of pinkish mud, dotted at intervals with small cones, which kept spitting up clots of scalding liquid, about the consistency of thick cream. We picked our steps very cautiously to the head of the gully, and there found a large pool, called Roto Pounamu, or the Cold Green Lake, whose waters are tinged with some vegetable substance, which renders them of the deepest emerald hue. Further along this shore of the lake are other geysers and small terraces, whose name is Legion, each one differing slightly in
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appearance or flow, and each with some curious Maori legend attached. One large basin we saw, into which two babies had been thrown and cooked at a sacred feast, in the "good old cannibal days" of the country; and another into which a woman had fallen and disappeared. The "Babies' Cauldron" appeared to me well adapted for the purpose, as it was always at a uniform steady boil, and never rose into the air with a surging column of water, like the more turbulent ngahaus around. The water also was less impregnated with sulphur, and so would affect the flavour of the cookery less; it was green in colour, unlike the lovely blue of Te Tarata.
On taking to our canoe again, we paddled to the west side of the lake, and landed at the foot of Otukupuerangi, or the Pink Terrace, in which the basins are larger and better defined; but there is not quite so intricate a device of trace-work on the hard enamelled surface as in those of Te Tarata. To the right, as you ascend, is an immense boiling hole, almost on the lake-level, the yellow walls of which are composed of the purest flower of sulphur, and present a striking contrast to the pink and blue colouring of the adjacent terrace. Here we could no longer resist the temptation of a swim; and the luxury of that bathe I shall never forget. The water imparted a silkiness to the skin which no artificial nostrum can give; and the great delight of the whole affair to me was that Nature herself had here provided a lounge, with which the marble tanks of the ancients could not for a moment compare.
Did you require additional warmth, you had but to take a step up towards the great blue depths of the geyser, whence the water flowed down into successive basins, each more lovely than the other. Did you wish to brace your flagging powers from the enervating warmth of the sulphur-bath, with three or four bounds down the face of the
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terrace you could take a final dive into the colder depths of Rotomahana, and return invigorated to the spotless ledge which formed your temporary dressing-room. I regret to notice that here, as everywhere, the pet vice of English travellers is predominant, and that an entire step of the terrace has been finally disfigured by the names (scribbled in pencil) of nearly every visitor to the place. So rapid is the coating or deposit from the waters, that the writing is now imperishable, and cannot be effaced without destroying the rock. Not only have the contemptible effusions of would-be poets been here immortalized, but eminent personages have thoughtlessly emblazoned their autographs side-by-side with the "nobodies," to whom this cheap means of notoriety is usually confined. We turned our backs on Rotomahana with regret, for it would be the study of a life-time to describe or discover all its marvels, and we had scarcely devoted one entire day to our visit. But it was a clear case of starve-out for our horses and ourselves, if we remained longer in the district; for all the stores seemed empty, the people away, and the promised supplies of oats--which are all "packed" from the coast, and frequently run short even in the summer season, when tourists abound--had now entirely failed us for a time; and, unless our poor beasts could at once change their habits, the fern, ti-tree, and tutu which monopolise, the district would have proved but a sorry substitute for their natural diet.
Shooting the rapids at precipitous speed, and amid intense excitement of all but the old steersman, who sat immovably at the stern, like a tattooed statue in bronze, we were soon floating on the broad bosom of Tarawera. We landed in one of the little bays, and after mooring our canoes under the shade of some gigantic pohutakawas, whose knotted arms make the best possible "elbows and
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knees" for shipbuilders' work, we watched with some interest the preparation of our food in a genuine copu-maori, or native oven. This was done as follows: the women scraped a hole in the soft ground with their hands, and filled it with dry wood, to which they set a light. On the top of the blazing fire they placed stones about the size of a man's two fists, which became heated and dropped through as the fuel burnt out. Then having collected fish, potatoes, and a few squashes, which we found in the deserted settlement hard by, they brought a good-sized pannikin of fresh water, dashed it over the stones, and, before the steam had time to escape, filled the hole in with the provisions. On the top of these a clean kit, or handbag of woven native flax, was placed; then some armfuls of fresh-cut fern, and lastly a pretty thick layer of soft mould, which they patted down till there was no aperture by which the vapour could escape. In about twenty minutes the cooking was complete, and we sat down to a frugal but most delicious repast of steamed food, which I thought much superior to the usual boiled vegetables of an English cuisine. We coaxed some of the little children into friendship by letting them drink the oil from our sardine-tins when we had eaten the fish; but they evidently looked upon us as a kind of white-faced ogres, whom it was prudent to keep at a respectful distance. One little pickle of a fellow, with bright black eyes, who had quite overcome his terror, amused himself by creeping up behind the others, and frightening them by shouting in their ear, "Nui pakeha, nui pakeha" (the big white man, the big white man) "is coming"--meaning me; at which they would burst into tears, and run like rabbits from the supposed cannibal--your humble servant. They had evidently been taught the same cock-and-bull stories that English nurses often inflict on their charges, of the giants
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that eat naughty children, only that here the case was reversed, and instead of the "big black man" in the myths of our infancy, our pale-faces produced a similar effect on them.
We held a "drawing-room" at Kariri that evening, in a small hut of 8 feet by 18, with a small aperture (misnamed a door), through which I could scarcely drag myself even when prostrate. Imagine the state of the atmosphere, with a smoky fire of green wood, no chimney, and about twenty Maori ladies and children all smoking furiously at their pipes, and nearly a hundred-weight of green tobacco steaming on the walls preparatory to use!
I had heard a good deal of the fresh-water cray-fish (goura) that are found in these lakes, and asked whether I could have some of them. My wish was soon gratified, but my equanimity was a good deal disturbed, for when a kit of them was produced, instead of letting me shell them myself, an old hag, with very dirty fingers, seated herself opposite to me and proffered her services. A sense of etiquette forbade me to decline, so I screwed up my courage and held out a biscuit for her to lay the first slippery morsel upon. It went down pretty easily, and when she had given us two or three dozen, like the Greek travellers of old, "mensas etiam consumpsimus," we even ate our temporary plates as a finale to the repast.
I noticed several plots of tobacco in this settlement, with its pretty pink flowers; and from what I know of Tennessee and Virginia, I am confident "the noxious weed" would thrive exceptionally well in the North Island of New Zealand; the soil in places has the same bright red appearance here as in America, and the climate is bright, warm, and moist. At present, all that the natives raise is solely for their own use, but I live in hopes of seeing it become in the future a leading article of manufacture or
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export. The Maori women are most persistent smokers, and when the pipe is off duty, as I have said before, it is stuck through the lobe of the ear in the place where the ear-ring ought to be, much as our clerks at home stick their pen behind their ears. The weight of the pipe, however, has occasionally the disagreeable effect of wearing the ear through, and making a piece drop off.
We were glad to "quit" early next day, and stopped for breakfast at the Wairoa, where old Mary, native servant to the missionary, Mr.Spencer, made a welcome contribution of fruit to our scanty breakfast. Thence, leaving Kaiteriria behind us, and passing on the left hand Tiki-tapu, or the Blue Lake, we entered a thick bush on the road to Rotorua. The scarlet rata was still in flower, and I succeeded in obtaining some bunches for my companions, to whom it was not familiar. This curious parasite is said to begin its growth in the branches of the tree to which it is found attached, gradually dropping downwards to the ground to obtain redoubled strength by its contact with mother earth, when it strangles its parent support in a deadly embrace.
A faint smell of brimstone, such as Mark Twain says would not be unpleasant to a sinner, met us while some miles from our destination, and ere long we sighted the native village of Ohinenutu, where two rival hostelries claimed our attention. The first is kept by a Maori, Ari Katera, or Harry Carter, and the food and lodging are said to be excellent of their kind, but his house was full of semi-intoxicated natives from Napier, whilst outside the door groups of young girls were dancing the voluptuous and disgusting "haka," so we preferred taking beds at Bennett's, where we found nothing but a semi-Anglicised hut, with execrable accommodation.
The Arawas, to whom the village belongs, are a most
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consummate race of thieves, and actually boast of their descent from the greatest thief in the Island; it is unsafe to leave your horse's side at the inn door after dismounting, for if you turn your back a minute, these rogues will purloin the saddle or bridle in the twinkling of a duck's eye. Quite recently some horse-races took place here, and I was assured that very few of the visitors took their horses back with them. Nay, worse than that, some of them had been bathing, and imprudently left their clothes on the shore of the lake without anyone to watch them. When they left the water, everything down to their boots had disappeared, and they had to sit there till a messenger could be sent to borrow blankets from the inn for temporary apparel. As a rule, I found these men, who were our allies during the war (not that they liked us more, but they liked the rebels less), much inferior to the natives in the Hau-hau villages; the latter are evidently the patriots of New Zealand, and had a noble, upright bearing, that contrasted very favourably with the cringing manners of the semi-civilized scum of these lake districts. All the Arawas wear a small white feather stuck in the hair on the side of the head; and in this way our soldiers used to distinguish them during the war; when, however, they rarely lent us any active assistance, but turned out only when victory had already declared itself on our side.
Within two or three miles of the shore is the island of Mokoia, to which the fair Hinemoia is said to have swum, "suspended by a string of gourds round her neck," on a visit to her lover, Toutanikai, whose music had engaged her affections, thus reversing the story of Leander and Hero. The identical flute on which the Maori Orpheus played, like Oliver Cromwell's skull, is in the possession of at least two gentlemen, who positively assert that their own and no other is the genuine thing. The first I saw at Kaiteriria,
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in the possession of Cap.Mair; it is made from a human thigh bone, and is undoubtedly of great antiquity; the other, which is fully as old, but made of wood, and played from the top like a flageolet, Sir George Grey showed me in his house at the Kawau, shortly before I left the Colony.
Shortly before retiring for the night, I donned a costume suitable for the occasion, viz., a blanket, or modern toga, and boots, and stalked forth under the guidance of a small Maori boy to a sheltered bay at the end of the village) where I found a number of the inhabitants (irrespective of sex) undergoing a preparatory stew themselves, whilst they cooked their potatoes and calabash for their evening meal in a boiling hole hard by. I joined the conversazione in the water, and found that I was actually bathing on the spot where the great geyser used formerly to rise, as shown in the frontispiece of Lt. Meade's Hot Lakes. I had looked in vain for this object during the afternoon; but I believe it is beyond a doubt that subterranean action is gradually subsiding near Ohinemutu, and this among other minor wonders has almost disappeared. A cold southerly wind also rendered the temperature more than usually low in this inlet. Whilst walking back to the inn, and carefully picking my way among the "ngahaus," Captain Mair told me that, when up here during the war to enlist recruits among the Arawas, he refused to pass an old man who was evidently superannuated for service. The native took his rejection so much to heart, that he went off to a short distance and deliberately sat down in the midst of a boiling mud-geyser; of course, the extreme heat soon made him yell with pain, and before they could pull him out, his flesh was entirely sodden, and he died in the most excruciating agony. It was here that I had to part with my three friends from Auckland, as they were unable to continue the journey with me to Napier, and I did so with
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great regret. After spending a day in a visit to the Ngae, formerly a mission station, and now the telegraph office of the district, and obtaining a glimpse of Roto-Ehu, a cold lake of great beauty, I started alone towards Lake Taupo. As I rode along the shores of Rotorua, I picked up some curious "felt balls," which were probably composed of the roots of fibrous plants, and rolled into this shape by the action of subaqueous geysers. When about three miles from Ohinemutu, I came to an unpleasantly deep creek, with hot springs on both sides; a curious feature about it being, that if the horse happened to break through the crust underneath the cold stratum, he would have found himself in a lower stratum of scalding mud. I never felt entirely easy about fording these New Zealand rivers. However minute the directions given might be, a sudden "freshet," or a new crossing, was sure to render them of doubtful benefit. The preliminary pause on the bank, the ripple of the water as it gradually rose above the saddle at the deepest point, and the sigh of relief as we emerged on the opposite side, to speculate on the next ford, are among my least agreeable reminiscences of inland travel in New Zealand. Not much further on than this, I came to a swamp of doubtful depth, which I subsequently found was really not more than up to a horse's fetlocks; but "discretion being the better part of valour," I thought I would dismount and drive the mare across in front of me. The cunning brute bolted on reaching hard ground, and I spent a weary hour and a half chasing her, over plains, up mountain gullies, in swamps, with a blazing sun overhead, till I was ready to drop with vexation and fatigue. I did not dare to let her get out of sight for a minute, or I should have been benighted on the plain, with no blankets or food. Besides this she had my saddle and bridle, bag of oats, and whole brief of necessaries on her back, which would have
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been a serious loss in such a forsaken part of the country as this. At last she joined some wild native horses, and began to feed, the bridle dropped over her head and became entangled with her fore feet, and I made a successful rush to secure the runaway.
After crossing a hot river, and passing a large mud-geyser, I halted by a little brook of water, clear as crystal, and made my luncheon off the water-cress, which I found growing there in abundance, and enjoyed the frugal meal very heartily. The whole of that day I did not see a human being or animal of any kind, nothing but a lifeless expanse of fern and flax; so that I felt glad at dusk to see the mighty Waikato again rolling at my feet, while on the summit of a neighbouring hill, across the river, the "pah" of Orakei-korako promised me shelter and food for the night. A loud "cooee" brought the natives down to the ferry, and I soon found myself seated in a genuine Maori accommodation house, eating bacon and potatoes with a real ivory-handled knife and fork, and drinking tea from a china tea-cup and saucer, which the hostess produced with pardonable pride, in lieu of the tin pannikin which I had already laid on the table for my own use. Before resuming the route next morning, I recrossed the river to examine "The Alum Cave," certainly not the least beautiful sight in the district, the entrance to which is most gracefully shaded by gigantic tree-ferns, and pendent stag's horn moss; the chasm apparently extends for some distance beyond the entrance chamber in which one stands, but all the passages from it are closed by a pool of very transparent tepid water, strongly impregnated with alum; the walls and dome are encrusted with salts of various kinds and colours, red, white, and green predominating; and the tout ensemble reminded me so strongly of the transformation scenes in the pantomimes of one's child-
