CHAPTER XVI.
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CHAPTER XVI.
Rotorua and the Journey from Auckland--The Pink and White Terraces before the Eruption--Old Mission at Wairoa-- Return to Auckland.
I paid a visit to the Hot Lake district in 1872. It may be of interest to give a short account of the trip to illustrate the changes which have taken place in the country. There were three routes available, e.g., the easiest and the one most generally used, via Tauranga, or that via Ohinemuri. We chose the third, via Cambridge, knowing that it would take us through a part of the island which at the time was not much frequented by white men.
We travelled by coach as far as Cambridge. The country for some distance beyond Drury was mostly in its natural state, covered with light bush. A large area of the Karaka district was owned by the late Wm. Aitken, and was unsaleable at 10/- per acre. It was bought, many years after by Mr. T. C. Williams at or about that price, with the intention of planting it in gorse which, he believed, would carry more sheep than grass. Fortunately for the country he did not carry out his idea, but had it broken up and grassed, and sold in small farms. It is worth now two or three times as many pounds as it was shillings five and twenty years ago.
A few settlers at Drury were clearing and burning off. We halted at Rangiriri to view the graves of the men who fell at the assault on the Maori pah in 1864.
Game at this time was very plentiful in the neighbourhood. We saw a great many ducks and pheasants. Near Taupiri we ran into a cloud of tiny flies, a kind of midge, exceedingly small but very irritating.
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The first night's stop was at Ngaruawahia. The men of the Armed Constabulary were much in evidence. Their labour was being utilised by the Government in the construction of a road through the great Moana tuatua swamp, known at the time as Walker's swamp.
The Waikato at Hamilton was crossed by ferry. The principal improvement on the road to Cambridge, through Tamahere, was the 1000-acre farm of the Reynolds family, who hailed from the English west country. I wrote at the time: "The sight of this gladdens the eye and brings to one's mind a prospective view of what the whole district will one day become." One son, Mr. Henry Reynolds, was a pioneer in the factory butter industry, and eventually settled in the Argentine. Their beautiful farm must have proved an inspiration to many a future settler. It seemed almost magical at the time to see how quickly a dreary waste of manuka and fern could be converted into pleasant pastures, a veritable oasis in the wilderness. The necessary farm implements and manure were probably shipped to Waikato Heads, then by river steamer to Cambridge.
To appreciate fully the faith and courage of these pioneers it must be remembered that they were doubly handicapped. Freight was high on all they required, and prices were low for nearly all they produced. Wool was the only exception. The close of the Franco-Prussian War had produced a favourable reaction in price. The export of meat and butter had not begun, and the local demand was small. But for the help of science New Zealand must have drifted into stagnation.
At Cambridge we spent a quiet week-end arranging with a guide for the services of himself and horses. As we were leaving civilisation for some little time we had to take supplies of preserved food for ourselves and as much corn for our horses as the pack-horse could carry in addition. We started in the afternoon of Monday, our party consisting of four, besides our guide. After leaving Cambridge
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there were no roads and we had to depend on Maori tracks which had been used from time immemorial, and in places were worn so deep that we had to remove our feet from the stirrups.
The Waikato was bridged at Cambridge, the only bridge we met on our journey, and we crossed the river for the Maori village of Maungatautari, where we rested for the night. Although the restriction on pakeha travel from this point onwards had only recently been removed, we received a pleasant reception from the Maoris. They were, however, curious as to our reason for coming and, when told by our guide that we were travelling for pleasure, they looked us up and down with evident amusement, being unable to imagine sane people taking so much unnecessary trouble. They did not know the white man so well as they do now.
They kindled a big fire and, spreading plenty of dry fern on the ground, invited us to join their friendly circle. The evening was cool and clear, and we were glad to accept their invitation. They had no spare whare, but gave us the use of a tarpaulin stretched over a pole as a shelter for the night.
We were astir at daybreak next morning and, after a refreshing wash in the creek, resumed our journey. A ride of half-a-dozen miles brought us again to the Waikato River which we crossed in a canoe. The ride for the rest of the day lay over the Patetere plains, which were covered with stunted tussock grass. The country looked poor enough and the only animals we saw were a few wild horses.
An Auckland syndicate had at this time acquired certain rights over about 200,000 acres of this country, which, I believe, they eventually abandoned. We came across small patches of English grass and white clover, wherever there was a camping place, which seemed to indicate that the land was not so hopeless as it appeared. Later in the day we passed numerous holes of varying and uncertain depth,
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having the appearance of wells and lined with beautiful ferns. They must have been of natural origin, and may have been caused long ago by some thermal activity.
We reached Te Whetu in the afternoon and, as the weather looked threatening and the prospect for camping out not pleasant, decided to go no further that day.
Te Whetu was prettily situated on the edge of the bush. It contained about a dozen whares enclosed by the usual Maori palisade fence, and a large meeting house on an adjoining mound. Its only occupants were a middle-aged man and his wife and an old woman. There were, inside the enclosure, some pigs and fowls and the usual number of ugly ill-bred dogs. The three Maoris received us with every sign of welcome and expressed regret that they had no flag to hoist in our honour on the pole in front of the meeting house, which latter they placed at our disposal for the night. It gave us great pleasure to supply their want by sending them a Union Jack as soon as we got back to Auckland.
They lost no time in killing a couple of young fowls, which they baked and served with potatoes and tea, in a style which seemed to us to leave nothing to be desired.
We had forgotten to carry candles, but our hostess provided a very fair substitute by means of some lard and a piece of twisted fibre.
As the evening advanced the rain came down heavily and we congratulated ourselves that we had decided not to camp out for the night. Our quarters were very comfortable. The whare was built of heavy hewn timber, securely bound together with the native vine called Akatea, and neatly panelled with raupo. On the centre post was a photograph of a well-known Maori, Te Ori Ori, one of the escaped prisoners from Kawau.
Our friends provided us with a good fire and plenty of dry fern and clean mats. As the fire was kindled in the centre of the whare and there was no escape for the smoke,
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the atmosphere became rather trying to the eyes. Our movements were closely watched by our Maori friends and afforded them subject matter for much conversation, evidently of an amusing nature. When we unrolled our blankets they took it as a signal for them to retire and we were left in undisturbed possession of our quarters for the night.
The morning witnessed a repetition of the kindness of the previous evening, and we left Te Whetu after quite an affectionate farewell. I should mention that at each village we visited our wants were supplied with no reference to payment--a detail which was left to ourselves at parting.
Wednesday was a miserable day for travelling, the rain continued, and our route lay through very rough country. A few miles on we entered a narrow gorge, the rocks on either side of which were several hundred feet high and in places had the appearance of being perpendicular. Emerging from this into a grassy valley of limited area, we soon came to a zigzag track, too steep to ascend on horseback. This brought us on to an elevated plateau, where we caught the full force of a keen wind and blinding rain.
This plateau terminated suddenly, some miles further on, at a pass called Painuiorehua, a very risky place to descend on such a day, being exceedingly steep and slippery. The drop was variously estimated by our party at from 750 to 1500 feet.
Our guide led the way with one horse, the rest following in single file. In the worst places they had the sagacity to put their fore-feet forward and slide down on their haunches. The pack horse gave us the greatest concern; he was heavily loaded, and a false step would have brought him precipitately to the bottom. It was useless to think of unloading him as it would have been impossible for us to have carried our kits. We reached the bottom without mishap, although some of the horses had hair-breadth escapes.
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We passed the settlement of Parekarangi at about 3 o'clock, but as all were drenched to the skin we decided not to halt but to push on to Ohinemutu. Our guide, however, mistook the track and lost his way. Fortunately we met a Maori, an Armed Constabulary man, on horseback, who informed us that our nearest stopping place would be Kaitariria, on the shore of Lake Roto-Kakahi. I think this village has long since been deserted, but at the time of which I write it was a place of some importance, being the headquarters of Captain Gilbert Mair and his company of Arawa Armed Constabulary. The latter were a fine soldierly looking lot of men. Our arrival caused some excitement, and the Maoris came out almost in a body to chant a song of welcome. Captain Mair gave us a hospitable reception, directing his men to place a good dry whare at our disposal and to provide a plentiful supply of firewood so that we might dry our clothes. In the evening he invited us to his own whare and showed us his rare collection of Maori curios, including the famous flute with which Tutanekai charmed Hinemoa, made from the thigh bone of one of the Hawaiki men who, according to tradition, arrived in New Zealand 500 or 600 years ago. This fine collection was eventually purchased from Captain Mair by public subscription, and is now in the Ethnological section of the Auckland Museum.
Our small supply of oats was quite exhausted, and our own kits needed replenishment. There was a store outside the palisade, but it contained very little. We could get no feed for our poor horses, and what we got for ourselves was of a rough and uninviting kind.
It took most of the following day to rest our horses and complete the drying of our clothes. The Maoris furnished us with plenty of amusement. The morning was fine and some of the younger people passed their time bathing in the cold lake. They had a rough spring board off which both girls and men dived. The former wore a loose skirt
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which they threw off on reaching the water and dexterously regained before they came ashore.
It was late in the afternoon when we started for Lake Tarawera, and we were overtaken by darkness and rain. We halted at Wairoa which happened to be deserted at the time, so we lit a fire in one of the whares and made ourselves as comfortable as we could. Our party received the addition at Kaiteriria of an Irishman, a humorous fellow, who gave us many a good laugh on the way.
On Friday morning we left our horses in the old mission paddock and proceeded on foot to Karire, a native village overlooking Lake Tarawera. We found that all the men and the younger women had gone road-making, leaving only the old women and children at home. They gave us the usual welcome, and soon had a meal of hot kumeras and potatoes ready, besides a kit of fine ripe apples, so that with slight additions from our own store we enjoyed an excellent breakfast.
A difficulty now arose with regard to a crew for the canoe to take us to Rotomahana. It was settled by our agreeing to accept a crew of old women, with the addition of an old man left in the settlement who acted as steersman.
We started to cross the lake at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Our canoe looked as though it had seen long service, and was deeply loaded. There were our party of six, eight Maoris, besides several children and a couple of big dogs, in addition to our kits and a plentiful supply of potatoes.
We thought Tarawera a beautiful lake; the hills surrounding it were bold and picturesque, and the graceful pohutukawa overhung the numerous little bays which indent its shores. We reached the opposite shore, a distance of about nine miles, in an hour and a-half; the natives paddling very vigorously to the rhythm of their songs.
We landed near a few old whares at the mouth of the creek which discharged the overflow of Lake Rotomahana
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into Lake Tarawera. Here we saw a small "ngawha" or spring of boiling water, in which some natives were cooking potatoes and parsnips. We walked along the bank of the creek to its junction with Lake Rotomahana, and after waiting a short time the natives arrived with the canoe after a hard pull against the swift current. One of the women obligingly jumped into the creek and carried us, one by one, on her back to the canoe, which they had moored on the opposite shore.
We now crossed Rotomahana and landed in the midst of the wonders for which the locality was so long famous. We were given a whare on a hillside, and perhaps the best idea I can give of our surroundings would be to imagine oneself in the midst of the escape pipes from the boilers of a dozen unseen steam engines. We spent the night there, and next morning started to see the famous terraces. The White Terrace was but a short distance away, and approached by a narrow track which it was not safe to leave. Of this latter fact I had a somewhat painful illustration. Happening to step aside a few inches the ground gave way and my right foot was immediately immersed in hot mud. Fortunately one of my friends was by my side and I was promptly assisted out, but not before I had received a rather severe scald. The old lady who was in charge of me was much troubled and set up a pitiful moan. I was the first pakeha, she said, who had come to grief while under her guidance.
The destruction of the terraces fourteen years later was a national misfortune. There was nothing else to approach them for beauty. The White Terrace in particular eclipsed all the other wonders of this famous thermal region. It consisted of a series of irregular steps or terraces each two or three feet high and several hundred wide. The whole was of a brilliant pearly whiteness. Each terrace was sufficiently concave in formation to hold several feet of water. At the summit there was a deep crater filled with
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boiling water of an exquisite azure tint. This was in a constant state of overflow, and the water thus discharged distributed itself with the nicest regularity over the entire front of the terrace. Boiling at the top, it gradually cooled in its descent, until the water at the bottom was agreeably warm for bathing. One had only to ascend to be able to plunge into water of a higher temperature.
The Pink Terrace--Otukapuarangi--was on the opposite side of the lake, and although of great interest was less beautiful than the one we had just left. It was disfigured by the habit of British tourists, of all degrees, of scrawling their names on any object of interest they happen to visit. The water charged with siliceous matter soon rendered pencil writing indelible, so that a whole terrace, instead of retaining its pristine beauty, was covered with signatures or doggerel rhymes. We noticed with regret that persons of high degree were as great offenders as the ordinary trippers.
We had a pleasant return to Kariri. The attentions of our Maori friends in the evening were a little overpowering. The whare allotted to us was not large, and the combined presence of pakehas, Maoris and dogs made the atmosphere anything but agreeable; whilst the animals infested the place with fleas, so that the night was more lively than pleasant.
Sunday morning turned out a glorious autumn day. Our quarters rendered a state of rest out of the question, and our horses, we knew, were faring indifferently, so we bade an early adieu to these unprotected women and children and started for Ohinemutu on our homeward track.
Resting for breakfast at the old mission settlement of Wairoa, we had time to study its points of interest. There was a water-driven flour mill in a fair state of preservation, showing that wheat had at one time been grown nearby, and in close proximity an oven, built of stone, large enough to bake bread for a regiment.
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The old mission house (Te Mu) was still in good preservation. The Rev. S. M. Spencer had lived there for many years. His family were all born there. The Maori War had driven them from their home, but the house was still cared for by an old Maori servant who had spent most of her life in their service. She was polite and obliging lo visitors and took pride in producing the visitors' book and inviting the signatures of anyone calling at the house. There were the remains of a fine orchard, and Mary gave us a supply of apples. The orchard itself was the centre from which all kinds of fruit trees and plants had been supplied to the various Maori settlements in the neighbourhood.
One saw on all sides the sad remains of a vanished faith. There were in the mission enclosure besides the old home a school building capable of holding a hundred or more children, and a pretty little church whose stained glass windows diffused a pleasant restful light throughout the interior. Yet everything indicated drift and decay. One felt that the future of the Maori race was a perplexing problem. There was evidence on all sides of the beneficial influence of the missionaries. Churches and schools, orchards, and flour mills, the growth of all kinds of edible vegetables and fruits, disused agricultural implements: everything had promised well for a satisfactory solution of the question: "Can a dark-skinned race flourish side by side with a white race?" One asked oneself why the scene around seemed to give so definite a reply in the negative.
Many of the early missionaries we knew were spending their latter years in sorrow at the seeming failure of their life's work.
Looking at the question retrospectively one recalled to mind the somewhat pessimistic conclusion of the Rev. Wm. Colenso in the concluding lines of his essay on "The Maori Races of New Zealand." He "has no hesitation in expressing his settled conviction that (apart from any spiritual Christian benefit, a subject he has generally, throughout this
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essay, avoided), taking all things into consideration, and viewing the matter from a philanthropic, as well as a New Zealand point of view, it would have been far better for the New Zealanders, as a people, if they had never seen an European."
I wrote at the time: "It is Sunday; we are travelling slowly, so I hope this digression may be pardoned; for a man of ordinary powers of observation can hardly visit this old settlement without falling into a half melancholy train of thought." I can only offer the same apology after the lapse of so many years. I may add that Mr. Spencer was a singularly self-effacing and humble minded man. On the occasion of a tour of his district with his Bishop--Williams of Waiapu--they arrived at a place where the only accommodation house was full. The owner, however, after some consideration, said he might put them up if they were willing to share a room together. To this the Bishop readily agreed. Spencer, however, could not think of presuming upon the dignity of his Bishop by sleeping in the same room, and assured him that he could find other sleeping quarters. Early next morning when the Bishop went to search for his friend he found him peacefully asleep under the shelter of a flax bush, his inverted saddle for a pillow, and his horse tethered close by.
It will be remembered that in 1886 the whole district was enveloped in hot mud by the eruption of Mt. Tarawera, and the village of Wairoa disappeared, with nearly all its inhabitants, Maori and European.
To resume our journey: We next visited Lake Rotorua the first sight of which was disappointing. The shores looked flat and uninteresting, its waters seemed turbid, a strong odour of burning sulphur permeated the air. The present town was non-existent. The site of the gardens, which contained many unguarded and therefore dangerous boiling springs and steam holes hidden in the scrub, was known as Sulphur Point. The native village Ohinemutu was approached by a narrow track through manuka and fern.
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At Ohinemutu the carvings for the large meeting house now known as Tamatekapua were being executed. We met a very remarkable looking Maori, a hunchback, who was said to be the best craftsman at this kind of work in New Zealand.
We put up at a so-called accommodation house, a whare, kept by a pakeha-Maori, but the food was execrable and the so-called accommodation inferior to that of a clean Maori hut.
Another of these whares, kept by a Maori, had a spirit license, and a pretty scene was being enacted! There were a number of natives of both sexes in various stages of drunkenness, and although they behaved themselves much less offensively than white people would have done under the same circumstances, the effect was not such as to impress one with the benefits of civilisation.
We were not sorry to leave Rotorua on our homeward journey. It was after dark when we reached Te Whetu. The natives had returned, and one of them had died. A tangi was going on over his remains, and the customary piteous moaning and weeping on the part of the women went on for the rest of the evening and far into the night.
Our hostess of the previous visit was hospitable as before. Amongst the men now present was a determined looking man whom we learnt was one of those who had seized a mob of cattle which Messrs. Firth and Buckland attempted to drive through native country from Hawke's Bay to Matamata a short time before.
The bird snarer had returned, and although he had met with scant success we were feasted with hot pigeons and potatoes. Their own meal consisted of potatoes only, but they finished eagerly what we left of the pigeons.
Bidding these kind people a final farewell, we started on Tuesday for Cambridge, whence we had planned to travel across country to the Waihou River where Major Drummond Hay had kindly promised to have a canoe ready to take us down the river to Shortland. We had, however,
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to abandon this part of the journey as the heavy rain had swollen the river, and the natives were unable to bring up the canoe.
We returned via Matamata and rode over part of Mr. J. C. Firth's newly acquired run, which at the time was said to carry about 1000 head of cattle. He also tried wheat growing, and had at the time the produce of about 250 acres in stack. His idea was to produce a sufficient supply for his Queen Street flour mills, but the scheme was not successful and was abandoned. The great tract of country eventually fell into the hands of the Bank of New Zealand and was afterwards acquired by the Government at about £3 per acre and thrown open for close settlement.
The rest of our journey to Cambridge via Tirau lay through unimproved Maori land which was traversed only by native tracks. The trip had provided a very agreeable holiday and one looks back with interest to the improvement which has been effected over the country by the labour of ndustrious settlers, backed by the resources of science vhich alone have made it possible to profitably occupy and eclaim the comparatively poor waste lands of this part of the country.
I may add that one of our party was Mr. John Ernest Tinne, a young Oxford man, brother of Mr. T. F. S. Tinne.
On his return to England he published, through Samson Low, an account of our travels under the title of "The Wonderland of the Antipodes." I had not heard the district so described before his book appeared, and I think he is entitled to the credit of giving a name to the district which has been very generally used ever since.
Mr. Tinne, in his preface, refers to a remark of Anthony Trollope in his then recently published work, that 400 books on this country had already appeared, and describes his own as the 402nd, which "he feels is far from exhausting what may be said in praise of the coming country."
