Chapter IV: Part 4

There is nothing to attract the settler to country such as this,
except gold. There is little water, and that mostly salt or
brackish, so that in the early days of the mines it was distilled
and sold by the gallon at a high price. There was none available
for washing the gold, so that it had to be separated from the
earth and rock by the method known as dry-blowing. Now all this
has been changed. The mines are supplied with water from far away
in the Perth district, where the rainfall is heavy. The whole
river is held up at Mundaring, twenty-one miles from Perth, by 50
a gigantic weir, and the water is raised at one pumping station
after another, and so carried up and over the plateau to the
mining districts. The pipes are laid along the railway and the
water is carried for about three hundred and fifty miles, or
rather further than from London to Berwick. Without this great
work, the Coolgardie region, with its large mining population,
could not exist.

Let us now examine the mining. Here we see its primitive methods
in the bush. There is probably alluvial gold in the bed of a 51
stream, buried under the surface sand and clay. The stuff is
merely hauled up in buckets and thrown out on to the “dump” to 52
await further treatment. Here again, instead of sinking a shaft,
the miners have burrowed into the bare hillside. In some places, 53
where water is to be had for a short time after the rains, the
miners contrive a primitive washing machine such as we see here. 54
The large trough is merely a hollow log, where the gold-bearing
dirt is washed to free it from clay, while the larger stones are
picked out. Then it is put into the long trough and sluiced, so
that the gold settles among the small stones while the lighter
stuff is carried away. The troughs are of wood and the pump is
distinctly home made; the water is used again and again until it
becomes too thick or evaporates altogether.

Now let us turn to another picture. Here is an up-to-date mine,
with machinery and tanks for the chemical extraction of the last 55
atom of gold, after the mass has already been treated in great 56
batteries. There is a deep shaft here with mechanical winding as
in a coal mine; but often the gold-bearing quartz is near the
surface, and we have an “open cut,” or practically a quarry. 57
Here is one showing the rock at close quarters: the white is the
rock which contains the gold, while the dark is the “mullock,” 58
or “country” rock, as the miners style it. There are other
goldfields nearer the coast, in the district north-east of Perth.
Although near the sea this is a very dry country with much mulga
scrub; for, as we go northwards, the scanty rainfall is more and
more limited to a very narrow strip along the coast. We have
noticed already that the forest zone ends not far north of Perth.

The rest of the interior in this part of the State is a stony
desert whose chief product is the spinifex, or porcupine grass,
which we have seen before. This often forms an impenetrable
scrub, as many explorers have found to their cost. Over very
large areas the surface is covered with great boulders; these may
be troublesome to the traveller, but they are not without their
uses. The storm water runs off them and does not contain salt,
so that it can be caught in a tank for the cattle on the stock 59
routes, as we see in this picture.

In the south-east, towards the great Australian Bight, there is
a change. There is much limestone country here, with pasture,
but the water sinks away through the porous rock. Access, too,
is difficult, owing to the cliff barrier stretching for fifteen
hundred miles unbroken by any stream or gap. Here is a view of 60
these cliffs; sometimes they come down to the sea, sometimes they
lie some distance inland, but they are always present. Here, too,
we find the water, which sank into the plateau above, breaking 61
out at the foot of the cliffs and giving us unexpected vegetation.

One part of West Australia we have not visited, that beyond the
Tropic to the north. Here is a moderate rainfall similar to that
in the Northern Territory and in Queensland; while in the extreme
north we meet the heavy downpour of the Tropics. Much of it is
well suited for cattle, but at present it is hardly touched, and
it is separated from the populous district of the south by a wide
stretch of dry and inhospitable country.

LECTURE VI

NEW ZEALAND--SOUTH ISLAND

We now return to the east and leave Hobart, with a westerly wind
astern, and following the course of the great Dutch navigator
Tasman, steam south-eastward across the deep sea which still
bears his name. We are bound for the southern end of New Zealand.

The islands of New Zealand are often compared to the British
Islands, but we must be careful not to press this comparison too
far. We must notice that their position on the globe corresponds
not to that of Britain, but to that of Italy; while the long
toe to the north is even nearer to the equator than the toe of
Italy. In shape, too, the main islands remind us somewhat of
Italy; for Cook Strait is shallow, and we may think of them as
forming one continuous land mass. We may notice also that Stewart
Island lies on a bank which extends from the mainland southwards
as far as the Auckland Islands. There are similar shallows to
the northward, with island points upon them projecting above the
surface of the sea; so that we may think of the whole area as
one great bank below the water, with the higher parts showing
as land, while east and west of it lie the deep abysses of the
Tasman Sea and the Pacific. So though we have at first sight
a group of scattered islands, they have a certain unity if we
look at the under-sea platform on which they stand. There are
also certain scattered islands, more remote from the New Zealand
group, but dependent politically on the Dominion. Of these the
chief are the Chatham Islands, 500 miles east of Lyttelton, the
Kermadecs, 600 miles north-east of Auckland, and beyond them the
Cook Islands, far out in the Pacific.

Though in shape and position New Zealand may resemble Italy, in
one important respect it differs alike from Italy and the British
Islands. It is surrounded by the open ocean, and there is no
great continent near enough to affect its climate or the life
of its people. Its plants and animals are largely peculiar to
itself; its native races are widely different from the aborigines
of Australia; its past development has been on independent lines,
and we may remember that it still remains outside the circle of
Australian Federation. We may contrast the position of Italy, in
a land-locked sea and with a continental frontier; or the close
connexion with the neighbouring mainland which has affected all
the past history of our own islands.

We are visiting South Island first, since its geography is more
simple and easier to grasp than that of the North Island; we
shall find, too, that some of the conditions are not unlike those
which we have lately seen in Tasmania. Our steamer will land us 1
at Bluff Harbour, in the extreme south of the island. Fifteen
miles away, across Foveaux Strait, we can distinguish the hills
of Stewart Island, famous for its oysters. Bluff is the port of
Invercargill which lies some distance up the estuary of the New
River, and is not visited by large vessels. It is a busy little
town, and here we see the steamers loading wool, frozen meat, and
perhaps oats. The tall chimney in the background belongs to one
of the largest meat-freezing factories in the colony, while that
smooth green mass is the Bluff itself. The wharves of a seaport
are an excellent guide to the district which it serves; and wool,
meat, and oats may suggest to us the nature of the country which
we are about to visit.

A journey of seventeen miles by rail brings us to Invercargill.
We have seen the products of the country at the port; here
we shall learn something more of the people who own them.
Invercargill is a grey, solid-looking town, with very wide and
clean streets and a general air of comfort and prosperity. The
town is full of people who have come in for the great summer wool
sales. Among the crowd we come across some highland pipers--a
rather surprising meeting in the southern hemisphere. Our
surprise will not last long. Let us look around us: here are Dee 2
Street and Don Street, whose very names, like that of the town
itself, carry us back to Scotland. Or let us look at the people
and listen to their talk: we shall find Scots everywhere, not in
this town only, but all over the south of the island. In fact,
the original settlement at Otago, which we shall visit later, was
a Scottish Free Kirk colony.

From Invercargill we can reach the mountains of the south-west
and some of the most magnificent scenery in the southern
hemisphere; but before we start we must take a brief glance at
the island as a whole. The country which is to be surveyed is 3
about the same size as England and Wales. We remember that we
approached it from the west but landed in the extreme south; the
map may suggest a reason for this. Not far from the west coast,
from end to end of the island, runs a backbone of mountains, with
a steep face towards the Tasman Sea but a long and more gentle
slope to the Pacific. Thus the rivers flowing to the west are
short and rapid, for the most part mere mountain torrents, of no
use for ships; while their narrow, deep-cut valleys give little
space for settlement or roads into the interior. Their mouths
also are blocked by sand-bars, owing to the strong winds and
currents which sweep along the coast.

In the south-west corner, instead of rivers, we find a whole
group of fiords, deep inlets running up between mountain walls
and leading nowhere. Here is some of the most beautiful but
least known country in New Zealand; there are no railways and
practically no settlement, as we shall find on our visit. In
short, the island looks to the Pacific and turns its back on the
Tasman Sea. On the east side there is more room. The province of
Otago is hilly, but further north is the great expanse of the
Canterbury Plains. North of the plains are more mountains, the
Kaikoura Ranges, lying parallel to the east coast; so that even
on this side of the island there is no through communication from
end to end. We shall see later that this peculiar grouping of the
physical features has had a great deal of influence on the nature
and history of settlement in South Island, or Middle Island as
some prefer to call it.

We will now start on our trip to the mountains, lakes, and fiords
of the south-west. The first part of our journey is by train,
past fields of oats and rough grazing land with sheep scattered
about, and here and there a clump of firs. Soon we are running
through a valley between the hills, and following the line of a
grey-looking stream, to the town of Lumsden. We are coming to the 4
end of the railway and must change into a motor car to complete
our journey. Our destination is the beautiful Lake Manapouri,
one of a group of lakes which wind in and out among the valleys
of the western mountains just as the fiords which run in from
the sea. Here is a piece of our road, with the mountains in the 5
distance; notice the team of horses carting wool.

We sleep at an accommodation house, and in the early morning go 6
down to the little pier and board the launch which is to take
us up the lake. Here we see it lying below one of the tree-clad 7
slopes. In the distance, veiled in cloud, are the Hunter
Mountains; here is a nearer view from which we can form some idea 8
of the wonderful colours in which these mountain lakes abound.
Further up the lake on the north side we see the Cathedral Peaks, 9
with patches of snow still lying, although it is past midsummer;
while all the lower slopes, right down to the water’s edge, are
covered with green beech, called birch by the natives, with here
and there the scarlet blossoms of the _rata_ tree making a patch
of bright colour. Finally we see the end of the northern arm, 10
with Spire Peak shooting up in the background.

From Manapouri we drive across to another lake, Te Anau, where we
again find a launch. From the northern end of this long, narrow
and somewhat uninteresting lake we must walk the thirty miles
over the Milford track, if we wish to see Milford Sound, one of
the grandest of all the sea fiords. We are now beginning to
realise how very much out of the world we are in this corner of
the island.

Our path lies for many miles through a dense forest of beech.
From the roots, and far up the trunks, the trees are covered
with mosses, lichens, and small ferns. On the ground are more
thick mosses and myriads of ferns great and small. Everything is
moist and green in this part of the island, where the perpetual
westerly winds bring heavy rain all the year round to the
mountain slopes. In fact, we shall be lucky if we finish our walk
without meeting with a downpour. Here we see part of our track on 11
the way up to the Mackinnon Pass, with the dense bush below and 12
the snow-capped mountains above. All the way through the trees
we have glimpses of cataracts, seaming the rugged slopes above
the limit of the forest. Many of the torrent beds are dry now,
like the one in front of us, but we can easily imagine the force 13
of the flood water from the appearance of the stones and debris
strewn about it.

It is a long walk, and we stop for the night, wet and tired, at
the Government huts at Pompolona, where we sleep, if we can, in
rough wooden bunks fixed round the inside of the walls. In the
early morning we start again, making our way by the side of the
Clinton River which flows down the pass between dark woods not
yet touched by the sunshine. So we go on over the Divide and 14
down the valley of the Arthur River, through more dense jungle
of tree ferns, to Sandfly Point, on Milford Sound, where Donald
Sutherland is to meet us with his launch. It is growing late, and
there are sandflies in plenty, but no sign of the launch or its
independent owner. Sutherland was the original discoverer of the
Sound and of the famous falls named after him, and for a long
time he lived here in sole possession. He is now a kind of guide
and guardian of its magnificent scenery, and has the air of a
landowner showing visitors over his private estate. Here is his
portrait, that of a typical blue-eyed Scot. He arrives at last 15
and takes us by moonlight to the little landing near his house.

In the morning we make a voyage down the Sound. All around us
are steep mountain slopes with wisps of cloud hanging upon them
not yet dissipated by the sun. At the head of the Sound we can 16
see the Bowen Falls, and our boat will take us right up to their
foot for a closer view. We pass Mitre Peak, with its remarkable 17
shape, and then are shown Two Man Beach, where Sutherland landed 18
first with one companion, prospecting for gold, thirty years
ago. The rock above is dark purple-grey, with splashes of green
and scarlet from the small trees clinging to it and the blossom
of the _rata_. Finally we reach the Heads and the open sea, and 19
turning look back. Notice how the mountain walls close in on
the blue-black water. Sheer above the surface they tower for
half to three-quarters of a mile, carved and polished by the
great glacier which filled the Sound long ages ago. We may see
something like this in the West of Scotland, though on a far
smaller scale; but to find a close parallel we shall have to
search among the fiords of Norway. Here is a map showing the 20
district of the Sounds. When we have seen Milford, we have seen
the essence of all the thirteen Sounds; though each has its own
special beauty; so we start on our long tramp back, turning aside
a mile or two from the Quinton Huts to visit the Sutherland 21
Falls, which claim to be the highest in the world; and so to our
motor car for Lumsden and the railway to Dunedin.

Before reaching Dunedin we cross the Clutha, one of the largest
of the New Zealand rivers, as it drains three lakes among the
mountains, and these in their turn are fed from the snows of the
southern Alps. The river flows for the most part through a narrow
rock-bound channel, in hilly country, and so has no broad valley
for settlement; but its sands are rich in alluvial gold, and
we may perhaps catch sight of an ugly floating dredger, moored 22
in the stream. Much of the gold in New Zealand is alluvial,
and dredging for it in the river-bed is one of the most common
and profitable methods of mining. This part of Otago owes its
population and prosperity almost entirely to its gold and the
sheep which are scattered everywhere over its rolling downs; in
the west, as we have already seen, it is occupied by mountain,
fiord, and forest, and is scarcely inhabited.

Dunedin, the Edinburgh of New Zealand, is the most important
commercial city in the South Island. It is much larger than
Invercargill and has many fine buildings of the Oamaru stone,
the best building stone to be found in the island. Here was the
original Scottish settlement in 1848, and the natural outlet of
the rich gold and pastoral district behind. The city lies at the
head of a long inlet, Otago Harbour, which is formed by a narrow 23
peninsula connected only by a small neck with the mainland.
The peninsula and the surrounding hills together make a kind
of funnel through which sweep the winds from the north-east or
south-west. It is always cool and breezy here, a fit place for a
strong, healthy, and energetic race; but people coming from the
warmer regions of the North Island do not always appreciate the
change. Here we have a wide view of the town and harbour, looking 24
northwards, from the Town Belt, a fine stretch of public land
on the hillside encircling the city. Here is a nearer view from 25
which we can gain some notion of the size and character of the
city itself. Notice the church spires, the tall factory chimneys,
the warehouses and offices. Dunedin has its flour mills, its
woollen mills, its manufactures of boots and clothing. Here is
the interior of one of the large woollen mills, showing the 26
combing and spinning machines; we might easily imagine ourselves
in Yorkshire. Another picture gives us a glimpse of one of the 27
many beauty spots on the coast within a short distance of the
city.

Just as the ocean trade of Invercargill was carried on at Bluff,
so the outlet for Dunedin and the usual landing-place for large
steamers is at Port Chalmers, some miles further down the inlet; 28
though a recently dredged channel now enables them to reach the
wharves of Dunedin itself. Here we see the port from the west,
looking towards the sea. Dunedin is the headquarters of the
largest steamship company in the southern hemisphere; the company
trades especially with the coast ports of New Zealand and with
Australia. It is a curious accident which has given us a fine
harbour in this position. The east coast, like the west, takes
the form of long, smooth bights, with very few natural harbours.
The peninsula which forms Otago Inlet is volcanic in origin, as
is the larger Banks Peninsula further north. There are no live
volcanoes in South Island; but these interesting relics of past
activity have proved of the greatest value to settlement. They
even attracted here the Maoris, who confined themselves for the
most part to North Island.

We must now resume our journey, by the trunk line of railway, 29
which follows the coast all the way, with occasional branches
running inland between the south-eastern spurs of the central
mountain chain. We pass Oamaru, whence comes the stone for many
of the public buildings of New Zealand, and stop at Timaru,
where we change trains. We are going up one of the branch lines
to visit another district of magnificent scenery, though quite
different from the southern lakes and fiords. This is the
district of the New Zealand Alps, the Switzerland of the southern
hemisphere. At Fairlie the railway ends and we must once again
trust to a motor car. In the distance, as we start in the early
morning, we see a great mass of snow-capped mountains: this is
our goal.

Our road at first lies across a flat plain, with sheep and
cattle, and here and there a field of corn or a clump of trees
and an isolated homestead. Then we reach Burke’s Pass, with its 30
firs and poplars and little group of houses. Mount Cook, the
highest peak in the island, is just visible in the distance. We
are crossing over one of the long spurs which spread eastward
from the main chain. Soon we find the mountains, with snow peaks,
closing in on either side, as well as in front, and so we come 31
down to Lake Tekapo.

Here we cross the end of the lake by a suspension bridge; notice
how the light is reflected from the snow on the summit of the
mighty range in front of us. Next we come on a sight peculiar to
the country; this is a boundary dog, a lonely sentry chained up 32
at a point where the boundary of a sheep run crosses the road and
there is no gate to prevent the sheep from straying. Around him
is a heap of bones, the remnants of many meals. Then we reach
another lake, Pukaki, with its chalky-looking water; and in the 33
distance up the lake we have a view of the great mass of Mount
Cook. We drive along the lake side right into the heart of the
mountains, and in the evening reach the Hermitage at the foot of
Mount Sefton. Here is a view of Mount Sefton and here are the 34
Hermitage and the mountain as we should see them in winter. 35

We sleep at the Hermitage, and in the morning start with a guide
and the usual equipment of the climber in Switzerland. We cross
the Hooker River by a suspended cage; the water looks quiet 36
enough now, but here it is in flood; a very different picture. 37
All along the west coast there are mountain streams of this kind;
and we can easily imagine what a serious barrier they offer to
movement from north to south across the line of their channels.

It would be impossible, without a large scale map and plenty of
space, to describe the wonders which we can see on a two days’
walk, sleeping at Ball Hut, a long way up the mountain slopes.
But we may gain some notion of the different kinds of scenery
to be found. All around us are snow-clad peaks, with great
glaciers flowing down the valleys between and ending in long
moraines--masses of rock and debris with chalk-white streams
flowing out from beneath them as in the picture before us. This
is the Mueller Glacier with Mount Sefton; and the river coming 38
out from the terminal face is the Hooker, which we crossed
earlier at a lower point in its course. Here again we are looking 39
up the famous Tasman Glacier, towards the Minarets, and here
is the wonderful scene at the head of the glacier. On the same 40
glacier we find a beautiful specimen of the ice river; and not 41
far away, on the great Hochstetter, we see some magnificent 42
ice falls. In the background is Mount Silberhorn. The picture
suggests the origin of the name. Finally we have a view of Mount 43
Cook, the Aorangi of the Maoris, with its topmost peaks rising
into the clouds. It is the highest mountain in Australasia, and
we have already seen it in various aspects from a distance. Here
is the summit, twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea, 44
or nearly three times the height of Ben Nevis. Mount Cook is
worthy to stand by the side of the giant peaks of the Alps, and
even in Switzerland it would be difficult to find scenery grander
than that of these southern mountains.

We must not spend too much time here, so we make our way back
to Timaru. Timaru is a small but busy town and port, with
flour mills, meat-freezing works, and steamers loading at its
wharves. We must pause here for a moment as we are entering on
a new region in South Island, very different from those which
we have visited. Timaru is the chief outlet for the centre and
south of the province of Canterbury. The eastern part of the
province consists of a strip of level or gently undulating
country, a hundred and fifty miles from north to south and from
thirty to forty from east to west. This plain slopes gently from
the foothills of the western mountains, and has been built up
largely of alluvium brought down by the rivers which now flow
across it in shifting channels through wide belts of shingle. It
is a sharp contrast to the forest regions of the west: a land
of comparatively small rainfall, with pastures, hedgerows, and
open cornlands; treeless except for scattered clumps, planted by
the settlers. Dropped suddenly in this district we might easily
imagine that we were somewhere in the Midlands of England.

On these treeless plains and the eastern slopes of the hills, 45
the early settlers found pasture ready-made for their flocks;
as there was no clearing of forest to be done. So, to-day, this
part of South Island has still the most important sheep-rearing
industry in New Zealand.

Here is a typical farm near the foothills, with cattle feeding 46
on the rich pasture. Again, we have a scene nearer Canterbury,
showing a great expanse of grain, with the reapers at work. The 47
rainfall is so small that in some parts of the plain there is
not enough water for the farmer, so that artificial irrigation
is necessary, and there are now many miles of water races 48
strung across the country. It seems strange to talk of drought
and irrigation after our experiences of the west coast, but we
may understand it better if we look at the figures of annual
rainfall. At Hokitika, and all along the west coast as far north
as Greymouth, the fall is a hundred inches or more; while in the
extreme south-west corner it is over two hundred. On the other
hand, all the low-lying parts of the Canterbury Plains have less
than thirty inches; in fact, we may compare them to the east and
south-east districts of England. In England, as in South Island,
we find heavy rains in the west, and the explanation is similar
in both cases. The prevailing moist winds are from the west, so
that the eastern plains lie under the lee of the mountains.

If we remember the latitude of South Island we might expect to
find it rather warm; but we must take account of other things
than latitude. It is true that there are occasional hot winds
blowing down from the mountains over the Canterbury Plains, but
the island as a whole is cool. The great mass of highland, with
its winter covering of snow, the perpetual moist winds and the
cool currents of the ocean all help to modify the heat of the
sun’s rays, and to give us a climate not in the least enervating
for English settlers.

As we approach Christchurch the farms are closer together and
the whole country is enclosed and cultivated. For mile after
mile we run past green hedgerows as in England; and in the
spring these are ablaze with the yellow of the gorse blossom,
while the scent hangs heavy in the air. Then, through suburbs
with villas and gardens, we reach the city itself. Christchurch
is as typically English as Dunedin is Scotch. It was founded
by an association of High Churchmen who bought land from the
New Zealand Land Company in 1850, and it still boasts the only
cathedral in the Dominion. Here is a general view of the city. 49
We shall find much to remind us of England in the social life,
the clubs and sports of the city, and its beautiful park planted
with English trees. The Avon flows through it, with its riverside
houses whose lawns slope down to the banks; there are willows 50
overhanging the water and swans swimming about, and the whole
scene might be taken for a quiet backwater on the Thames. It is 51
often said that emigrants from Britain carry a piece of their
homeland with them; there can be no better illustration of this
than Christchurch and Dunedin.

The cathedral, the parks and gardens and beautiful residences
show us one side of English life; but Christchurch has another
side. Its people are not idle. We see here warehouses, offices,
and busy factories, as befits the chief centre of the whole
Canterbury district. In one respect, however, it differs from
the other large cities of New Zealand; it is not on the sea.
We shall see its trade and shipping at Lyttelton, seven miles 52
away by rail. Lyttelton lies on an arm of the sea to the north
of the Banks Peninsula, a volcanic mass breaking the line of 53
the long smooth coast, just as the Otago Peninsula at Dunedin.
But the activities of the two cities are not the same: Dunedin,
the outlet of the coal and gold-mining area of Otago, has its
School of Mines, as well as of medicine and other subjects;
while Christchurch, the city of the fertile plain, in addition
to a great engineering department, has its Lincoln Agricultural
College. Here are the college buildings, and here we see some of 54
the students at practical work, threshing wheat in the fields. 55
Thus we see a contrast which is purely geographical reflected in
the world of education.

If we follow the great plain northwards from Christchurch, we
shall find that it narrows gradually and comes to an end at last,
against the seaward range of the Kaikoura Mountains. Our road
north is stopped, but we can follow the railway north-westward
to Springfield; thence we go by coach, over the Alps through
Arthur’s Pass and down the Otira Gorge, until we strike the short
railway which will take us to Greymouth and the west coast. This
is the only coach road over the Alps, and we can learn much in
the course of our exciting forty mile run.

We climb up, by a twisting road, over open slopes covered with
brown tussock grass. Here and there we pass a mountain tarn,
and all the time above us are purple mountains capped with 56
dazzling fields of snow. We cross the saddle at the summit of
the pass, 3000 feet above the sea, and then plunge down through
a deep cañon gorge, following the narrow bed of a mountain 57
stream. Instead of the open mountain side, all around us are
high fern-clad cliffs, steep slopes and dense forest, all ablaze
in summer with the scarlet rata blossom. We have seen, on our
short journey, the east and the west countries, in the sharpest
possible contrast. Soon, the rail-heads on either side will be
linked, and a rush through miles of dark tunnel will take the
place of the splendid drive on the coach, though doubtless many
will still prefer the road to the rail.

From Greymouth another line of rail and coach will take us
through another famous gorge on a zigzag course to Nelson on
Tasman Bay. We realise that communication in this part of the
island is very difficult, and we shall find that the isolation of
the different areas of settlement has been an important factor in
the political development of New Zealand.

Greymouth, on a small artificial harbour at the mouth of the
river, carries on a trade in gold, coal, and timber; Westport,
further north, owes its existence mainly to coal, though there
are also gold mines in the country behind it. Hokitika, which we
can reach by a short railway journey, southward from Greymouth,
is also the outlet of a gold district. The coal in this district
of Westland is of good quality, and some day may give rise to a
large industrial population; at present it is mined chiefly for
export. Here we see the little township of Brunner, with its 58
coal mines; notice the forest and mountain in the background.
Round Nelson there is a strip of sheltered lowland noted for its
agriculture and fruit growing; as it was easily reached, and near
the line of traffic through Cook Strait, the district with its
fertile soil and mild climate was one of the earliest to attract
settlers. Here is a view of Nelson on its little plain ringed in 59
by bare hills.

The mountainous north-east corner of the island, now the district
of Marlborough, was difficult of access; so for a long time it
had no separate existence, but was merely part of the larger 60
province of Nelson; but now we may reach it easily by steamer and
might spend many days exploring the inner coast and bays of the
Sounds which penetrate deeply into the land. These Sounds are
different from those which we visited in the south-west of the
island. They are broad, lake-like expanses of calm water, backed
by forested hill slopes, with here and there clearings and farms
near the water’s edge. The early whalers established themselves
here, and to-day it is a favourite haunt of the yachtsmen. Here
is a view of part of Pelorus Sound. 61

If we look at the structure of the island, we now see that there
were three detached areas favourable for early settlement; Nelson
in the north, Canterbury in the middle, and Otago in the south.
All these were occupied separately, between the years 1840 and
1850, and the only means of communication between them was by
sea. We can understand why at first these districts formed
independent Provinces, each with its own local Parliament.
Indeed, for a few years, even the southern part of Otago enjoyed
a separate existence as Southland. The provinces still remain as
provincial districts for certain purposes of local government,
though Westland, between the Alps and the sea, has been split off
from Canterbury, and Marlborough, as we have noted, from Nelson.

Among the cities Christchurch and Dunedin still stand alone with
over sixty thousand inhabitants and two of the colleges of the
University of New Zealand; while the greater part of the trade
of the island passes through their ports. The districts behind
them also contain the great majority of the sheep reared in the
island. Next in importance to these cities is Invercargill, with
less than twenty thousand inhabitants; while no other town has
more than ten thousand. These numbers may seem small to us, but
we must remember that they are large in proportion to the total
population of New Zealand, which, including the Maoris, was less
than a million in 1906. In Christchurch, in addition to the
Cathedral and University College, we find a Supreme Court of the
Dominion; and here we may see also the old Provincial Council
Buildings, a remnant of the former system of government.

Though these capital cities have attracted relatively large
populations, yet there is not that enormous concentration of
life and wealth in a single city which we noticed in some of
the Australian States. The sea is partly responsible for this.
The population tends to scatter in a fringe along the coasts,
since the natural means of access to the agricultural and
mining districts of the interior is from the nearest point on
the sea-board. There is no great concentration of routes at
any one point, and though Christchurch and Dunedin have a long
start, many of the smaller towns are growing rapidly, through
the development of the areas behind them. As we have seen, the
whole structure of the country is against concentration, and
the scattering of the population may become more rather than
less marked as the newer districts are opened up from the coast
inwards. The geographical conditions which controlled early
settlement are still operative to-day.

We have treated of the settlement of South Island as though
the first settlers found the country uninhabited and were
free to develop its resources as seemed best to them, with
no difficulties in the way except those due to climate and
structure. We have made no mention of the aborigines for the good
reason that less than five per cent. of them are to be found in
South Island; so that the native problem has never been of a
serious character. The chief attraction for the Maoris lay in
the greenstone for their weapons which the island provided; and
though they had a few settlements on the coast, their number was
too small to form any real obstacle to white occupation.

The character of the climate alone would give sufficient ground
for their avoidance of the island, as they were a race of
immigrants from the warmer regions to the north; also, as we
shall see later, the structure of the country was not well suited
to their habits of life. The case is very different when we come
to deal with North Island; we shall find the Maori there a very
important element in the history of its development. On our way
from Nelson we shall pass through the narrow channel between
Rangitoto Island and the mainland, where we shall probably meet
“Pelorus Jack,” the huge pilot fish, or rather dolphin, who
regularly escorts vessels through the strait. He is protected
by Act of Parliament, and is so well known that he has become 62
a subject of Maori legends. A short steam from Pelorus Sound
across Cook Strait brings us to North Island and within sight of
Wellington.

LECTURE VII

NEW ZEALAND--NORTH ISLAND

We may remember noticing, in our first survey, that Cook Strait
was much shallower than the surrounding seas, and that there
was an evident connexion between the North and South Islands 1
of New Zealand. The strait at one point is narrower than the
Strait of Dover, and the connexion between the two sides is
still more clear when we look at the structure of the land. The
parallel ranges of the Kaikoura Mountains, which we saw in the
north-east corner of South Island, reappear on the other side
of the strait. We can trace the continuation of the seaward
Kaikouras in detached fragments of highland along the east coast
of North Island; while inland there runs an unbroken range from
the coast at Wellington right up to Cape Runaway at the eastern
corner of the Bay of Plenty. So we have a backbone in North
Island as well as in South Island, but on the eastern instead of
the western side. The result is that the plains on the east are
smaller than those in South Island. There is one of these plains
behind Wellington and another south of Napier; the railway runs
through them and connects up a whole string of small agricultural
towns. North of Napier there is no railway, and the country is
hilly or mountainous with few settlements. The whole arrangement
is similar to that which we have seen in South Island, and is
equally dependent on the position and structure of the main
mountain backbone. Napier lies at the mouth of an estuary, while 2
Wellington, the only good port in the south of the island, is in
a drowned river valley, running up between the seaward spurs
of the hills and sheltered by them from the gusty winds of Cook
Strait.

As we steam in from the sea we might well imagine that we were
entering one of the fiords of South Island. The hills come down 3,4
to the water’s edge so that the city which they shelter is 5
somewhat crowded and cramped for space. The old settlement was
on a terrace up the hill; but a modern port must be close to the
water-level, so the wharves and warehouses are built largely on 6
land reclaimed from the foreshore. In fact, the foundations are
piles driven into the mud, and the buildings in the pictures
before us seem to be growing out of the water. Here is the
passenger wharf with our steamer, and beyond it the town in the 7
early morning haze. From the tower of the Customs House we can
obtain a good idea of the business part of the city. On one side
of us are tall buildings, offices, and warehouses; on the other 8
are factories, sheds, and railway sidings, with the harbour and 9
shipping beyond.

It would be a rather ugly city except for the terraced hill in
the background, where we find some of the finest buildings. If we
look closely at some of these, we may be struck by a remarkable
feature in their construction; many of them are made entirely of
wood. The chief reason for this was the fear of the earthquakes
to which the whole of this district is subject. Here is another
curious result of the same thing. We see a fine cricket-ground,
on which a match is in progress between Australian and New
Zealand teams: the ground is in the Basin Reserve, which was 10
originally intended for a dock but was raised in level during
the great earthquake of 1848. The Government offices are said to
be the largest wooden buildings in the world; notice the curious 11
style of the architecture and contrast it with some of the many
public buildings of stone which we saw in Australia. Even the
Houses of Parliament are of wood. Parliament meets here, since
Wellington is now the capital and seat of Government for the
whole Dominion. The present meeting place is the old Government 12
House, since the former Parliamentary Buildings were burnt down
in the summer of 1907. Only a fragment of them remains, chiefly
the library which we see in this picture; the marble statue in 13
front is that of John Ballance, a former Premier of New Zealand.

Wellington, by its position, is a natural centre for politics and
for trade, whether across the ocean or round the coasts; it is
the chief port of the island and the starting point of a whole
system of railways which has grown outward from it. As a trading
centre, Auckland comes a good second, and Lyttelton third.

We have noticed already the railway to Napier, which reminded us 14
somewhat of that in the Canterbury district. The lines running
to the north and north-west carry us into an entirely new type
of country, and before following them up we must look carefully
at the build of the island on the other side of the mountain
backbone. Here our experience of South Island will help us
little. Instead of a gentle uniform slope to the ocean, we find
a confused and bewildering structure. The mountain ranges in the
long northern neck and in the Coromandel Peninsula, with its
continuing islands, run from north-west to south-east, almost
at right angles to our main dividing range. In the broader part
of the island these ranges disappear, and we have a broken
plateau in the region round Lake Taupo with short ranges lying
on it in irregular fashion. We may notice that rivers radiate
from this centre in every direction except the east. Finally,
in the south-west corner, we see an isolated and symmetrical
mountain block. The forces at work here seem to have been very
different from those which shaped the long ridges of South
Island. The Taupo district will give us the key to the whole: it
is volcanic and contains active cones, geysers, and hot springs
in great number. There is another contrast: in the south and
west of the island we have no fiords or inlets, but long, smooth
coasts hollowed out into bights; whereas the north is made up of
islands, inlets, and peninsulas. We shall see later that these
differences in structure have more than a purely geographical
interest, since they have had a most marked influence on the
settlement and history of the island.

Let us now start on our journey by rail and observe the country
as we pass rapidly through it. At first we travel through open
lands with many prosperous-looking farms. Then, as we turn
northward on the main trunk line, the scenery gradually changes;
there are rugged hills, plateaus with steep broken edges, and
rivers running at the bottom of narrow gorges. The whole face of
the country looks disturbed and unfinished, and becomes wilder
and more desolate as we approach the volcanic district in the
centre. At Waiouru, we leave the train and mount a coach which
jolts us sadly over the rough roads. From the station, looking
northward, we can see in the distance the great cone of Ruapehu,
with slopes of dark purple and a dazzling cap of snow upon the 15
summit. Beyond it are other cones, one of which, Ngauruhoe, we
see here; and below us, as we drive along, is the Wangaehu, a 16
narrow stream flowing in a dark grey bed, its waters heavily
charged with sulphur. Further on is the Waikiti, at the bottom of
a deep chasm.

As we draw near to Lake Taupo we notice here and there puffs of
steam rising from the scrub at the side of the road, and on the
roadway we meet Maoris, tattered and dirty looking. Here we see
two of them meeting and saluting one another by touching noses. 17
At last we drive on to the jetty at Tokaanu at the southern end
of the lake. There are more Maoris here and on the steam launch
which is to take us to the other end. Taupo lies right up on the
central volcanic plateau, and we are about to visit part of the
great geyser region a short distance from its northern end. It
is the largest of the lakes of New Zealand, and is interesting
not so much for its beauty, as it has little, but for its close
connexion with Maori history. Here is a view of the lake looking 18
back towards Tokaanu and the volcanic range of mountains.

A short drive from the landing place at the northern end brings
us to Wairakei, where we walk down a pleasant green valley to
view the geysers. First we visit the Champagne Pool, a little 19
lake with steep red walls and deposits of white silica on the
lower rocks. Here the water is always bubbling and spouting at
a temperature above boiling point. The deposits of silica often
form beautiful terraces: the most famous in the world were at
Rotomahana, not far from Lake Rotorua which lies at the north
end of our district. Here are two pictures of the Rotomahana 20
terraces; notice the people bathing in the hot pools. These great 21
terraces were destroyed by the eruption of Mount Tarawera in
1886, but there are many smaller formations of the same kind to
be seen in the district. Here, for instance, is one gradually 22
being built up round the Twin Geysers.

Further down the valley we come to the great Wairakei Geyser
which plays for three minutes and then is quiet for eleven. Here
is a distant view from the opposite bank of the river; and here 23
we see the geyser at work with great vigour. Notice the curious
projection in the foreground of the last picture; it is the trunk 24
of a tree, petrified by the deposit of silica, which is not
white here but pale coffee-colour. There is a rainbow, too, in
the vapour above, which is unfortunately beyond the capacity of
our camera. Other smaller geysers are all round us with deposits
of claret-colour, black and yellow, due to the different salts
dissolved in the hot water. The ground shakes with the explosions
of steam beneath us, and everywhere is heat and vapour; yet all
the time the cold waters of the Wairakei River are flowing by
within a few feet of us. Scattered over the valley are beautiful
lakes and pools of different colours. Here is one of them, the
Blue Lake, lying in a corner of an old crater; the perpendicular 25
walls which form the bank in front of us are white striped with
orange.

Everywhere in this district volcanic agencies have changed the
face of nature. In one part we find long stretches of grey
pumice plains, with no vegetation but dusty brown fern. In
another part, great deposits of sulphur have been laid down over 26
the earth. It is a country with a beauty of its own, but more
attractive to the tourist than to the colonist and settler.
It still remains a barrier separating the centres of white
settlement and only recently crossed by the trunk line of railway.

It was in this wild country, to which the rail and coach now
bring curious visitors from all parts of the world, that not many
years ago the Maoris made their last stand against British power.
East and west of the lake is the King country of which we hear
much in history; except for the tourist it is still in the main
left to the Maoris.

In Australia, as we have seen, the real obstacles to settlement
were the climate and the character of the country; the aborigines
were pushed back into the wilder districts or simply crushed out
of existence by the civilisation of the white man. Not so the
Maori: he has been a very important element in the life of New
Zealand, whether as friend or enemy of the white invader, from
the time of the earliest settlers--the whalers of Cook Strait,
and the traders, boat-builders, and missionaries of the Bay
of Islands which lies on the east coast of the long northern
peninsula. The British have been settled in New Zealand barely
three-quarters of a century, as the proclamation of annexation
dates only from 1840; while the Maori has been in possession for
five or six centuries at least and shows no disposition to be
crowded out. He was, when first we met him, on a far higher level
than the aborigines of Australia.

Who, then, are the Maoris? They are a brown race, a race of
seamen who came in their long double canoes from the islands to
the north and settled along the neck of North Island--the Fish
of Maui as they called it--and at Otago and some few other
points in South Island. They brought with them their island
customs, especially the division into families and clans which
were always fighting among themselves. In New Zealand they found
all the materials for their usual mode of existence: timber for
their houses and sea-going canoes, native flax for the weaving
of clothes, stones for their weapons, as they had no knowledge
of metals; and fish everywhere in the rivers, lakes, and seas.
So here they built their houses, with little patches of garden
for their few vegetables, while the surrounding country was the
common possession of the clan, whence they added roots, berries,
and wild birds to the larder. Everywhere, in the best positions
for defence, were dotted about their fortified enclosures, or 27
pahs, in which they took refuge in the numerous clan feuds. Their
religion consisted of a kind of fetichism, and their whole life
was subject to the principle of _tapu_, or taboo as we commonly
spell it, a principle common over all this part of the Pacific,
and among savage races elsewhere. The Maoris were chivalrous
fighters, eloquent orators, and careful preservers of the
traditions of their past history. Such was the race which, in the
nineteenth century, contested the settlement of the island with
us.