Emerald Hours In New Zealand

Front matter

BY

ALYS LOWTH.

Author of "A Daughter of the Transvaal."

Prologue

THE STORY OF THE WINDS.

Once upon a time the Queen Consort of His Majesty the South Wind, a very lovely lady of variable moods but decided opinions, declared that she must have a domain of her own, wherein she might be absolute ruler. Of course the Queen Consorts of the other three brothers immediately followed her example, and to each of them was granted an island empire. Queen South Wind, being affectionate and loyal, as well as high-spirited and clever, chose the islands of the Southern Seas because they were in the vicinity of her husband’s dominions.

But Her Majesty was so hard to please in regard to a site for her residence that all her sisters-in-law were settled for ages before she had decided which of her islands suited her health and requirements. One was too small, another too big; one had no mountains, another no forests; one was too warm, another too cold.

She was growing very impatient, when one day, as she was sailing home from Fiji to her husband’s palace, she met his cousin, Prince Subterranean Wind.

Prince Subterranean was a very retiring man and a great student. He seldom left his own dominions, but he was always astonishing the world with some fresh phenomena, and the results of his scientific experiments were generally such as to strike awe into even the most learned savants. But in spite of his reclusive habits he was very susceptible to beauty, and the Queen was looking unusually well that day.

She told him how sadly disappointed she was in the group of islands belonging to her, for although very beautiful they were all far too equable in climate to please her, scarcely varying from one year’s end to the other, and far too constant to one description of scenery.

“What I should like,” she said dreamily, “would be a country of many climates. I should like to breakfast in the mild and beautifying atmosphere that gives to my sister of Erin so lovely a complexion; perform my matutinal duties in the brisk, invigorating chilliness of Siberia; prepare for the afternoon by a shower-bath of warm rain; and for the rest of the day enjoy the languorous temperature of the tropics, with its soft, balmy air, sweet scents, luscious fruits, gay flowers, and then be braced at night by the sharp air of Northern climes. If I wished to express myself angrily, a moment’s notice should provide a tempest; if I desired to forget my state for a time and be a tomboy once more, the lift of an eyebrow should evoke a gale. Life is nothing without variety—even a cabbage sometimes wears a paler or a darker shade of green.’’

“Dearest Cousin,” said the Prince, “why did you not think of me in your dilemma? I have long wished to show my appreciation of your extraordinarily unselfish choice of an empire, for in this quarter of the globe there is no spot really worthy the honour of being a Queen’s residence. But I had no means of ascertaining in what you were lacking, nor could I imagine anything, for it seemed to me that so lovely and so gifted a lady must naturally have the world at her disposal. And so I am more than glad to find that there is a way in which I can prove my devotion. You shall have a country literally made to order,—your wishes shall be obeyed and your vision materialised.”

“Oh, Cousin!” exclaimed the Queen, in amazed delight. “Can you—I mean, will you, really?”

“I will indeed!” cordially responded the Prince. “I have often thought the world a poorly-planned place,—too much specialisation about it altogether. Africa, for instance, all on the “g” note,—gigantic tracts of glabrous country, full of game, from gnats to gnus, producing gold and grain, gems and granite, offering many guerdons but more grievances, and cursed with a grim fatality that guillotines her few generous giants.

“Then there is America, all v’s,—vast, valuable, of vanished vernaculars and vernal volunteers, of valiant victors and verbious vassals, of versatile vixens and volatile virgins, of virile visages and voluble voices, of vigorous vocations and vulgar viands, of vain vauntings and venturesome velocity.

“And Asia, with festal, flaunting, fiery India, all fanatacism, fatalism, and fortitude,—and Europe, all cities, churches, and chateaux, civilisation, circumspection, and classification.

“But your country, sweet cousin, shall be unique in its omniformity; it shall be hot as India, yet cold as Canada, with a taste of sirocco from the deserts and a sample of the rains of the Lowlands. It shall have the culture of Europe, the wealth of Asia, the plains of Africa, the mountains of America. Without leaving your own estates you shall see the Alps of Switzerland, the rivers of France, the forests of Germany, the steppes of Russia, the fiords of Norway, the vales of Italy. You shall conceive from your boudoir windows an idea of the treasures of Ind, of the vast loneliness of Africa, of the commerce of America. And the minds and hearts of your people shall provide for you the art, the learning, the manners and customs of Europe. All this, fairest lady, shall you own in the islands I shall evoke for you from the vasty deep—and they shall be neither too spacious, nor unduly cramped, but exactly a fitting size for a lady’s occupation—a multum in parvo, and a natural museum.”

The Queen, who had listened, fascinated, enthralled, during this recital, gave a little gasping cry of delight as he paused.

“How clever you are, Cousin!” she exclaimed, with a little sigh of envy. “Only—only—doesn’t it sound rather as if it might turn out to be a sort of Army and Navy Stores kind of country?”

“No, dearest Cousin,” he replied emphatically. “That is just what we are going to avoid. That is what the rest of the world resembles. Europe,—the Department of Fine Arts. Asia, the Goldsmiths’ and Jewellery Department. Africa, the Department for Promoting the Achievement of Virtue by Trial. America, Commissariat Department. Australia, Educational Department for the transformation of Bad Boys into Muckle Men and prominent Politicians. Your country shall be above all that.

“In designing it I will bear in mind the words of a famous mortal to the effect that the elimination of the unnecessary is the perfection of art. I will remember that the rules which govern the creation of worlds for ordinary sovereigns are not applicable in your case. I will strive for universal utility combined with universal beauty, while taking care that there shall never be too much of a good thing, and entirely leaving out all the bad. And though every tree and shrub shall have its use there shall be no venomous reptiles, no poisonous insects, no marauding beasts, and no destructive birds.”

“It will be a new Eden!” rapturously sighed the Queen.

“Scarcely, alas!” returned the Prince. “For where men are the gates of Paradise must be kept locked, lest thy scatter the newspaper wrappers and empty tins of their vices where they will offend the eyes of the Peri. But nevertheless there shall be Paradise in your territory, Cousin, and though the angels with the flaming swords must be stationed without, you can award them frequent holiday. Only,—give no notice to your people as to the absence of the guardians of the garden. Let it be by their own unpremeditated goodness that they stumble upon the fragrant path that leads to the vale of joy and the mountains of peace, for thus alone can you ensure the abstention of the unworthy. And in the beginning the country shall be as virginal and as beautiful as an earthly Eden may be, so that, perhaps, it may retain an odour of Paradise to the end.”

“I will do all in my power to keep it perfect!” murmured the Queen, almost in tears, so overcome was she with gratitude.

“Unhappily you cannot keep men out!” observed the Prince regretfully. “But perhaps I shall be able to help you even there, by the exhibition of certain subterraneous effects which will serve to remind them that their tenure is uncertain. One thing, however, I cannot perfect. I cannot close the entrances that my engineers must make in order to pass to and fro during the process of construction, but they shall be as little obtrusive as possible. Will you pardon this drawback, dear Cousin?”

“On condition that you sometimes use them, dear Cousin, to visit me!” graciously replied the Queen.

And just then they noticed that the sun was setting and the time had come to say farewell.

From a painting in the Auckland Art Gallery by C.F. Goldie and L.J. Steele

The people of Turi’s canoe, after a voyage of great hardship, at last sight the shores of New Zealand.

G. Denton, Photo.

Chapter I. IN THE WAITEMATA HARBOUR

“And did He, from the cloud and wind, prepare A resting place for thee, fair ocean dove, And did He, thro’ the gates thrown wide above, Shower thee with sunny benedictions, where Thou liest in the ocean’s arms, like Love, Blinding her Lover with her amorous hair?”

It was the early morning of a summer day, and our ship, the New Zealand S.S. Company’s “Ruapehu” was lying at ease off Auckland, having anchored in the dim hours of dawn.

A faint haze, like a bridal gossamer, lightly veiled the city and its environs, built round three sides of the harbour; the smaller hills, all extinct volcanoes, rose from among the clustering red and white houses like green jade bosses in a wondrous bowl of Indian jewelled pottery, and Rangitoto, the lonely sentinel, grim even though wearing the same gentle colour as his more gregarious fellows, stood apart from the land like an emerald in a setting of turquoise sea.

We had come to the end of our six weeks’ voyage, and I had felt delighted on rising that morning to find that we were not yet alongside the wharf, though I did not try to explain to myself the reason for my reluctance to land. But as we leaned over the side, gazing at the lovely picture before us, my friend, Colonel Deane, softly quoted the lines so evidently inspired by it, and suddenly I knew that saying good-bye to him would spoil all the pleasure of novelty to which I had been so gaily looking forward.

I regarded Colonel Deane as an instance of the Goddess Fortune’s rare justice, believing that She had sent him upon this voyage as a direct reward for my self-sacrifice in undertaking it. For I had not wanted to come.

When my guardian’s old friend, Captain Greendays, R.N., had told him that he was taking his wife out to New Zealand for a few months the idea at once occurred to him of sending me with them. He thought me fagged after the arduous anxieties of an exam., and hailed the opportunity as Heaven-sent. So, apparently, did the Greendays. But as Mrs Greendays was suffering from a serious condition of nerves that numerous rest-cures had failed to soothe I was decidedly dubious as to the joys of such a “pleasure-trip.” But my guardian was so evidently concerned about my health, which in truth was excellent, and the Greendays seemed so pleased with the suggestion, that it would have been positively churlish to refuse to go. And so I smothered my fears, and very soon the envious congratulations of my girl-friends made me feel quite as enthusiastic as if I had myself planned the journey.

“You will have three summers in succession!” sighed one.

“Lucky creature, after such a glorious summer as this has been to go straight off to another, without a single fog in between!” exclaimed another.

“And this season’s frocks will be quite the latest in New Zealand—in fact you will be ahead of them all out there!” cried a third, who had lived in the Colonies.

All the guide-books that we consulted spoke equally rapturously of the climate of New Zealand, and so, with visions of eternal blue, cloudless skies, and long sunny days, we added to our stock of dainty muslins and shady hats, gave away any winter clothes we had from last spring, and kept only one warm tailor-made each in case of occasional cold days on the voyage out.

We were going by the direct route, as the long voyage was the first and most important item in Mrs Greendays’s new “Cure,” and a few weeks after it had been advised we were embarking at Plymouth, while the perfect weather of a lingering summer made England so lovely that one could not possibly conceive a lovelier place. And my old feelings of reluctance returned in full force as we travelled through the beautiful counties on our way to the port of departure, but it was too late to turn back now.

On the second day out I made the acquaintance of Colonel Deane. I knew at once that he was a “Man of Comfort”; the least discerning of mortals must have recognised that, indeed, without any very close study of his kind eyes and splendid head. One could see, too, that he was not old, though his luxuriant hair was almost snow-white. It simply made him look more distinguished in contrast to his black moustache and eyebrows. He had true Irish eyes, and though he had spent a good many years in New Zealand he retained just sufficient trace of accent to make his nationality unmistakeable. But he regarded New Zealand as his adopted country, and one had only to listen to his descriptions of its scenery to know that he loved it.

Our friendship sprang into instant being; I thankfully acknowledged the Goddess’s token of approval, and had everything else gone agley, felt that his presence would have made up for it. But everything else went well too, excepting that Mrs Greendays was rather trying at times. But when her nerves, poor dear, were in a parlous state that gave her husband and me cause to be

“One day we actually saw an iceberg.”

“We had a long day at Hobart.”

sorrier for ourselves than for her, Colonel Deane was able to amuse and distract her as no one else could do. So, too, with children, he could keep them in better order than even their own nurses, and yet they loved him dearly. In fact “The Man of Comfort” was a title that fitted him to perfection.

The weather for the first four weeks was glorious; we spent delightful summer days at Teneriffe and Cape Town, one at each port, and lived a dolce far niente life on the boat deck, basking in the sun. Then as we travelled farther South it grew gradually colder, and often we longed for the warm clothes we had so recklessly thrown aside! Once we passed an iceberg: it looked like a mammoth opal, the sun had given it so many colours. But with lots of rugs

Parliament Buildings, Cape Town.

and overcoats we were still able to stay up on deck, as the weather fortunately continued to be bright and sunny in spite of a temperature of 30 degrees; and then we had a long day at Hobart, where it was almost too hot, just to revive us.

After Hobart we of course expected nothing but summer, but we were sadly disillusioned. For the next few days before we arrived in the Hauraki Gulf were not only bitterly cold but stormy, with a rougher sea than we had experienced since we started, and we were simply obliged to stay in the steam-heated music-room or dining saloon, for the decks were impossibly inclement. Mrs Greendays was angry with everyone, from the doctor who had recommended the voyage to the writers of the guide-books who had so basely refrained from hinting at anything but summer weather, and of course her husband and I came in for our share, for having allowed her to discard her winter garments under any consideration. Even Colonel Deane was snubbed for saying that she could get everything she wanted in New Zealand, for she unkindly reminded him that we had not arrived yet, and most probably never would, since it was more than probable pneumonia would seize her for its own long before we landed!

However that terrible contingency did not occur, and the exquisite perfection of this morning of our arrival banished all thought of the last few days.

Except to me. I regretted them heartily; I thought of a thousand things as yet undiscussed with my friend, and I wished with all my heart that this was Hobart instead of Auckland, that I might still have a few days before we parted. So I watched the haze gradually clearing from the land with a growing resentment against the other passengers, who were loudly lamenting the tardiness of the Port Doctor, without whose sanction we could not leave the ship. Then breakfast was announced, and we took our places at table to an accompaniment of murmurs both deep and shrill, greatly to the amusement of the ship's officers and all the Colonials on board.

“You are in a democratic, live-and-let-live country now!” they said. “Even the dock-lumpers do not commence work until eight o’clock, unless they are paid overtime wages, so that you can scarcely expect a Government official to hurry himself!”

Just then the Chief Steward announced his arrival to the Captain, and handed round letters that had come off with the doctor. There was one for Captain Greendays, which proved to be from some old friend of his in Auckland, and directly he said that he must go to see him Colonel Deane turned to me and asked if he might be my cicerone for that day.

How I blessed Captain Greendays’s unknown friend!

“Delightful summer days at Teneriffe.”

A Wharf at Auckland.

Chapter II. AUCKLAND

“Some in their robes of purple pass, Some in their robes of green, And some, in orange and blue and gray, Skip over the clouds on a pale moon-ray, In the train of the fairy-queen— Skip in her train thro’ the long cloud-bars, In the wake of her chariot drawn by stars.”

The first thing that struck me in Auckland was the dress of the women and girls. So smartly were they attired, though it was only ten o’clock when we landed, that I thought it must be a general holiday and that all these gay garments were worn for a gala occasion. But Colonel Deane laughed when I asked him if this was the case, and assured me that to see anyone shabbily dressed in New Zealand was quite a rare occurrence.

“They get very good wages, you see,” he explained, “and I am afraid that they are not very thrifty, nor very sensible, either. A large proportion of their earnings is spent on dress and cheap jewellery, and the working classes attach a great deal too much importance to appearance. But as everyone who is able to work can always obtain it if they like, perhaps there is no great harm done, and it certainly is a pleasanter sight than the drab shabbiness that prevails in London!”

I thought that a happy medium would have been more attractive, as well as more suitable, with a mental vision of the neatly-gowned and shod, hatless, but “bien-coiffe” women of the same class in France, but it was not my business to criticise, so I said nothing. We were on our way to the ferry, as we were to begin the day’s explorations by a visit to the North shore, and very soon we had installed ourselves on the big paddle-boat for the twenty minutes’ run across the harbour. We scurried fussily past two great cruisers, and numerous craft of all kinds from sailing-ships with towering masts to the red-funnelled steamers of the coastal service, into the open harbour where we set the yachts at anchor dancing as we churned the placid blue waters in our progress. On the other side we climbed on to the front seat of a waggonnette-cab, and after driving for about a quarter of an hour through pretty country roads, hawthorn-hedged and shaded by oaks and willows with occasional cabbage-palms or some other unfamiliar tree, and delightful gardens belonging to quaint wooden bungalows and cottages, we arrived at Lake Takapuna.

From the roof of the adjacent hotel we looked far out to sea, past the fields and gardens, beyond the beautiful harbour to the Great Barrier. Below us lay the lake, only a few hundred yards from the sea, in the midst of private gardens whose grounds run down to its shores. It seemed wonderful that this big sheet of fresh water, said to be unfathomable, should lie so close to the sea, but what was still more surprising is the fact that considering it is a favourite week-end resort of the public, well-to-do people should choose its shores for their residences. Imagine having strangers able to look into one’s gardens at will,—even the beauty of the lake in my grounds would not compensate me for that!

“Why, you are like a Boer!” laughed Colonel Deane when I said so. “I suppose you hate to see anyone else’s household smoke?”

“I should prefer their being too far off!” I acknowledged. “What a curious shape the lake has.”

“Yes, but I never can understand where the Maoris get the idea that Rangitoto came from Takapuna. They say, you know, that this lake filled up the space he left when transferred and promoted by an earthquake to the guardianship of the harbour,—they certainly did not come to that conclusion through the shape of the lake! And now we have just time to drive round Devonport and get over to Auckland again for luncheon.”

I thought Devonport a charming place. It has several extinct volcanoes, and two of them are utilised as forts overlooking the harbour, which they command. It is all green fields, gorgeously gay gardens, and shady roads, with the sea on three sides, and it is the headquarters of the numerous yachting clubs, so that on the shore there are yachts of every description and size, with others a little way out at anchor.

After luncheon we went to Onehunga, Auckland’s Western port. It took us nearly half an hour in an electric tram to get there, and we travelled right through the city and its suburbs. What an introduction that was to this land of wonders. All the hills, and there are many, are extinct volcanoes, and all the way out to Onehunga we were passing through what must once have been a most terrible scene of desolation. The entire surface of the ground is scoria, the low walls that surround the gardens and fields are built of it, and here and

Photo by Martin, Auckland.

“On the big paddle-boat for the twenty minutes run across the harbour.”

N.Z. Govt. Photo.

“In an electric train right through the city.”

there are tracts, partly overgrown with gorse and brambles, exactly as they must have been after the last eruption. And this in the midst of a city! But the volcanic hills are green now, and the valleys at their feet make a lovely land of beautiful gardens, pasture-lands, orchards, and corn-fields, although cinders and ashes lie thick on the earth, and one would think it impossible that any green things could grow on such a basis. And this scoria runs right out into the sea at Onehunga. As it was low tide when we got there we were able to see the extent of the lava-flow, and better able to imagine the fearful ravages that that red hot river of fire made on the country side.

There is a little tea-kiosk overlooking the water at Onehunga, and there we found the Greendays.

“What do you think of Auckland, my dear?” asked Captain Greendays as soon as we joined them. “I think it the cheapest place in the world, for they actually give you things here! I went into a barber’s for a shave, and asked the fellow if he kept Roger and Gallet’s Cosmetique Blanc. ‘Never heard of it,—what’s it for?’ he said,—they are rather off-hand out here, and one has to keep reminding oneself that it is not insolence, but merely the manners of a democratic country! I thought that he could not have caught the name, so I repeated it, and explained what it is for, you know. And then he said that he thought after all he had a tube, and went off to find it. When he returned with it he actually would not let me pay for it, my dear, refused to take a farthing, said it was of no use to him, for he didn’t stock it, but had got it for a customer who never came for it, and that I was welcome to it. It was really quite embarrassing,—but I’d like to see the barber at home who would refuse money,—ha-ha!”

Mrs Greendays had been cross-examining Colonel Deane as to our adventures, but now she turned to me and exclaimed:

“Oh, that is nothing, Mary,—the man had, as he said, no use for the stuff, what is far more wonderful is the absurd charge they make for food. My dear, you see the lavish array on the table,—now what do you think is the charge? You see, there are hot scones, bread and butter, and three,—four—oh! ever so many varieties of cake. Sixpence, child, sixpence each, whether you clear the board or decently refrain! There is a proof for you of the prosperous condition of the community,—they would be ruined in a day, these tea-room people, if they attempted such a thing in hungry London!”

“And another surprising institution is the Government Tourist Department!” said Captain Greendays. “My friend Jackson took me there, said they’d put me in the right way of things, and by gad, they did too. I came away loaded with maps and booklets and information enough to take us all round the country without ever troubling to ask a policeman the way, and there again it was free, all free, gratis, and for nothing. Cheap advice is not generally worth much, but here is a Government institution, if you please, especially established for the benefit of tourists, a sort of glorified Cook and Lund minus the percentage! The fellow in charge was most civil, and gave me a letter of introduction to their representative at Rotorua, that he says will ensure our getting the best guides, and so on. Ah! I like New Zealand!” he concluded, shaking his head knowingly. “No beggars to haunt you, and a paternal government that treats her visitors as honoured guests,—that’s the way to do things, by gad,—it’s top-hole!”

We all returned together, but on the way we left the car at the foot of Mount Eden and Colonel Deane took us to the house of a friend of his that we might see the view from the grounds. The house stood in the middle of a lovely old garden on the slope of the hill, and we climbed up behind it to a summer-house they had built on purpose to enjoy the prospect.

Immediately below us was the City, its towers and steeples like scattered spears pointing up to the sky. The afternoon was waning, but the Western gates were not yet open, though the approach of King Sol’s chariot was heralded by pennons of rose and orange in the pale blue sky. The sea, scarcely rippling in the many little bays, inlets, and curved arms of the harbour, was like a green opal, ever still, yet ever changing. The far-off hills were draped in a scarf that might have been made from the feathers of a dove’s breast, and the same tender translucent, pure blue-grey and violet tints were gradually floating ever nearer and nearer to the city, softening too abrupt corners, making shadowy the green hills, creating of Auckland and her gateways a delicate dream-vision.

I should have loved to stay and watch the progress of the sun’s vesper ceremonies. It seemed iniquitous to leave before they were over, and to my joy I heard our hostess entreating Mrs Greendays to waive ceremony and stay to dinner. But alas! Mrs Greendays would not hear of it: she would have considered that we were imposing on good-natured hospitality had we stayed, I knew. And I had forgotten, too, that we were to stay on the ship, as guests of the Captain, in order to save a move and all the bother of packing for just one night. So we had to hurry away to be on board in time for dinner.

But as soon as I could get away from table I flew up to the boat deck, and there spent the evening, ending the day as I had begun it, gazing out at the harbour, while Colonel Deane talked.

Maori War Canoe.

Chapter III. NORTHWARD BOUND

“The gorse with its young gold was all aglow, The willows drooped within their mirrored skies.”

The Thermal district was our first objective, and as the town of Rotorua was at once the centre and most important part we had arranged to make it our headquarters. The train left at ten in the morning, and Colonel Deane came to see us off, laden with illustrated papers, books of Maori legends and tales, and a beautifully fitted tea-basket.

“Of course there is a dining-car on the train,” he said apologetically, “but though the meals are excellent I think that you would enjoy your tea better if you made it yourselves. And you will find this useful on the lake and when you are driving through the country.”

“It is the very thing we have most regretted forgetting to bring!” exclaimed Mrs Greendays ecstatically. “Oh, Colonel Deane, how do you always think of the right thing? How we shall miss you! Can’t you possibly come with us?” And then she added with a little laughing glance at her husband, “Tom does not look after me nearly so well as you do!”