A Journey to the King's Country.—An Experienced "Whip."—Volcanic Hills.—A New Zealand Forest.—A Strangely Afflicted Boy.—Lake Rotorua.—Ohinemutu.—Funeral of a Maori Chief.—Wailing and Weeping.—Moonlight on the Lake.—Wonderland.—Spouting Geysers and Boiling Pools.—Savage Mode of Slaughter.—Maori Houses.—Chivalry and Cannibalism.—Savage and Civilized Life.
A Journey to the King's Country.—An Experienced "Whip."—Volcanic Hills.—A New Zealand Forest.—A Strangely Afflicted Boy.—Lake Rotorua.—Ohinemutu.—Funeral of a Maori Chief.—Wailing and Weeping.—Moonlight on the Lake.—Wonderland.—Spouting Geysers and Boiling Pools.—Savage Mode of Slaughter.—Maori Houses.—Chivalry and Cannibalism.—Savage and Civilized Life.
Here in Auckland we were also in the vicinity of the Hot Lake District of North New Zealand, and a week was devoted to a visit to the remarkable points of interest connected therewith. To accomplish this, one goes from the capital of the Province a hundred and thirty miles to Oxford, and thence thirty miles by stage to the native town of Ohinemutu. This route carries the traveller in a southeast course, and leads into the very heart of the North Island, among the Maori tribes. The cars took us over a level country, which however is bounded on either side, five or six miles distant, by lofty serrated hills, presenting a confusion of irregular forms. These hills contain an abundance of mineral wealth in the form of gold, silver, iron, coal, and manganese. Many low-lying marshy fields of native flax were observed, and the Waikato River was three times crossed in its winding course. Large plantations containing several thousand eachof young pine-trees of the American species were seen, covering gentle slopes and many broad acres of level land, where Government is endeavoring to establish artificial forests throughout wide reaches of unwooded country. These trees grow more rapidly here than they do even in their native soil. Miles upon miles of this level country were covered only by the low-growing ti-tree and the ever present ferns; the former, being a sort of tall heath, was in some places in bloom, producing an effect as if a light fall of feathery snow had lodged upon the delicate branches. Flocks of sheep and lambs were numerous, but the population was sparse. The whole landscape was lighted up here and there by the bright yellow leaves of the wattle-tree, which contrasted strongly with the black beech, the deep green of the cabbage-palm, and what is called the white-pine, which is totally unlike any pine we ever saw. Several miniature villages were passed through, where a few small European houses clustered in the neighborhood of the railroad depots, consisting of a blacksmith's forge, a grocery-store, a one-story inn, and three or four dwellings. There was plenty of water everywhere. Now it was a small and pretty stream, and again it was a large river's course. At one rural hamlet a rustic water-wheel was revolving, splashing and sparkling in the sunshine with a noisy, gleeful sound, telling how easily and thoroughly these fields might be irrigated. We passed through what is called the Waikato Pastures, a rural district where herds offine-looking cattle were browsing, and where cheese-making is a flourishing industry. Some coal mines were being worked upon the route, connected by side-tracks with this main branch of the railroad; the coal, it was plain to see, was a good article for domestic use or for manufacturing purposes. Small Maori encampments, composed of a dozen lodges each, were scattered along our way, the lazy, tattooed natives—men and women—lingering about the stations with blackened pipes in their mouths, smoking the rankest sort of tobacco, while they kept up a chattering like Benares monkeys. Why Maori women and savage squaws generally are so fond of wearing men's hats, with a feather stuck into them, we cannot understand; for though serving the purpose of a head-covering, they are far from being ornamental. The awkward Maori men looked doubly outré in their ill-fitting European clothes.
Oxford is the somewhat pretentious name given to the hamlet where the railroad ends, containing five houses, one of which is the Oxford Royal,—a neat but circumscribed inn, affording us a sleeping apartment measuring exactly seven feet wide by nine in length. The stage-drive from here to Ohinemutu—the centre of the geysers, boiling springs, and mud caldrons, and also of the Maori reservation—is by a road a little over thirty miles in length, which we do not hesitate to pronounce to be the hardest to travel that it has yet been our misfortune to encounter. The patient reader will bear witness that we do notoften parade the hardships of travel, but it makes our bones ache to recall those seven hours of staging; and yet they were by no means without their compensation. It was the author's good fortune to sit upon the box with an experienced and admirable "whip,"—Harry Kerr by name,—who was fully equal to his business. The vehicle was an American stage, the harnesses on the horses were American made, and the stage line was owned by an American,—a resident in New Zealand for many years, during which time he has held a mail contract throughout the country. We travelled lightly, there being no other passenger, and four stout horses forming the motive power; but had not the stage been constructed of the best seasoned material, and put together in the most thorough manner, it would have been left upon the road in fragments before it had completed the trip. The traveller under such circumstances is always more or less dependent upon the intelligence of the driver who takes him through a new country, and we cheerfully acknowledge our indebtedness on this occasion. We can well understand why Harry Kerr is a favorite in the Auckland district.
On leaving Oxford the journey takes one at first through a section of country where the hills were thrown about in the wildest fashion during the ancient volcanic period, causing them to present a grotesqueness of aspect which is quite beyond description. Here the bowels of the earth vomited forth their fiery secretions of molten lava, and asit cooled, it formed itself into countless ridges and hills, no two of which are alike. The road wound over hills, down into gulches, and skirted precipices where to have deviated a few inches only from the proper track would have been instant destruction. As we rose to the summit of some elevation loftier than the rest, the view became expansive. From one of these summits was seen, nearly one hundred miles away on the far horizon, the broad, bold, snow-covered mountain Ruapehu, ten thousand feet high. The last portion of the journey from Oxford to Ohinemutu took us through one of the grandest forests in all New Zealand, extending eighteen or twenty miles without a human habitation or any sign of life, save the flutter of an occasional bird.
In this forest, mingled with tall columnar trees of various species, were seen frequent examples of the fern-tree thirty feet in height and of surpassing beauty, spreading out their plumed summits like an Egyptian palm, while the stem had the graceful inclination of the cocoanut-tree. Well has the fern-tree been called the forest Houri. The picturesque effect of the birches was also remarkable, flanked by the massive outlines and drooping tassels of the rimu, the soft luxuriance of the undergrowth adding charms to the whole. For miles of the way on either side of the road the forest was impenetrable even to the eye save for the shortest distance, presenting a tangled mass of foliage, vines, and branches such as can be matched only by the virgin forests of Brazil or thejungles of India. Ground-ferns were observed in infinite variety, sometimes of a silvery texture, sometimes of orange-yellow, but oftenest of the various shades of green. Here too we made acquaintance with the sweet-scented manuka, the fragrant veronica, and the glossy-leaved karaka,—this last the pride of the Maoris. A dark-colored shrub, with leaves like the orange-tree, their under side being of a quicksilver hue, was pointed out to us by the driver, which though poisonous, as he declared, to horses, sheep, and cattle, is nevertheless eaten by them with avidity whenever they chance to come upon it. Its first effect is to intoxicate them, and it will ultimately prove fatal unless an antidote is given. Many specimens of the lofty rimu-tree were seen, about whose tall white stems a parasitic vine was slowly and treacherously weaving itself, clasping and binding the upright body with such a marvellous power of compression as literally to strangle it, until ultimately the vine becomes a stout tree in place of the original. The most noted and destructive of these vegetable boa-constrictors is the gigantic rope-like rata, whose Gordian knot nothing can untie. The tree once clasped in its toils is fated, yielding up its sap and life without a struggle to cast off its deadly enemy. Many trees were observed whose stems bore branches only far above the surrounding woods, laden with bunches of alien foliage,—parasites like the mistletoe. Indeed, this forest seemed like vegetation running riot; and with its clumps of abnormalfoliage, fixed like storks' nests in the tops of the trees, it recalled similar effects seen on the banks of the St. John's River in Florida.
Midway in these almost impenetrable woods, where the soil was literally smothered by vegetation and a wilderness of undergrowth, we came upon a lonely cottage, with a large barn and some outbuildings attached, which had been established by the owner of the stage line; and here our four jaded horses were changed for fresh ones.
At this isolated spot we saw a remarkably handsome boy between six and seven years of age, large and well-formed for one of his years, wearing only a blouse reaching to his knees,—otherwise being entirely without clothing. It was instantly apparent that he was mentally deficient, and his eccentric gambols caused us to make further inquiries. It seems that his mother, an intelligent Englishwoman, four or five months before the boy was born had been so terribly frightened by a furious bull as to throw her into convulsions, from which she was with difficulty restored. The eccentricities of the child began to exhibit themselves as soon as he had reached a twelvemonth, and from that period his actions became more animal than human. He cares only for vegetable food, living mostly on potatoes. The use of the knife and fork he utterly ignores, taking his food from the plate with his mouth, not using his hands. He smells of every new thing or person when first presented to his notice. He will not abide clothing beyond theblouse already spoken of, and when he is restrained in any purpose butts with his forehead like a bull. The boy has never uttered any words distinctly, though he makes half-articulate sounds of assent and negation. Sometimes he walks about with his head extended before him, mooing like a bovine, and on such occasions he takes no notice of any words addressed to him or any attempt to divert him. He is quite mischievous, but not viciously so; it is necessary to keep wire screens over the glass windows, which he would otherwise put his head through when he desired to get into the open air. He was running about the space before the house and roadway when we saw him, and submitted to our kindly caress, even uttering sympathetic sounds in response, while his large black eyes looked into our own with a half-pleading, half-grateful expression. The father told us that the favorite amusement of the boy was tossing small articles high into the air and seeing them fall to the earth. Having this in mind, we commissioned Harry Kerr to purchase a strong ball for the unfortunate child, and to bring it to him on the return trip. The health of the boy has always been perfect, and his strength is equal to that of a youth of twice his age. He has brothers, one older and one younger than himself, both of whom seem to be of even more than ordinary intelligence, and all are over-fond of the unfortunate one.
After leaving the forest and crossing a volcanic mountain, the road winds across the broad reach oftable-land which borders Lake Rotorua, whose waters lay shimmering under the warm and brilliant tints of the afternoon sun. We drove for three or four miles along the side of this beautiful and romantic sheet of water, concerning whose one island the Maoris have many curious legends, prominent among which is one nearly identical with that of Leander and the Hellespont,—possibly antedating that classic story, and thus proving that "there is nothing new under the sun." This lake is justly celebrated for its scenic beauty and remarkable surroundings, being about ten miles long by eight or nine in width.
As we approached the quaint little settlement of Ohinemutu, over which floated a heavy sulphurous cloud of steam, a motley cortége was met, consisting of men, women, and children decked in all the gay colors which delight the Maori heart. Their heads were dressed in gorgeous feathers, yellow wattle-blossoms, and other fantastic ornaments, their faces rendered hideous by tattooing. Each of the women had an infant upon her back, held in position by a tawdry shawl arranged in the form of a sack and tied across the breast. These natives called to mind the feather-crowned Crow Indians of the Yellowstone Valley, both races living in a wonderland of geysers, boiling springs, and sulphurous vapor. This display proved to be a funeral procession in honor of a dead chief named Rotohika. Curiosity led us to follow the procession to the grave near at hand, where the ceremony was brief but peculiar. Two of the dead chief'swives knelt by the coarse wooden box which supplied the place of a coffin, and made sacrifice of their long dark locks of hair, cutting them from their heads and placing them in the box containing the body of the deceased. The box was then lowered into the grave, each relative throwing a shovelful of dirt upon it, and others followed, quickly filling up the cavity. The throng then returned to their huts with manifest eagerness, to participate in a grand feast. After the burial is completed the grave is placed under what is termed "tapu,"—or in other words the spot is made sacred, to be avoided always; to tread upon it is considered a desecration.
We were told that formerly the burial ceremony of a chief involved the sacrifice of at least one human life. If the tribe had a prisoner of war on hand, his life sufficed. After sprinkling his blood upon the grave, his body was roasted and eaten at the grand feast which followed. The Maori "wakes" his dead after the Irish fashion, the revel lasting as long as the money holds out, and almost any excess is condoned on these occasions, which are characterized by the strangest and most weird dances, the wildest shouts and wailings, the most fantastic distortion of body and limbs that can be conceived of. On the occasion at which we were present the performers, especially the women, seemed to us for the time being to lose their reason, and to become maniacs, exciting one another to a state of frenzy. To listen to the nativetangi, or wail for the dead, one would think itrepresented the most natural and heart-broken grief, accompanied as it is by a copious fall of tears; but this is all pretence. It is wonderful how these Maori women can summon such perfect showers of tears at will; we saw them shed Niagaras of brine, which of course deceived no one. It was as purely a mechanical operation as is the work of a hydraulic ram. A wail of grief is started by some one among the mourners, when it is taken up and continued for hours by the others, now one and now another prolonging the note with unabated vigor. Though realizing that this is so largely mere pretence, one cannot listen to the sad note of thetangiwithout a corresponding sense of sorrowful emotion. The present occasion being the decease of a great man among them, drew forth the most exaggerated expressions, and the wailing was at times almost deafening.
The Lake House, presided over by the intelligent and lady-like Mrs. Graham, afforded us every comfort as well as admirable service, hardly to be anticipated in so isolated a spot. The window of our chamber overlooked Lake Rotorua; and as the moon was at its full on that first evening of our arrival, the scene was indescribably lovely. It was an inspiration to stand on the shore of the lake, beholding the heavens above, and their reflected glory in the mirror-like waters below. The wailing, singing, and dancing among the natives had ceased; the performers had rolled themselves in their blankets, and worn out with excess were sleeping; the night and its peace were overall,—and yet it was as light as mid-day. One certainly feels inclined to give New Zealand moonlight precedence over anything of the sort elsewhere. How it silvered the unruffled surface of the lake! So calm, so intense, so dazzlingly brilliant were its shining waters that they seemed to put the stars out of countenance. With a couple of tawny, tattooed natives we took a long, lazy row upon Rotorua at midnight, "the dusky hour friendliest to sleep and silence," permitting the boat at times to float after its own fancy, while we dreamed a dream of peace. So quiet were the scene and the hour that both oarsmen leaned upon the thwarts and slept. It was enchantment verified; one was loath to break the spell by arousing the sleepers and turning shoreward. By and by the silence, only slightly broken by the light dip of the oars, became almost oppressive, and we said, "Give us a song, men! a Maori song;" and those rough, dark-hued rowers broke forth in a low, weird chant as we glided smoothly over the water, seeming to be the only adjunct needed to fill the measure of that midnight hour.
And yet it is difficult to say which was the more inspiring,—the sweet, suggestive hours of the moon's reign, or those of the delicious break of day across the lake, so quickly followed by the sunrise. How responsive were the waiting waters to every fresh hue and color of the returning morn! The moonlight had recalled many thoughts of the past, memories both sad and joyous; while the sunlight was full of hope, promise, and present grandeur. Those of ourreaders who have seen at the foot of the Maritime Alps, on the shores of the Mediterranean, the change of night into morning, will most readily understand what the break of day really is over Lake Rotorua.
Once fairly within the area of this south land of varied wonders, the most active volcanic region of the Antipodes, nothing seems too strange to be true; geysers, fumaroles, boiling springs, and dry stones burning hot beneath one's feet, as though the surface of the land covered Nature's chemical laboratory, are all regarded by the visitor as quite the proper thing,—in fact, just what is to be expected. Even the scores of naked Maori bathers, of both sexes, outrage no sense of propriety in this weird atmosphere of Ohinemutu. One seems to be surrounded by a race upon whose semi-civilization the era of clothes has not yet dawned. The Maori inhabitants of Wairoa, the native town which was so recently buried with all its people by a volcanic outburst, had no more reason to anticipate any immediate danger than have these natives on the banks of Lake Rotorua. Indeed, so far as external evidence of subterranean volcanic force is concerned, the inhabitants of Wairoa had not one half the threatening tokens about them that exist here at every turn. Sulphur, alkaline, and iron-impregnated pools of inviting temperature induce one to indulge in frequent baths, and it seems but natural that the natives in their semi-nude condition should pass so much of their time in the water, both sexes mingling in this pleasure as they would do in the ordinary avocationsof life. Near to the shore, where the lake is shallow, a boiling spring forces its way to the surface of the surrounding cold water, telling of a submerged fiery caldron underlying the lake at that particular point. It was, however, no more significant than the scores of other steam-holes and spouting geysers which force themselves to the surface all about this sulphurous region. In short, the town of Ohinemutu is built on a thin crust, roofing over, as it were, a vast fiery furnace, whose volcanic eccentricities form the marvel of the locality.
Here then the traveller eats, drinks, and sleeps above a series of suppressed volcanoes. One could not but recall the fate of Lisbon and of half-exhumed Pompeii. Many of these springs and geysers are so hot that a mere touch of the water will blister the human flesh as quickly as contact with red-hot iron. Others are of a temperature suitable for boiling vegetables; and still others by artificial means—that is, the introduction of cool surface-water—are rendered of a temperature suitable for bathing purposes. One must walk cautiously among these boiling mud-pits, open springs, and steam-holes; a misstep might prove instantly fatal. Caldrons lie on either side of the path, within a few inches of where one may be walking all unsuspiciously. A Maori child lately disappeared while playing near some sulphurous jets. A full-grown aboriginal met the same fate not long ago; he had been partaking too freely of intoxicants, and sank into the Stygian darkness without uttering a cry.One coolly records these facts; but what an awful fate to encounter!
The natural conclusion as to the cause of these remarkable phenomena would seem to be that the waters of the lakes, rivers, and springs descend by various channels to the fiery regions below, and are returned by the force of the steam thus created, bringing up with them the débris which is deposited about the surface. Of the hundreds of these boiling springs only a score or so have been analyzed; no two, however, exhibit the same properties. The various chemical combinations seem to be without limit, and bathing in them is considered to be a specific for some skin-diseases as well as for rheumatic affections. There can be no doubt but that all the virtues possessed by similar springs in Europe or America are equally combined in these of New Zealand, and the list of remarkable cures which they have accomplished is annually increasing.
White faces are here the exception; dusky, bronzed ones, the rule. This is the real home of the natives, and for ages has formed the chief settlement of the Arawa tribe. Nothing could possibly be more grotesque than to see groups of the native women—from the wrinkled old grandams to the girls of a dozen years—bathing at all hours in the warm, steaming pools without any apparent thought of undue exposure. It is their daily, almost hourly resort. As a rule, a blanket forms their only covering; and if they are cold, day or night, they at once resort to the hotsprings for warmth. Their chief occupations are literally bathing, and smoking tobacco,—the women using the pipe even more freely than the men. Of regular occupation they have none. A few potatoes are planted and allowed to grow without cultivation, and these with pork form their chief food. Some small lake fish are added to their diet occasionally; but this amounts to very little, as a lake so under volcanic influences, so impregnated by sulphur springs and super-heated waters, as is Rotorua, is not a favorable place for fish breeding.
The revels incident upon a funeral are often kept up for a week or more. To conduct the ceremonies with due éclat for the death of the late chief of whom mention has been made, much extra food was necessary to entertain the visiting representatives of other tribes, men and women, who had come to Ohinemutu. We chanced to witness the preparing of a portion of the feast on the second day after our arrival. A native seized a large pig by the hind leg, in the midst of the animals feeding about among the fern-roots, and pulled him backwards toward the lake. The animal took matters very coolly, much to our surprise, and made no noise about it. Maori and pig thus backed into the water until the man was waist-deep, when he suddenly seized the other hind leg of the animal and threw him upon his back, at the same time putting his foot upon him, thus holding the pig under water for the space of a couple of minutes, until life in the animal became extinct. With theaid of one or two companions, the native then proceeded to chop the pig into small pieces with an axe and a hatchet. A large camp-kettle stood hard by, in which some herbs and a few potatoes with spring water had been placed. Into this kettle the crude, unwashed portions of the carcass were thrust until it was full to its brim, and then a sheet-iron cover was pressed on the top and held down by a couple of large stones. A small fire of chips built upon the hot stones on which the kettle stood in the open air, soon set the pot to boiling, and in half an hour's time the mess was quite sufficiently cooked for Maori taste. It was then devoured eagerly by the hungry mourners who sat round the pot without any attempt at ceremony, and, so far as we could discover, without the use of knives or plates; hands and fingers seemed to be all-sufficient. The natives sometimes partake of bread, when they can get it; but potatoes constitute their chief diet. The little cooking in which they indulge is usually performed by the boiling springs, in which they suspend their potatoes in small wicker nets; and for baking purposes they use the red-hot stones that are to be found in plenty in this vicinity. These broad flat stones are the identical ones on which the natives in the past used to roast their prisoners of war before eating them. It is impossible to bear one's hand on them for an instant; the wonder is that stones subjected to such constant heat do not become calcined and break in pieces.
There are no means for building fires inside thenative cabins, which have little or no furniture; in place of using chairs, the natives squat upon their hams, like nearly all savage races, and most of the Eastern tribes. Their beds are composed of dried fern-leaves, sometimes raised a few inches above the level of the earth floor; but quite as often nothing but the fern-leaves intervene between the body and the ground. Thewharry, or cabin, is always the same, and contains but one apartment, with a low doorway and an overhanging thatch of dried ti-tree interwoven with long grasses. There is no matting or flooring of any sort upon the ground within the cabin. Ohinemutu is built over a region so heated by internal fires that the earth is dry and warm,—too warm we thought. There is one compensation, however, for the risk of thus building one's home over burning sulphurous regions,—no insects or vermin can exist in these ground-floor huts, which the uncleanly habits of their occupants would otherwise tend to make swarm with such parasites. In these cabins there is sometimes seen a rude attempt at ornamentation in carving, but the images are grotesque, and to us were quite unmeaning,—consisting generally of hideous heads with blood-red lolling tongues and dwarf-shaped bodies. The natives have very little idea of decoration, except tattooing and the wearing of a few personal ornaments.
There is a green stone—nephrite—native to New Zealand, which is prized by the women for personal wear, and which admits of a high degree of polish.This stone in various shapes is worn as ear-rings, amulets tied about the neck, or made into beads; it is sometimes worn bracelet-fashion about the wrists or ankles. There is another and less common ornament worn by the Maori women; namely, a small pink or white feather thrust through the cartilage of the nose, the ends hanging down on either side, shading the upper lip like a moustache. This recalled the brass and silver rings worn through nose and lips, as seen in South Africa and the Straits Settlements. The young women of the tribes that are brought most in contact with the whites are giving up the tattooing process upon their faces; but those of middle age, or older, are defaced by blue lines about the lower lip and the chin. The pride of the women is to wear a short skirt of some high-colored material, and to wrap themselves in a blanket of the "loudest" pattern,—flaming red or yellow being preferred. The men affect more the dress of Europeans.
The Maoris differ in many essential particulars from most savage races with whom we have chanced to meet. Unlike the American Indian, the Maori is neither treacherous nor deceitful. He does not, like our American savage, foster a spirit of secret revenge, but when his enmity is aroused it is openly displayed and exercised, man-fashion. This has been a tribal trait with the Maoris for centuries. Before declaring war the Maori always gives his enemy fair notice. But for ages he has been accustomed to go to war upon imaginary grievances; or, to put it more clearly,his great object was to make prisoners, and when made, to cook and eat them.
The early Maoris, even so late as sixty years ago, looked upon war—what we should call civil war; that is, fighting one tribe with another—as being the only legitimate object of life. No two tribes, however nearly allied, were proof against an ever present liability to fall out with each other and engage in internecine strife. An authentic anecdote was told to us illustrative of this propensity to fight where no principle whatever was involved. A certain chief of a tribe living near Rotorua received a message from a neighboring chief which he construed into an insult; and he indignantly declared that the sender would not have ventured upon such a message had he not known and counted upon the superiority of the weapons of war which he possessed, which, it seemed, embraced a number of European fire-arms. When this imputation of unfairness and cowardice came to the ears of the first chief, he divided all his weapons into two lots, and sent for his rival to come and choose between them. This done, of course there was no further excuse for not fighting. The tribes fought a long and bloody battle, followed on both sides by a great feasting upon each other's prisoners! Here was united, most indisputably, a spirit of chivalry with that of ferocity. In these days, however, the Maoris have settled down to a life of quiet, and could hardly be more peacefully inclined; they are now as lazy and listless as the Arabs.
It is surprising how well these Maoris got along without civilization. It is fully as surprising to see how they wilt and fade away with it. Whether the white man has been upon the whole of any advantage to them is certainly an open question. They originally possessed a language composed of a copious vocabulary, and also a complete social system that answered their purpose. Their houses, rude as they were, kept out the heat of the summer sun and retained the necessary warmth in winter,—and this in a degree quite superior to European houses. Their food-supply, eked out by cannibalism, was ample though not varied, while their natural condition involved few necessities. Their wars promoted a condition of robustness as well as a spirit of enterprise and activity. But with civilization came rum, tobacco, and laziness. Far be it from us to argue in favor of the savage life above that of the civilized; but to judge these savage races correctly or fairly, we must look at them from their own standpoint, not from ours.
The Maori Dog.—A Romantic Island.—Sinking of a Maori Fort.—Volcanic Destruction.—A Country of Boiling Springs.—Idleness.—A Lazy Race of Savages.—Native Religion.—A Fitful Geyser.—Sophia, the Famous Guide.—A Funeral Dance.—The "Haka" Performance.—Maori Improvidence.—Rubbing Noses.—Native Babies.—Church-Going and Card-Playing.—The King's Country.—Eloquent Aborigines.—A Sanitarium.—Sulphur Point.—Future of New Zealand.
The Maori Dog.—A Romantic Island.—Sinking of a Maori Fort.—Volcanic Destruction.—A Country of Boiling Springs.—Idleness.—A Lazy Race of Savages.—Native Religion.—A Fitful Geyser.—Sophia, the Famous Guide.—A Funeral Dance.—The "Haka" Performance.—Maori Improvidence.—Rubbing Noses.—Native Babies.—Church-Going and Card-Playing.—The King's Country.—Eloquent Aborigines.—A Sanitarium.—Sulphur Point.—Future of New Zealand.
The funeral wailings of the natives during the day were not sufficient to fill the measure of uncanny noise; so at night—those wonderfully bright moonlight nights!—the dogs seemed to feel it incumbent upon them to take up the refrain, and they howled frightfully by the hour together. The Maori dog is quite different from any other specimen of the canine race; he is a mongrel of decidedly conglomerate character,—the most remarkable fact about these creatures being that no two of them are at all alike, or seemingly of the same breed. Why the Maoris keep these dogs we cannot conceive; they certainly have no food to spare for them, and the poor creatures look nearly starved with their thin bodies and protruding ribs. At Ohinemutu every cabin had at least one dog, and frequently three or four of these animals were seen lying before the entrance. They rushed out andbarked fiercely at the passing stranger, but there the hostile demonstration ended. Dogs are not more numerous, in proportion to the population, in Cairo or Constantinople, nor more neglected, than here. We suggested to one of the half-castes that it would be possible to utilize these animals for food, but he shook his head knowingly and said, "No, no; him got no meat on him bones." Their pigs run wild, and feed themselves on fern-roots and sweet weeds; but their dogs, not being herbivorous, fare hardly for food.
Unable to sleep on account of these canine disturbers of the night, we rose long before daylight on the third day of our visit to Ohinemutu, and awaking a couple of natives, took a row-boat over to the island of Mokoia, which is situated about four miles from the mainland, toward the centre of Lake Rotorua. This island is itself a sleeping volcano, lying now placidly enough upon the bosom of the waters, but originally thrown up from the bottom of the lake in some past century. Though the natives evidently thought us crazy to abandon a comfortable bed at such an hour, we only gave them the necessary direction and sat down quietly in the stern of the boat. It was just sunrise as a landing was effected on the island, when a sight was enjoyed which had not been anticipated. As the monarch of day showed his face above the volcanic hills, the effect was superb. Mokoia is a well-wooded island, and on the side farthest from Ohinemutu there is some level fertile land occupied by natives; indeed, there is here quite a Maori village.It was once a favorite missionary station, but as such was long ago abandoned. It is a sort of second edition of the villages lying about the Lake House on the mainland. When the missionaries were here they planted fruit-trees, which are still thriving and annually productive of pears, apples, peaches, and the like. One of the boatmen spoke English after the Maori fashion, and wanted to relate the love-story of the island, the Hinemoa legend; but we knew it already. We did listen, however, to the story of the blood-thirsty chief Hongi, who came hither when Mokoia was the stronghold of a prosperous tribe, and putting them to the sword, killed one half and more in a terrible hand-to-hand fight; after which he and his followers feasted on their bodies for weeks. We got back to the Lake House by mid-day.
The faulty and incomplete traditions of the natives concerning the last eruption previous to that of about a twelvemonth ago which occurred in the Hot Lake District, are entirely unsatisfactory; but the late terrible one which destroyed the beautiful pink and white terraces at Tarawera by one sudden throe of Nature, and by which nearly two thousand square miles of territory were sensibly affected, we know all about. The destructive demonstration lasted only six hours, but during that time the amount of lava, volcanic bombs, stones, and fiery substances thrown out by the burning mountain is beyond calculation. This volcanic outburst seemed to us just what might be expected at Ohinemutu at any moment. What signifies it thatmatters have remained in their present condition for perhaps a thousand years? The liability to an outburst is none the less on that account. Such is the history of all eruptions: centuries elapse of comparative quiet and seeming immunity from serious danger,—and then comes a great and awful explosion! Confined steam, boiling water, and burning sulphur must somewhere and somehow find vent at the surface. The seething and subdued roaring which never ceases are a constant warning to this effect. And yet here both Europeans and natives live on, and give the possible contingency never a thought.
Within pistol-shot of where these notes were originally made, there was before our eyes a half sunken point jutting out into Lake Rotorua which has "gradually subsided"—ominous words—so that but a small portion remains in view. In former times apah, or fort, stood upon this point, the fate of which is briefly told. One stormy night a hoarse rumbling noise was heard, of more than usual significance, followed by a shrill sound of hissing steam. The trembling earth opened on the border of the lake, and the pah with all its people sank instantly into the raging fires below. No native can be induced to put foot upon what is left of this peninsula at the present day. The place istapu. The visitor explores it alone, while his guide remains at a wholesome distance. Plenty of boiling springs, sulphurous vapor-holes, and seething mud-pools were found distributed over the place where the Maori pah and its people were engulfed.
Although by the late eruption, so far as is known, only one hundred and six persons—natives and Europeans—were destroyed, it included a whole Maori village which was instantly blotted out of existence, as was the pah on the peninsula jutting into the lake. The particulars of the late awful visitation, unequalled in the history of New Zealand, were sad and harrowing to listen to. There were instances where persons, still alive, were dug from the ashes and débris miles away from the crater, after being either buried, or partially so, for one and two days, though none of them survived more than a few hours after exhumation. We were told of an aged Maori whose cabin was miles distant from the burning mountain, who was exhumed after twenty-four hours' burial. He was over one hundred years of age, and survived three days after being recovered.
As to those far-famed and beautiful natural curiosities the Terraces, so completely is the configuration of the country changed for many miles in all directions, that it is quite impossible to discover their former site. An area covering nearly thirty square miles is now but one sad picture of desolation, strewn with ashes and lava, to look upon which was both depressing and awe-inspiring. One bowlder was pointed out to us which must weigh at least a hundred tons, that was thrown a quarter of a mile from the mouth of the crater.
The country over which the boiling springs and geysers occur is about a hundred and twenty miles longby seventeen or twenty wide, their activity varying somewhat at different localities. The fiery region extends beneath the sea after reaching the coast at the Bay of Plenty, being doubtless connected with several remote islands of the Pacific Ocean,—the immediate vicinity of Ohinemutu being apparently the centre of thermal development. It is only necessary in many places to make a hole a few feet deep by thrusting one's walking-stick into the ground, to bring forth a vigorous demonstration of the hissing steam. On first rising from sleep in the morning and looking out upon the remarkable scene, the low-lying dense clouds of vapor all about the hamlet give one the idea that the activity of the underground forces is greater in the night than during the day; but this is probably not the case. Except occasionally, when owing to some great unknown disturbing cause an unusual explosion takes place, the result varies but little at the surface from one year's end to another.
Is idleness infectious? One dallies with time in the midst of these strange phenomena, wandering among the native huts and their lazy, bronzed inhabitants, studying their gypsy life in all its phases. Everything is not quite agreeable, but all is quaint, novel, and interesting. We were shown some of the native carving which was executed a hundred years ago, mostly in the form of war-clubs and idols. There were images representing strange human beings of both sexes; but they were always grotesque, and often disgusting. There was not even anapproach to excellence or a spirit of art observable in any of them. A certain consistency is discovered in the manners and customs of this people who live so nearly after the style and laws which governed their ancestors, and which have been carefully preserved for hundreds of years. Superstition is born in a Maori. He is a professed Christian,—that is, in most cases,—and accepts the Bible; but he is apt to give it his own interpretation: yet for that matter how many white religionists there are who do the same! These children of Nature follow their ancestral traditions modified by Christian influences. The original religion of the natives, if we can give it that name, consisted in a dim belief of a future state, quite undefined even in their own minds. It was largely a sort of ancestor worship, according to the missionaries, with a vague idea of some Being higher and better than anything human or finite. The sorcery which was universally practised among them filled up a certain measure of religious conviction and observance; nor is this by any means disused among them to-day. Many of the tribes can read and write, and educational facilities are freely offered to the rising generation by the English Government.
Whakarewarewa—we can write but not pronounce the name—forms another active volcano point, and is situated about four miles from the Lake House. For three days, whenever the eyes wandered in that direction, we had seen the hamlet, which occupies a side-hill, steaming away vigorously, and sometimesgot a glimpse of the boiling water spouted high in air. The road thither lies over a perfectly level way in the midst of a plain which was doubtless overflowed by the lake in former times, and which is still so much under water as to be nearly navigable for a small boat. Here we found another tribe of Maoris surrounded by geysers, boiling pits, hot, spluttering, and unwholesome-looking mud-pools, with steam-holes innumerable. What a region of perpetual ferment it is! How busy must be the fiery agencies constantly operating in Nature's subterranean laboratory! Soon after entering the hamlet we passed a clear, blue boiling-pool of great depth, which is improved by the whole community for cooking purposes. In the sides of this out-of-doors stone and earthen cavity indentures had been made, where iron pots and wicker screens could be placed for boiling vegetables and other food.
The action of the largest geyser here was fitful and irregular, subsiding for a few seconds now and then, and again bursting forth with renewed power, throwing a column of boiling water thirty feet into the air with startling effect. We were told that this geyser when in operation often sent up such a column to the height of sixty feet. Much wandering over the earth's surface and knowledge of terrestrial affairs has taught us not to accept unchallenged the statements of even such worthy guides as our veracious Sophia. The fact as confirmed to us by ocular demonstration was quite startling enough, and exaggeration was certainlyneedless. This erratic geyser emerges from a large opening eight or ten feet in diameter worn through the split rock, and is of unknown depth,—a successful attempt to sound it being impossible, as the spray would envelop the operator and scald him to death.
The water from this geyser overflows a series of bowlders running down into a broad sulphurous basin, in which are many more boiling springs and yawning chasms, with here and there overheated flat stones upon which the natives bake their food. The bowlders and slabs over which the chemicalized waters flow, receive a yellowish deposit of sparkling silica, mixed with crystals of sulphur and gleaming sparks of black manganese, which all together form beautiful colors when the sun's rays break through the clouds of mist and play upon them. We were shown among the rocks a natural stone basin capable of holding thirty or forty gallons of water, into and through which the boiling waters could be conducted at will; and here, according to Sophia, her forefathers used to boil the heads of their prisoners into a palatable soup!
The action of the subterranean forces is more demonstrative here than at Ohinemutu, and the immediate sulphurous effect upon the atmosphere is much more dense. The matter thrown up from the depths consists of crystals of alum, soda, sulphur, arsenic, iron, and other chemicals, which form cones about the several chasms. After passing in and out among these geysers, boiling rivulets, hot springs,and steam clouds, one is glad to reach an elevation where the atmosphere is comparatively clear and pure, and where a long breath may be drawn with a degree of comfort. Standing upon an elevation overlooking the whole strange scene, the air filled with heated spray, steam, and sulphurous gases, forming all together a dense vapor which clouded the sunlight, it was impossible not to recall the picture of Dante's Inferno.
Our cicerone here, as the reader has already been partially informed, was the famous Sophia, a Maori woman who has acted in this capacity for many years, and who, as she herself deposed, was the mother of fifteen children, twelve of whom were still living. Her tattooed face is well wrinkled by the hand of time, though her activity in climbing the different points of interest is marvellous. She speaks English well, is gentle in voice and remarkable for her good manners, taking great care that those whom she conducts through these novel scenes shall see and understand every object of interest. On the green borders of all this volcanic confusion, as we were leaving Whakarewarewa, a fragrant little bouquet of the wild blossoms of the manuka were gathered and offered to us by a Maori girl, who felt so much overpaid by the shilling tendered her in return as to hesitate to receive it.
On returning to Ohinemutu we found extensive preparations going on in the Maori hamlet for a grand dance as a sort of winding-up ceremony to thefour days of wailing and feasting over the death of the chief, of whom the reader has already heard. It was curious to see into what a state of excitement the natives could work themselves by means of dance and song. It recalled the infatuation and frenzy of the whirling Dervishes of Cairo. Alcohol could not more thoroughly excite them or stimulate their brains. In these exercises the women far exceeded the men in their extravagance of behavior,—jumping wildly up and down, thrusting out their arms and legs with perfect abandon and apparent unconsciousness, distorting their bodies and features, and twisting themselves generally into most impossible shapes. A dull, monotonous drum-beat was the only musical accompaniment, which was produced from a hollow log, both ends of which were covered with sheep-skin. The perfect concert of action among the dancers was marvellous, the more so because no consecutive purpose could be divined. The most weird and picturesque scene we can recall as witnessed in the Lake District was the performance of one of these dances by moonlight; but it must be acknowledged that the exhibition was more striking than decorous. Belonging to this tribe, and indeed to all that are visited by the whites, there is always a bevy of dancing-girls with a world of passion in their bold, luminous eyes, and a reckless disregard of all delicacy in their behavior, ever ready to perform before strangers for money. Some of these girls have very long, perfectly straight hair and a Jewish cast of features quite incontrast to the typical Maori faces. The indifference of parents to the conduct of their daughters is remarkable even for savages. One great objection to thehaka, or native dance, is the beer-drinking which invariably accompanies it. The beer is brought from the hotel in an open bucket holding several gallons, and mugs being furnished, the performers partake freely, until by the time the dance draws to a close they are not in a condition to care much for the proprieties.
When one of these Maoris meets another after a long separation, the first thing is the mutual rubbing of noses, after which each of the parties begins to mourn and weep; but when they say good-by at parting, for however long a term, boisterous laughter is indulged in,—for it is a principle with them to speed the parting guest with feast, song, and hilarity. As the dead lies prepared for burial, the nearest relative first, and the closest friend after, rubs noses with the corpse. The natives here are in receipt of a considerable amount of money from the rents of lands, from pensions granted by the Government, and from acting in the capacity of guides, or as boatmen on the lake, and for performing other odd jobs for the whites. But they have no idea of economy or of saving anything for a time of need. The money which they receive goes as fast as it comes into their possession, and mostly for liquor and tobacco. When the money is gone, they will half starve themselves until a fresh supply comes in. After one of their continued wakes,at which food is so recklessly wasted, and all their spare cash expended in drinking and in other excesses, there follows a period of fasting, during which they live upon roots, berries, and stray bits of food picked up here and there. Such is their improvidence, that there are often times when they would absolutely starve were it not for the aid given gratuitously by the whites.
The Maoris at the present time are remarkably peaceable among themselves,—being never known, as we were told by local officials, to quarrel one with another, not even in their cups; for while liquor makes them foolish, it seldom makes them pugnacious. It was noticed that the fathers often carried the infant children on their backs, and in the same style adopted by the mothers. From this and other indications we got the impression that they are very kind to their children. One thing is certainly remarkable: these native babies never cry. We were a full week among them, witnessing their domestic life at nearly all hours, and we never heard the first cry from their lips. The same peculiarity as regards infants was also noticed by the author both in China and Japan.
As has been mentioned already, the funeral of one of their chiefs had drawn numerous representatives from other tribes to Ohinemutu, so that the number of aborigines was largely increased at the hamlet during our stay. The last day of our sojourning here was Sunday, a certain outward respect for which isobserved by the natives as well as the few white residents at Ohinemutu. The little rude earthen-floored chapel, where a Roman Catholic priest officiates, was not large enough to accommodate both the resident tribe and their visitors at the same time, so they divided into two parties,—one half attending the services in the chapel, while the other half remained outside squatting upon their hams and playing cards for pennies. This seemed to us to be a little out of keeping with the church-going idea, but the average native is not at all amenable in his feelings to the conventionalities of the whites. Gambling with cards under the shadow of the church presented no anomalous aspect to these waiting worshippers. When the first audience had completed the usual religious exercises,—listening to prayers read in Latin, which of course were "all Greek" to them,—then the card-players changed places with them, and each party did as the other had just done. The afternoon was devoted to foot-ball by the men, and to bathing, gossiping, and smoking tobacco by the women. The food and stimulants had evidently become exhausted, as the visitors prepared to depart to their homes, but they were dismissed as usual with riotous tokens of joy.
The Government now owns a considerable portion of land in the Hot Lake District, which has been purchased at a fair price from the natives. The region called the King's Country contains at least ten thousand square miles, lying within clearly-definedboundaries. Its possession is sacredly secured to the Maoris by treaty with the Home Government of England. The aborigines however would in no contingency permit any encroachment upon their present domain; they would declare open war first, and fight for their rights. It is remembered by the whites that these nativescanfight when incited to do so by their chiefs, and by a sense of being wronged. This was made clear enough in the early days of the European occupancy, when it cost the English thousands of lives and vast amounts of treasure before peace was finally brought about by the abundant concessions of Sir George Gray, the then Governor. The natives had very rude weapons in those days; now, however, they have fire-arms, and know how to use them. No foreigner can go into the King's Country without a native permit; no white man can travel there without a Maori guide; a murderer or other criminal cannot be pursued thither by a Government officer, except by first obtaining the proper permission. In these reserved lands the Maoris show a bold and warlike front. They enjoy full political rights in the government of the country, and return their own members to the National Assembly from the several districts in their province. The few educated members of the tribe are distinguished for a certain kind of eloquence, and can speak well and forcibly in behalf of the interests of their race. Like our own American Indians, they abound in poetical figures of speech and natural illustrations. Instances were related to us of some ofthese Maori representatives (generally with more or less European blood in their veins), who had electrified the legislative body to which they belonged, by their eloquent and powerful harangues, and who had more than once carried their purpose to a successful issue, against the manifest popular wish of the Assembly, by their clear force of argument and manly speech.
Government is building a sanitarium at Sulphur Point, as it is called, situated about half a mile from the Lake House. The baths attached to it are supplied with water from springs which are highly charged with chemical matter, each being quite different from the others in its peculiar properties, and supposed to possess special curative powers. There is also here a hospital already in operation under the control of the Government, in which there were a score of patients when we visited it. Several of these were grateful and enthusiastic for the benefit they believed themselves to have experienced by bathing in the ill-smelling waters. Said one to us: "I now leave my crutches under my bed; but when I came here two weeks ago I could not walk across my room without them. Now, however, I walk a mile in the open air, forenoon and afternoon, without any help, and have a grand appetite, with the digestion of an ostrich."
A large town has been arranged for by the authorities in anticipation of the future popularity of these hot springs. Broad, regular, and well-laid out streets have been graded and fenced, having nicely gravelledroad-beds, lined with ornamental trees; but there are yet no dwelling-houses here except the very comfortable Hospital structure. There is, however, a grocery store, a Post-Office, and a Town Hall,—these last two being of brick. It seemed to us that the atmosphere of Sulphur Point must always prove an insuperable objection to its being adopted as a permanent home. The constant odor rising from the subterraneous fires not only excites disgust, but is disagreeably suggestive of the nearness to active volcanic agencies. The Lake House is situated upon a gentle elevation, thirty or forty feet higher than the lake, and overlooking the lands all about it; but Sulphur Point is nearly on a level with the water, and is so low that any rise of the lake would inevitably flood it, and it must always be very damp.
Yet invalids have come all the way from the North of Europe to test the advantages of these springs, and, as we were assured by the attendant physician, with almost unvarying success. A railway is constructing from Oxford hither which will connect Ohinemutu with Auckland direct, obviating the necessity for staging, which no invalid should attempt unless the road is in a very different condition from that in which we found it. The railway will doubtless be finished within a twelvemonth.
One must start before sunrise from Ohinemutu in order to reach Auckland on the same day, though the distance is only a hundred and sixty miles, all but thirty of which is by railway. We have shown thatthe road between the Lake District and Oxford is one requiring time to deal with. When we left the Lake House, the silvery gray of the morning was struggling through the clouds of hot vapor and sulphurous steam which hung over and about the place. The stage lanterns and those in the hands of the attendants cast a weird and fitful glamour all about us. A dog was baying down among the Maori cabins, albeit the hamlet as a whole still slept. The horses brought out from their stable into the crisp morning air were a little restless, and a hostler held the bits of the two leaders. Presently the driver called out, "All right! let them go!" and in a moment more we were rolling smartly away by the borders of Lake Rotorua.
The extended programme was completed, and now our steps would be turned toward distant America.
No intelligent person can be blind to the favorable position of New Zealand or to the promise of its future commercial importance. Situated as it were in the centre of this Austral Ocean, the future highway of the world, it is accessible from all quarters. On the west, not far away, lie the busy harbors of Australia, with which her exchanges of merchandise are constant. Within easy reach of India and China on one side, she has California, Mexico, and South America on the other. To the north lie the hundreds of islands which constitute the groups of Polynesia, notable for their voluptuous climate and primitive fertility. With the opening of the Panama Canal or other available means for crossing the isthmus, New Zealand willlie directly in the highway between Europe and the gold-fields of the great island-continent,—between England and her largest colony. The insular position of the country does not necessarily indicate inaccessibility. The many beautiful islands of the South Sea must sooner or later come under the commercial sway of New Zealand, as they may be explored and civilized. Her admirable harbors, noble estuaries, and navigable rivers are elsewhere unsurpassed. If destined to achieve greatness, these islands, like those of great Britain, will do so through the development and maintenance of maritime power; and with so many advantages as they possess, we predict for them this final accomplishment.
As an attractive country to the explorer and traveller, though so many thousands of miles away from the beaten tracks, New Zealand is rendered accessible by the growing facilities of our times, and certainly combines within itself a grand variety of natural phenomena which nowhere else are so readily reached or more striking to behold. Her soil produces all the vegetation and fruits of the teeming tropics; and yet within a few hours' travel of flower-clad plains, one can ascend mountains as lofty, and behold glaciers as frigid and grand, as in Switzerland or Norway. While perennial verdure characterizes her valleys and plains, her lofty ranges are snow-capped all through the year. In the north she has geysers, boiling springs, heated caldrons, and active craters, as endless in variety as they are countless in number; inthe south she has myriads of cool lakes which for beauty of scenery excel the Lake of Geneva, and for depth vie with the famous fjords of Scandinavia,—thus giving us an epitome of the grandest exhibitions of many lands. Her native race is unique, excelling nearly all others in originality, and full of interest to the ethnological student. In the wild Maori country the paths are among a wilderness of boiling waterspouts, and in the open districts of the lower country one is sheltered by fern-trees, tall, graceful, and picturesque. From the crests of burning mountains we may look into regions where sulphurous fires never cease, and by turning the eyes in another direction behold crystal waters tumbling over precipices hundreds of feet in height, to feed the streams which irrigate the fertile plains below.
These marvellous forests, precipitous gorges, lovely rivers, and fruitful valleys have neither legend nor history to lend them fortuitous attractions; but is it not quite as fascinating to tread such unworn lands, to make one's own path in the unbroken forest, and to be brought face to face with Nature in her primal condition? He who has become blasé with travel in Europe, or even in the less worn fields of Asia, may here encounter wonder upon wonder which will be sure to "whet his almost blunted appetite," and to renew in him all the early charms of foreign discovery and travel.