CHAPTER XXIV
ACROSS THE TASMAN SEA TO WELLINGTON
I CAME from Australia to Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, on a vessel as well furnished, as well kept, and as well managed as any of the floating palaces that steam on our Great Lakes. But the voyage was far from being as smooth as a sail on the Lakes. The South Pacific Ocean is much like the North Atlantic. It is wild and stormy at times, and I found it a great contrast to the calm waters of the tropics through which I had passed on my way to Australia. The clear skies of the Equator and their golden stars had disappeared, and in their place were heavens plated with lead and heavy, low-hanging clouds full of wind.
How the steamer rolled! There were ladder-like racks on the table to hold the dishes at every meal, and we had to lift our soup plates to our chins, balancing the steaming liquid to the movement of the boat. One night a buxom young lady, who was strikingly décolleté, sat opposite me at the table. The ship gave a sudden lurch and her soup went down—outside. Another girl lost her coffee in my lap. In my cabin it made me almost seasick to watch my pajamas swing violently to and fro on their hooks. As I walked the deck I had to bend this way and that to keep my balance, and when I sat down the steward tied my chair to the rail outside the saloon wall to keep me from sliding down to the edge of the boat. The spray dashed over everything, and, as a New Zealand girl said, “It was really na-a-hsty!”
Still, the southern ocean is grand. Stand on deck beside me and take a look at a storm off the coast of New Zealand. The green water of the shallow sea rolls toward us in vast waves. It is a seething, boiling mass. Our steamer mounts sea-green hills spotted with foam, and plunges down into valleys blanketed with white. Great billows chase one another like racehorses over the roads of the sea. They roar as they run with a noise like the thunder of a thousand Niagaras.
Now two waves meet. The foam dashes up in a spray and turns to rainbows in the sun, which now and then breaks through the clouds. The rainbows are so close that we can almost wash our fingers in them. They come and they go, a hundred different rainbows in as many minutes. They dance in and dance out. They ride for a moment on the crests of the waters, only to shine, disappear, and give place to others. How the ship struggles and groans! Every now and then a mist closes down upon us, and our foghorn blows continually. We are hours in making a few miles and are tossed about all night by the storm.
I suppose there is not much chance that the Tasman Sea will change its ways, but it has been proposed to change its name. After the World War it was suggested that it be re-christened the “Anzac Sea” in honour of the troops sent from this part of the world to fight with the Allies. You remember that their organization was officially known as the Australia-New Zealand Army Corps. The supplies sent to the first contingent at Gallipoli were marked with the initial letters: A. N. Z. A. C. and thus the “Anzacs” got their name. Anzac Day, April 25th, is now observed as a national holiday in New Zealand in memory of those who gave their lives at Gallipoli, and in Palestine, Egypt, and France. The day is kept more like a Sunday than as an ordinary holiday, and the use of the word “Anzac” for trade purposes is prohibited by law. I am told that some people even disapprove of its being used as a geographical term.
The morning was clear when we sailed into Wellington harbour and cast anchor before the capital city of the island dominion. On going ashore I found Wellington rather like an American than a British town. It has more than one hundred thousand people and is growing like a green bay tree. The city lies in a nest in the hills, with its business streets round the harbour, some of them built upon land reclaimed from the sea. The houses are mostly of wood, and one of the government buildings is said to be the biggest wooden structure in the world. The wharves are of wood, but they are big enough to accommodate the largest steamers, and the water is so deep that ships come close to the shore and anchor within a stone’s throw of the post-office.
Both Wellington and Auckland, the chief ports of New Zealand, have fine harbours, although neither is as good as the one at Sydney. The New Zealanders say that when they go to Sydney they pin a tag on their coats, reading: “Yes, I am pleased with your harbour,” and thus avoid answering the same question twenty times an hour. Wellington is as windy as Chicago, and Australians say they can always tell a man from Wellington because, no matter where he may be, every time he turns a street corner he grabs his hat to keep it from blowing away.
The stores here are not unlike ours. Their windows are well dressed and their goods attractively displayed. In the business section there are roofs of corrugated iron built out over the sidewalks so that shoppers are protected from the sun or rain in going from store to store. The merchants carry large stocks, and seem to be prosperous. There are many jewellery stores, book stores, and millinery shops. The butcher shops are walled and floored with tiles, and the beef and mutton sold in them are equal to any you can get in Chicago or London, and much cheaper. The grocery stores are clean and up to date, while the displays on the fruit stands make my mouth water. They have home-grown apples and grapes, and tropical fruits of all kinds from the Tonga Islands and the Fijis.
The city is lighted by electricity. It has a good water supply and a municipally owned street-car system, one line of which runs through a tunnel under a mountain and out to a popular bathing beach. Wellington has gone far ahead of our cities in municipal ownership. Besides its street-car system, it owns its water supply and drainage works, its cemeteries, baths, and slaughter houses. Many of its homes are lighted from a municipal central station, and it has a monopoly on the local milk business. The city buys and distributes all the milk produced within a radius of about twenty-five miles. Any surplus is made into butter and cheese, and an ice plant is operated in connection with the dairy business.
I have been told that the reason for the number of wooden buildings here is the fact that years ago a severe earthquake did great damage and made the people afraid to put up high structures of brick and steel. But the Wellingtonians of to-day laugh at the idea of another earthquake, and substantial buildings are going up all over the city. A big new Parliament House is about completed, and the government is carrying out a large construction programme for the better housing of its various offices. One of the finest buildings in the Dominion is the home of the mail and the telegraph services—a structure of native stone covering half a block.