XV MUTTON, THE MASTER
Gisborne is, historically speaking, almost the most interesting place in the whole of New Zealand. Close to the site of the present town is where Captain Cook made his first landing in the country, and named it, on the spur of the moment, Poverty Bay—a name which it still holds, because the natives take a delight in the irony of the appellation in contrast to that of the Bay of Plenty, which, though only the next bay northward, has done nothing so far to justify its grand title. This little place was also the scene of the Poverty Bay massacre, wherein between thirty and forty whites were slaughtered by the Maories under the redoubtable Te Kooti, as a direct result of the inevitable, invariable blundering of the home authorities. It is not a little remarkable, however, that it should have taken so long for this place to attain its present dimensions, even when the limitations of the harbour (?) have to be taken into consideration. But since that is a feature of every part of Australasia that I have revisited, I need not do more than allude to it in passing.
Like Auckland, Gisborne suffers from a want of good building stone, which prevents the erection of any really imposing buildings, since all builders are in a conspiracy to hide the brick-work, of which the best buildings are constructed, under stucco, a most futile and pernicious proceeding, directly conducive to bad work. The older buildings are of wood, which is honest at any rate, if flimsy in appearance. It is not so in reality, as New Zealand boasts some of the finest building timber in the world—so good, in fact, that it pays to import soft wood from America and Scandinavia, and export the native woods for other purposes. It is a beautifully laid-out little town, with wide, level streets, and as yet no imposing buildings in them—a town where everybody seems contented and prosperous, although there is an utter absence of swagger, such as usually accompanies the possession of considerable means in other countries. It would appear that here, at any rate, the Socialistic schemes of the New Zealand Government have resulted in a general levelling of the people in point of comfort, a certain limitation of growth, and a great air of contentment, for I have heard no one as yet speak of hard times.
Viewed from the sea, Gisborne gives one the idea of consisting of only a small collection of houses clustered about the lower slopes of the encircling hills, and the stranger instinctively wonders where the town can be, the distance of those hills from the sea being so very deceptive. But once ashore it is seen that there is really an immense area of almost absolutely level land extending from the sea-shore to the ranges—beautiful land of the highest quality, and containing space enough for the erection of a mighty city if only the conditions warranted its growth. The contrast between the level of Gisborne and the inequalities of Auckland is very marked, but of course, while the position of the former is excellent from the point of view of transport, it does not make for picturesqueness. It much resembles the position of Adelaide, and, for the same reason, the deposit of alluvium at the foot of the hills by the age-long work of the rivers coming down to the sea and spreading out their detritus.
I was taken to see the principal freezing establishment, belonging to Messrs. Nelson & Co., and went with a great deal of curiosity, after my reading of Upton Sinclair's awful book, "The Jungle," and my own experiences of Chicago. Of course, in point of size, there is no comparison, the whole output of New Zealand being but a trifle compared with the holocaust daily offered up in Chicago. But that was of no consequence; it was the system I wanted to see. First of all, our arrival (I was taken by a Government Stock Inspector) was unexpected by the people in charge, so that nothing could have been cleaned up or put out of sight for my sake. Work, indeed, was very slack, only a few bullocks being slaughtered and the sheep being discharged from the great refrigerators into specially built and equipped lighters for conveyance off to the Niwaru, one of Messrs. Tyser & Co.'s huge cargo steamers, which was lying in the bay. It gives rather a curious sensation to stand at the other end of the long chain of supply forged by man's inventive genius, which connects the sheep which I see on the hills yonder with the suburban butcher's shop in England with its sheeted carcases being chopped up for distribution at practically the same prices, and in practically the same condition, as they are sold to the consumer here.
Apart from the grim side of the business, the immense and continuous blood-shedding and the suggestive crimson rivulet flowing steadily into the river beside the works, there was an air of great calm and peace over everything. There is nothing squalid or sordid or dirty about the place, from the rows of pretty workmen's dwellings to the immense cooling chambers crowded with freshly skinned and disembowelled carcases, depending from rails overhead and chilling off before commencing their journey towards the freezing chambers (Linde's Ammonia process), where the temperature rapidly converts those fresh, soft, pink and white bodies into no bad resemblance of a block of stone. As to the meat itself, like most householders, and without being anything of a butcher, I pride myself on knowing a bit of good meat when I see it, and better-looking meat than that mutton and beef I have never seen, even at Christmas-time at home, while its cleanliness was a striking contrast to the appearance of the carcases in many a West End butcher's that I wot of. The inspection is of the most rigid and searching kind, for the meat must be above suspicion. And should the examination of the lungs reveal the slightest taint of tuberculosis, the entire carcase is first drenched with kerosine and then cremated, every portion thereof except the hide, which of course has no part of it consumable by man. But the percentage of carcases which it is necessary to destroy is ridiculously low. The conditions under which the cattle live and are brought to the abattoirs are so good and healthful that the inception and dissemination of disease is very rare.
Of course in this, as in so many other modern industries, the value of the by-products makes the business profitable, even though the main product be sold so cheaply. There is absolutely no waste, even the blood, except that portion which unavoidably stains the floors and walls of the abattoirs and is washed from the recently slain bodies of the beasts, being saved and converted into special manure of the strongest kind and of high value. The offal is similarly treated after the tallow is separated from it, and although this must be a disagreeable business, I testify that it is conducted without any offensiveness to either smell or sight. Then there is the great business of the hides, especially of the sheep, which are chemically treated, so that in a few hours the wool may be scraped off, uninjured itself, and leaving the pelt perfectly free from trace of wool as well as improved by the process.
Bearing in mind the conditions of labour in the land of the free and home of the brave, I was curious to see what manner of men these were employed here. And I found that, as elsewhere in New Zealand, there was a great deal of equality between master and man, that labour knew its worth and was able to get that worth recognised in every needed way. No speeding up or working out here—the Unions and Government look after that. I cannot say that there was very much to learn about the simple process of slaughtering and freezing meat for the home market, but there was a very great object-lesson in the conditions under which it was performed and in the position of the works in which it was carried on: in the heart of the country and close to the sources of supply on one hand, while on the other there was the big ship almost alongside the works, so to speak, for which cause handling was reduced to a minimum—a desideratum always greatly to be desired for many reasons.
By great good fortune I had the opportunity offered me of visiting two places of very great interest to all who love the primitive races, and regret to see them dying out. Now the Maori is one of those aboriginals, exceedingly scarce, who seem able to absorb the civilisation of the Anglo-Saxon without dying out. I know that there is a conflict of opinion about this, but on the best authority I am informed that there is a small increase among them, the only danger-signal being the preponderance of male births over females—a feature which the closest students of the Maori are unable to account for. At my lectures in Gisborne I had as part of my audience the students of the Maori Theological College, and by the courtesy of the principal, the Rev. Mr. Challoner, I was invited to the college itself, where one of the students, a stalwart youth of about twenty-one, gave me an extempore address of welcome in his own mellifluous language, the same being translated into fluent English by a fellow-student, clause by clause. It was intensely interesting, for these Maories are born orators, and although I know that our staid English cannot reproduce the flowers of native speech, yet I heard enough to show me what an amazing effort of diction it was.
Then another gentleman, the Rev. Herbert Williams, son of the Bishop of Napier, drove me out to the Maori Church of Te Aro, a building which was commenced by the Maories in the best style of native art, but, getting tired of it, the artists abandoned their self-imposed task; which was unfortunate, as they represented the last and the best of the fast dying-out school of native artificers. But the missionary in charge decided that what had already been done must not be wasted, and a plan was formulated whereby the church should be constructed in European fashion, and the immense carved rimu and totara columns so lavishly adorned by the Maori artists should be incorporated in the building. This has been done, and the result is certainly most striking. Many of these columns, or pilasters as I suppose they should be more properly called, are trees cut in half longitudinally, and measure well over three feet across. They are carved from top to bottom, grotesquely, floridly; but undoubtedly in strict conformity with the canons of native art. They are undoubtedly of immense value as the last emblems of a primitive race, but unfortunately even the artists who designed and executed them have forgotten what the symbols signify. This is undoubtedly the case. They preserve an air of mystery as to the meaning of what they have designed, but the plain and obvious fact is that they do not know. The pattern has been slavishly followed, but the significance thereof has died out. And I suppose it only awaits some new Champollion to formulate a theory of derivation by means of which these grotesques may be linked on to the Maya and Egyptian works. Which warns me that I had better leave them.
It happened—for in these matters we are the sport of the elements—that it was a perfectly propitious night when I was to leave Gisborne for Napier. There was quite a crowd of people down on the wharf ready to board the little steamer which was to take us off to the Victoria, one of the fine coasters of the Huddart, Parker Company, of nearly 3,000 tons register, and quite palatially fitted. To give you an idea of how the Colonial passenger is catered for, not only are you invited to enjoy a chota hazri, or little breakfast of porridge, tea or coffee and biscuits, in your bunk before rising, that is between 6 and 7 a.m., and the usual six meals a day of the ocean steamers besides, but the Company provide rugs and steamer chairs for the comfort of passengers on deck. Also the liquid refreshments dispensed from the bar are, despite the tariff, on a much more modest scale of prices than in the case of the deep-sea ships, sixpence being the standard price for practically all drinks that the ordinary man calls for. There was also everything that the most fastidious passenger could look for on board ship in the way of ladies' rooms, reading and smoking-rooms, &c., and altogether I doubt very much if any vessels in the world can offer more comforts to travellers than do these splendid coasting steamers of Australia.
We got away at nine o'clock, and proceeded at fourteen knots down to the coast to Napier, which was reached at daylight, the navigation being of the simplest character along this steep-to coast. It struck me, though, that the service was an exceedingly arduous one for the officers, who, except at certain stated ports, do not get much rest, while the men, who undoubtedly work hard, have the intense satisfaction of knowing that their earnings are correspondingly good, since the eight hours' day holds good for sea-workers as well as land-workers when the vessel is in port, and overtime is paid for at one shilling per hour.