XXIII THE MAORI
Like all other primeval races the Maori does not bear the transition to civilisation at all well. The noble savage in his native state is a picturesque and romantic figure, with of course many customs that we pale children of modern days cannot away with. Now the Maori has unquestionably many noble qualities, but he shares with all other native races an intense and invincible repugnance to settled employment. As long as he can get his few primitive needs supplied he will not work. In his native wilds this reposeful languor is graceful and correct; it fits in with his environment. But in a town the Maori, with the garments of civilisation hanging awkwardly upon him, lounging at the street corners apparently indifferent to the flight of time, or indeed anything under the sun, will not appear to the visitor as anything else but an exceedingly unprepossessing loafer. It is necessary, in order to keep back the feeling of repugnance that will arise at sight of these groups of huge, seedy-looking men, to remember that they are the descendants of the original owners of the soil, and that they are now existing peacefully upon the rents of their lands leased to the energetic white settlers.
In Auckland I noticed a good many Maori men and women about the town, all the latter and most of the former looking curiously slouchy and ungainly. But they were, after all, an exceedingly small item in the thronging population, although they were usually found on the street corners in the busiest part of the city at all hours of the day, looking as if nothing that ever happened could possibly concern them. Here in Wanganui, however, every street corner has its knot of lounging Maories looking curiously out of place in the midst of civilisation. They are all, men and women alike, of splendid physique, but of course too fat, owing to the lounging habit, all equally, of course, are clad in European clothing, and all without exception strike the visitor as being exceedingly undesirable and unornamental. For they have, with but rare exceptions, a peculiarly unprepossessing cast of countenance, and withal an expression of languid contempt for the pakeha (white man) who goes bustling by that is not good to look upon.
Now I know that this is very harsh-sounding, but it expresses my feelings exactly. I grant the Maori exceptional ability, especially as an orator; I know that he is the original owner of the soil for which he fought so doughtily that his enemies conceived a great respect for him. I am sure that he is fully entitled to all that he receives by way of rent for his lands and to the reservation which no white man may interfere with; but I do wish he and his wahine would not get into shabby European clothing and hang about street corners in the towns. If they want civilisation, let them by all means become civilised and fit in with their surroundings; but if not, why! oh why do they not stay in their native encampments and loaf to their heart's content where loafing looks natural, dignified, and proper?
In order that I may not be misunderstood, I hasten to say that in the colleges and in certain Government positions are to be found some most admirable specimens of the Maori race, rising to a height of intelligence and responsible feeling such as a negro seldom or never attains to, and with an admixture of white blood, whether half or quarter breed, many splendid specimens of manhood, both physically and intellectually, are developed. The Hon. James Carroll, Minister for Native Affairs, is a fine specimen of these last, and a gentleman whom it is pleasant to know.
Unfortunately time did not admit of my going up what is here termed the New Zealand Rhine, the Wanganui River. But even if I had, I could hardly have ventured to describe its beauties after the flood of purple writing on this and kindred scenic delights of the country which has been poured forth from the Government printing works, under the auspices of the Government Tourist Department. For, wisely enough, New Zealand rulers, being thoroughly alive to the fact that their country is the little wonderland of the world, spare neither pains nor expense to make the fact known in order to attract, not so much settlers as visitors. I am afraid to mention the huge sum which this small community spends every year on advertising New Zealand as a playground and health resort. It was told me by the gentleman who "runs" the great business under the Minister in whose department it is, but he assured me that, large as it was, the assessable returns fully warranted it. An ever-increasing number of tourists come here from America and Great Britain, come prepared to be disillusioned, but go away enchanted, full of wonder that one small group of islands could possibly contain so much to be marvelled at, to look upon in speechless admiration.
Also under the fostering care of the Tourist Department, game, fish, fur, and feather is increasing, making the country a sportsman's paradise, as well as a wonderland for tourists. There are no game laws as we understand them; during the season appointed any one may shoot or fish on payment of a small fee for the season—ten shillings. And out of the season no one, however highly placed he may be, can either shoot or fish, for here, as perhaps nowhere else on earth, the law is no respecter of persons; if it is ever biassed at all, it is against those who have in favour of those who have not. A curious feature of the fauna is that creatures indigenous to other temperate countries on being brought here thrive amazingly, although the native fauna was, even when the islands were discovered, contemptible in variety and number, there being practically no native game but the rat. Only on the coasts and in the bays might be found overwhelming abundance of the finest fish in the world. Now the lakes and rivers are stocked with trout and other foreign fish, the woods with game of all kinds, while domestic animals, such as sheep and cattle, are amazingly prolific and splendid in quality. To complete the present brief sketch of New Zealand's advantages, there are no noxious animals or reptiles, and very few unpleasant insects, what there are being mostly imported and easily dealt with.
I really feel sorry to say goodbye to Wanganui, for it is essentially a place that invites to pleasure in the midst of all that can charm the eye and comfort the body. Sea, river, lake, mountain, forest, and fertile plain. I can quite enter into the feelings of a man whom I met the other day, who, having been a confirmed globe-trotter, came here for a week and stayed two years, only leaving then because he was compelled to. And I feel thus having only seen it in the winter; I find myself wondering what I should feel if I saw it in the summer! But the call to leave was imperative, and I was carried back to Palmerston North, through the golden sunshine and balmy airs of this midwinter's day, feeling glad that the dwellers in New Zealand were thus highly favoured. But as we crossed the Wanganui River I noticed that it was in spate, and I wondered if these beautiful, fat, level lands were ever flooded. There was no one at hand of whom I could ask the question, so I turned to my newspaper—for be it known unto you that each of these small towns will support a morning and evening newspaper—and there I read of the sorrows of Gisborne, the thriving town on the shores of Poverty Bay of which I wrote some time back. It has been the prey of a devastating flood which has overflowed those fertile levels and done enormous damage.
At the hearing of which I feel very grieved, for I learned to know and like much many of the people there. Moreover I read also that the communications have been greatly interrupted, and steamers have been unable to call, or if they had the state of the sea between the two breakwaters would effectually prevent the tender from going out.
The calamity, however, was purely local, for the smiling country through which I was now passing showed nothing of flood, although it looked as if it might be particularly liable to such visitations, being so flat and surrounded by hills. We swung into Palmerston again, and, so rapidly does one make acquaintances in a new country, I found myself welcomed like an old friend. I am not likely to forget that night at the cosy "gentlemen's club," as it was quaintly termed to me, but which I accepted as merely plain statement of fact. Song and story, and, executed by my own blood-kin, a haka, or Maori dance, fearsome in leapings and boundings and yellings, and concluded with fiendish grinning, the mouth gaping wide as possible, so as to show the teeth, and the tongue protruding to the roots. Savage indeed, and I felt that it should certainly be introduced at Adelphi Terrace.
Late though the hour was when I reached my hotel, and sinfully early as the train departed next morning—6.55—there were brave and genial souls awaiting to speed the parting guest. Leave-taking was after our own fashion, entirely undemonstrative, but I felt sad, as I always do on these hurried journeys, knowing that, pleasant as the meeting has been, it is unlikely to be renewed, except by purest chance, in the centre of things, London, whither all roads seem to lead. I am afraid some of my untravelled friends that night thought that I was poking fun at them when I told them of strange meetings, foregatherings from the ends of the earth in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, and more so than ever when I expressed my conviction that I should probably meet every one of them again in the vicinity of that classic region.
Back again in what the New Zealanders proudly call the Empire City, oblivious entirely of the misnomer. It is a beautiful little city, a well-groomed and orderly city fully worthy of its position and is prospering in a very high degree. But to call it the Empire City is to ape the flapdoodle of the United States citizens, who, like the average users of forceful adjectives, see nothing incongruous or ridiculous in calling a collection of shacks a city, and cannot call a magnificent aggregation like New York or Philadelphia anything else. I would not, for a great deal, say anything that could even seem derogatory of Wellington. It is a place worthy of the utmost love and admiration of its citizens. In its surroundings it is peculiarly happy. They are romantic, picturesque in the extreme, which qualities, in days not so far distant, constituted a serious drawback to the city's expansion. Now, thanks to the electric and cable car service, those encircling hills have become easily accessible to all, and the citizens may and do enjoy, not merely the most delightful of panoramic views over sea and land that can well be imagined, but can pass to and fro between home and business swiftly, easily, and cheaply. True, this case of communication has brought in its train enhanced expenditure, land, on these erstwhile unsaleable hilltops, now fetching fabulous prices; but then these are the conditions which must always obtain whenever art and science step in to assist people to enjoy nature.
And now the time approaches when I must leave Wellington for good.
Therefore it is only just to put on record that all the reports I ever heard of its weather before I came here were base and malignant inventions as far as my personal experience goes. While it is quite true that occasionally the city experiences three days' steady rain without a break, it is false to say that dirty or windy weather is anything like normal—in fact, it would be far truer to say that such climatic conditions are abnormal. Earthquakes do occur undoubtedly, but so infrequently and of such slight importance that they are practically ignored. The old régime of wooden buildings which I had often been assured were the only ones which would stand Wellington's insecure foundations has vanished, and splendidly ornate edifices of great height and imposing size are in evidence throughout the business district, and are also being rapidly added to. The streets of the city proper are beautifully level, paved like a billiard-table and well kept, while the roads up the hills, with all their winding and steep gradients are wonderfully well made. Indeed, taken altogether, Wellington, apart from the delightful character of its citizens, is one of the most desirable places to live in that is to be found in the whole world, in my opinion.