The great Pink and White Terraces had been destroyed by a mud volcano some years before our visit, but we saw in many places how similar formations were being reproduced by the chemical substances thrown up by the springs, making polished pink-and-white pavements and even terraces on a small scale. To see the natural hot fountains starting up from the pools among the rocks was entrancing. Some of the columns play at regular intervals, some only occasionally; one irregular performer shoots up a column of boiling water to a height sometimes attaining 100 feet. One was called the Prince of Wales’s Feathers, as the water sprang up in that form.
New Zealand is far more prolific in legends than Australia; the Maoris being of a higher type than the Australian aboriginal, naturally handed down semi-historical, semi-mythical traditions of their ancestors. Among the prettiest and best-known tales is that of Hinemoa. This young lady was the daughter of the chief of a powerful tribe whose headquarters was at Whakarewarewa. Among the many suitors attracted by her beauty she preferred a youth named Tutaneki; but though his mother was the daughter of the chief of the Island of Mokoia, situated in the centre of the Lake of Rotorua, his father was a commoner, and Hinemoa’s father was furious at the idea of a mésalliance. He dared Tutaneki again to set foot on the mainland, and caused all the canoes to be hauled up on the beach to keep Hinemoa from attempting to join her lover. Tutaneki, however, was an accomplished musician, and every evening the strains of his lute floated so sweetly over the waters of the lake that Hinemoa could no longer stand separation. Taking six empty gourds as an improvised life-belt, she swam the three miles dividing her from music and love. Fortunately, though numbed by her exertions, she landed on the island where a hot spring, still called Hinemoa’s Bath, wells up near the beach, and a plunge into it soon revived her. More successful than Leander, she was united to her lover and lived with him peacefully on Mokoia. Her father appears to have reconciled himself to the inevitable.
At one moment we almost thought that we should have, in a minor degree, to emulate the performance of Hinemoa. We arranged to row across the Lake to a spot on the shore opposite our hotel, where we were to be met by a “coach” (as the ordinary vehicles were called) bringing our luncheon. Somehow first our rudder broke away and then the boatman seemed to lose his head—and anyhow lost one of his oars. We were thereby left helplessly floating at no great distance from the beach, and, what was worse, with no apparent possibility of securing our luncheon. However, my brother, bolder than Tutaneki, saved Lady Galloway and myself from imitating Hinemoa. He plunged into the water and managed to wade ashore, and we soon had the satisfaction of seeing him return carrying the luncheon basket on his head, and having sent a messenger to summon another boat to our rescue.
One particularly fascinating feature in the Hot Lakes District was the charm of open-air hot baths. Certain pools were surrounded by high palisades rendering them absolutely private. You secured a key and locked yourself in, when you could disport yourself in natural hot water and wade about under the trees to your heart’s content. The water was of a delightful temperature, but certainly impregnated with chemicals, as I found the skin peeling off my feet after two or three such baths.
HUIA ONSLOW
We arrived at Auckland in time to witness the final send-off of that most popular Governor, Lord Onslow, with special tributes to Lady Onslow and her baby son Huia, who, having been born during his parents’ tenure of office, had been endowed with the Maori chieftain’s distinctive badge, the feather of the Huia, and was christened by that name. Whenever he appeared the Maoris shouted “Huia! Huia!” and, most tactfully, the child showed a preference for brown men over white. Poor Huia grew into a splendid and talented youth, but was disabled by an accident while diving. Despite his crippled condition he gallantly pursued his scientific studies till released by death in 1922.
Of all Rudyard Kipling’s Songs of the Cities I think the Song of Auckland best conveys the claim of that vision of beauty:
“Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart—
On us, on us the unswerving season smiles,
Who wonder ’mid our fern why men depart
To seek the Happy Isles!”
Truly, New Zealand must have waited while Providence bestowed gifts on many lands, and have then received a special bounty from each store of blessing. The strength of the mountain pass, the plunge of the waterfall, the calm mirror of the lake, the awe of the forest, the glow of the flowers, the fertile pasture for the flock, the rich plains for the corn—gold, coal, and Kauri gum, the marvels of her springs—all these and much more are given to her children, together with one of the most perfect climates on the face of the earth. She has but one drawback—namely, that she is ringed round by some of the stormiest oceans known to man. Perhaps were it not so too many eager pilgrims would seek this far-off Paradise!
Lord and Lady Onslow returned with us to Sydney Government House, and soon after left with their family for England. Lady Galloway in turn sailed in the spring (Australian autumn), to my great regret. She made the voyage in a Messageries boat, accompanied by the very pretty daughters of Lord Southesk, Helena and Dora Carnegie.