Where the water ran down in some little hollows, the sun shining over the pink produced the effect of a shower of opals, and again in the little pools, as the drops trickled over the brim of the basin, there were a succession of minute rainbows, seen for an instant and gone as soon. A dash of green-coloured clay lay along either side, before the dense border of manuka scrub was reached, forming altogether a curious variety of pale shades, in pink, blue and green.
We saw the place in the Centre Terrace where the Duke of Edinburgh had carved his name. The natives have cut out the original, and inserted instead a small tablet to show their appreciation of the honour, but at the same time they thought that by thus writing his name, his Royal Highness implied a possession of the Terraces. The lovely porcelain surfaces of both terraces are disfigured by names scribbled in pencil underneath the water. Government has now protected them by prohibiting this, and laying a heavy penalty on all those who chip or carry away fragments of the silica. The smell of sulphur here was as pregnantly strong as in the White Terrace, but the water is only hot, and does not boil. We felt we should never see the Terrace again, and lingered.
A tremendous shower of rain came on as we were packing again into the canoes; it seemed heavy enough to have filled and swamped them. We recrossed Rotomahana to the river, and then glided down the swift current of "Kaiwaka," or canoe destroyer, so called because of its rapids and sharp curves, so dangerous to the equilibrium of canoes. The natives paddled us most skilfully from the stern, and we lay at full length basking in the warm afternoon sun, and noting the embryo terraces that have formed along its ti-covered banks. Some of the gentlemen of the party ventured down the rapids. One canoe containing Mr. Graham and C. was nearly lost—the stream carrying it down stern first, before the native had time to get to his place to steer. He cried out to Mr. Graham, "We are lost!" but amid intense excitement they did get through and land in safety. We changed our shoes and stockings for the dry ones which we had been warned to bring with us, for we had been walking for several hours in warm water.
We had a nasty head wind, with a heavy sea running as we returned across Lake Tarawera, but the natives worked well and sang us some native airs; all joined in a chorus with gesticulations, led by Sophia. We had a very damp drive home, rain falling in sheets; the beauty vanished which we had admired so much that morning.
The fat gentleman whom I mentioned before was the subject of much amusement to the Maoris. The native who acted as guide, looked at him as he entered his bath and said, "If you had been here forty years ago, you would have made a nice pie." It was translated to him, and we thought that we had had our revenge.
It had seemed such a long day, and I went to bed worn out, and with my brain bewildered with all the wonderful things I had seen.
Monday, September 29th.—We were up at 5 a.m., and leaving Ohinemutu in a buggy to coach fifty-four miles to Wairakei.
It was a very cold morning with a wind blowing from the direction of the south pole. Passing Sulphur Point, we came to Whakarewarewa (pronounced about like this, "walk her over, over"), whose sulphur fumes from the numerous mud-holes we had seen rising in the distance yesterday. Then we travelled for some time beside Waikorowhiti, the "Whistling Stream," a mountain torrent that rushes through the Hemo Gorge. A few more miles brought us to Horo Horo. It is a high narrow ridge of rock, that sweeps in one unbroken line from the coast of Coromandel Bay to the east of Auckland, and ends suddenly here, standing out against the sky, as one precipitous line of unbroken rock. A slender stately column which distinctly presents the outline of a female figure is called by the Maories "Hinemoa." The natives think Horo Horo has the appearance of a mighty monster fallen from Heaven, and so call it Fallen Fallen. It reminded us exactly of the Palisades on the Hudson River, U.S.A. We had magnificent scenery all the way, ranges of mountains before and behind us, that only varied in shape and beauty; all clothed with the dull green or brown of the bracken fern. But the country was all so much alike, that I felt if I had begun a sketch at the beginning of the journey, I could have finished it almost as well at the end. The country was totally uninhabited and uncultivated, save for a few scattered Maori settlements, and these wharries were so like the coarse grass growing round them that they were hardly to be distinguished from it. They generally lay under the shelter of some hill, or on the outskirts of a bit of bush, and would be roughly fenced round, with some pigs or a couple of rough horses about, as the only sign of life. We saw but one white man's house, and that was only building, during the whole day. Now and again we came upon a herd of wild horses, who galloped away at the sound of our approach. The skeleton head of an ox fixed upright on a hill producing a most weird effect, and a gravestone by the roadside, marking the spot where some traveller's favourite horse had lain down to die, were the only other objects of interest we passed during the morning. There was a striking peculiarity in the way in which the ground was terraced into deep winding gullies, evidently showing the bed of some river, flowing in bygone ages.
The road was good-going all the way, except for a few "ruts," which required all "Mac's" care to avoid, as they were deep enough to overturn the carriage. When going over the edge of one of these we used all to lean over, to throw our whole weight on to the opposite side of the carriage, and watch anxiously to see whether the earth would hold or slip away from under us. Mac, our new driver, was a French Canadian, whose ancestors had come over with Jacques Cartier and settled in Montreal. We had no change of horses for the whole of that fifty-four miles' drive, and it was wonderful to see how skilfully he spared his horses, watering them frequently from wayside streams. We kept ourselves from cramped weariness, and saved the horses, by walking up the steepest hills. All the wooden bridges about here are laid with planks lengthways instead of crossways, and if they are rotten, there is great danger of the wheels going bodily through. Once this nearly happened to us, and we escaped with a shave; and again when a horse put his foot into one of the holes, and drew it out without breaking it.