‘The rabbits are coming’ is a more alarming cry for the owners of a station than any cry about a Russian invasion.
In the Cape a question about the vine grub (Phylloxera) threw out a Government. Rabbits not legislated for would throw out forty Governments in the Colonies. The Rabbit Nuisance Act of New Zealand is against poor Bunny, but protects tiger-cats, stoats, ferrets, the mongoose, native cats, and other vermin, the value of which is doubtful.
In some districts foxes have been introduced to destroy rabbits, but it is found that Reynard very quickly develops a taste for young sheep. Weasels and the ichneumon (mongoose) have also been tried, but it is feared that they may increase like the rabbits, and it is known that weasels, when in numbers, will even sometimes attack men and horses. In the Auckland district rabbits have died out partly by natural causes, a disease called tuberculosis having broken out amongst them. This has led to the idea that a few rabbits might be inoculated with an infectious disease, and then turned loose. Pasteur might be consulted on this point. One way of getting them out of their holes is to smoke them out with the fumes of certain chemicals ejected by a fan. The ordinary methods of destruction are, to use phosphorized oats (which unfortunately kill pheasants and other valuable game), to trap, to hunt with dogs, and to shoot. To keep back an approaching invasion, wire-netting partly sunk obliquely in the ground has proved good, and Government and private individuals have put up lengths of such barricading only comparable with the Great Wall of China.
We expected to find Kingston, as it was described in a trade report by an American consul, a flourishing little township. All that we did find was a solitary house, on the edge of a black-looking lake, surrounded by precipitous mountains covered with snow. This house was the hotel. Of course there were no visitors. New Zealanders are wiser than strangers. At Queenstown, which you reach by a small steamer, the accommodation is much better. But still, even if you had the Palace Hotel from San Francisco, Lake Wakatipu is not the place for weather such as we had. The scenery of ragged peaks whitewashed with snow, and black cliffs frowning upon a blacker lake, may be fine in summer weather, but it was sufficient to make us fly away from it at the first opportunity. At the Kingston end of the lake, there are to be seen some very remarkable terrace formations marking the ancient level of the lake. These are cut in glacial moraine, indicating that Wakatipu at one time may have been the basin of a huge glacier.
In returning, at Lumsden we branched off across the Waiwea Plains, on a private line. The ground over which we ran was for the most part flat and uncultivated. To the right and left there were snow-clad hills. We were now on the way to Dunedin. The farther we went the more cultivated became the country. There were no forests. All was laid out in fields, and much of the ground had been turned over by the plough. I suppose this was for wheat. As we went along the passengers continued to increase. Most of the men wore long leggings, and were very muddy. Although our companions were farmerish and muddy, I was told that some of them were very rich. Scotchmen can make money in any country. One old millionaire that I heard about was a ferryman. His name was Fergusson. Wet or fine, Fergusson was always at his post, ready to pass the time of day with a farmer’s wife, or to answer the ‘Hallo’ of a belated traveller. For a long time it was supposed that Fergusson was poor, and to add a copper or two, or even a shilling, to his usual fare was looked upon as quite the proper thing. Fergusson was always pleasant, and touched his hat to all who came. At last it got rumoured that every week the postman delivered a big envelope at Fergusson’s door, and there was a good deal of speculation as to what this correspondence was about. The big red seal on the envelope indicated that Fergusson’s business was important. This went on for two years, and Fergusson’s business was as great a secret as ever. But there is an end to all things, and so there was to the mystery of big envelopes. It seems that Fergusson could not read, and being as desirous of solving the secret of the envelopes as other people, he called in a friend. Shortly afterwards we heard that the weekly correspondence was Fergusson’s banking account. How many stations he owns we are afraid to say, but he still keeps the ferry. People call him Mr. Fergusson now. Some time before we reached Dunedin, a boy passed through the carriages, and collected our names to be telegraphed ahead for the Dunedin papers. It was a long ride of over twelve hours, and we were glad to find ourselves, about 8 p.m., once more back again in civilization.
THE RABBIT DIFFICULTY EXPLAINED.
Seeing and hearing so much about rabbits when in New Zealand made me anxious to discover the law or laws which governed their multiplication. When I was in the train on my way to Dunedin, I, MacTavish, and MacCallum More tried to investigate the question, but I am sorry to say that we signally failed. MacTavish tried to illustrate it with a pack of cards he carried, beginning by dealing out a king and queen to represent a pair of rabbits. Under each of these he would place six more cards to represent their offspring. But at this point a controversy arose as to how many should be males and how many females. But work as we would, we never seemed to have enough cards to illustrate the thing properly.
After an hour or two of argument, our ideas were so hopelessly entangled, that for relaxation MacCallum tried to teach us a game he called poker.
The rabbit question, however, was only dormant. At Dunedin we were told an intercolonial congress had sat upon the rabbit question. One outcome of their labours was to recommend the various Colonial Governments who had found it impossible to legislate against an enemy they did not understand, to offer a handsome sum to the first person who successfully placed the rabbit question on an intelligent basis.
The prize was won by a Mr. Macalister, a schoolmaster in Dunedin. His treatise on the subject, which is known as ‘The Bunnyian Calculus,’ has since been recommended as a text-book for the junior classes in the various Government schools.