The standard of law and order maintained in the Island Dominion may be inferred when it is mentioned that there are no keys to doors in some hotels. When shown to a room at one place the absence of a key was brought to the attention of the clerk. "There are no keys to any of the rooms," he explained, in a matter-of-fact manner. Notwithstanding high rents and the high price of gas, hotel expenses were only $1.20 a day.
Pelorus Jack, the pilot fish, lives on the other side of Cook's Straits from Wellington. Like the kea bird and the kiwi, he is in a class by himself—the most remarkable fish in the world. He is perhaps the only pilot that ever lived who knows nothing about the science of navigation. Pelorus Jack belongs to the dolphin family. His length is about 14 feet, and he is bluish-white in color. His home is in Pelorus Sound, and the channel from that body of water to Nelson is very tortuous. Where the channel becomes dangerous for ships, Jack will be found, waiting. When a vessel reaches the mouth of the channel, the dolphin sallies forth, faithfully following the curves of the route, and the ship is steered in accordance with his trail. Outgoing vessels are also met by this remarkable fish, who precedes the ship until it has reached safe water. The Maoris aver that Jack has lived in these parts for generations, and in their eyes he is an ocean god. An act of Parliament was passed in 1904 protecting all fish of that species in New Zealand waters. As Jack is probably the only fish of his sort living in Cook's Straits, he enjoys the exclusive protection of the legislative decree.
CHAPTER II
Traveling up a steep grade from Wellington, and then down the mountain on the other side of the range, the train pulled away from the coast and headed northward, speeding over the trunk line between the capital and Auckland. Passing through tidy towns, then over trestles spanning rippling streams, through bushy glens, ornamented with attractive fern trees—queen of flora here—which have no superior as a natural adornment, we entered stretches of lava wakes, covered with a bracken growth. To the right, Mount Ruapehu, 9,000 feet high, with its snow-capped summit, came to view; then Mounts Ngauruhoe and Tongariro, lower mountains than Ruapehu, appear. We next came to the King country—Maoriland; later a stop was made at Francton Junction, where a change of cars was made, and then headed for Rotorua, the main attraction of the thermal district of New Zealand.
Rotorua is a place where people come on crutches and leaning on walking sticks, and a great number of these, on taking their departure from the sulphur laden air of that district, leave their crutches and walking-sticks behind.
The New Zealand government owns this part of Geyserland, and too much credit cannot be given for the splendid place that has been made out of what was formerly a lava-bestrewn stretch of land on the shore of the blue waters of Lake Rotorua. Broad streets, shaded with beautiful avenues of trees; electric lights, gardens and parks, handsome bath buildings, grounds for light sports and free music every day, are some good things the government furnishes. Board can be had for from $5 to $7 a week, and sulphur baths—the water boiling out of the ground—cost only 12 cents, including a towel. The Rotorua wells have proved heaven-sent blessings to many an afflicted soul. After taking a few baths the flesh assumes a velvety softness.
It was a pleasure to note the improvement in the condition of a crippled person who had reached Rotorua on crutches. In a few days one crutch sufficed; in a similar time that crutch had been discarded; a walking stick next answered the purpose of support, and, finally, with a beaming face and a buoyant heart, that same person, whose legs had been distorted for years from rheumatism or some other cause, could be seen walking about the pretty lawns or shaded streets, unsupported by either stick or crutch, with bright eyes and a radiant countenance, at peace with all mankind, and prepared to face the battle of life again with limber limbs and a grateful heart.
The geysers of Rotorua—real high spouters—cannot compare with those of Yellowstone Park. From the shore of the lake, for half a mile back, the ground was marked at close spaces with gurgling, bubbling and steaming wells, and a strong sulphurous smell is nearly always present. One feature of that section of Geyserland, however, surpasses any of Yellowstone—a large mud pool, called Tikitere. It is really a volcano, and the furious, boiling, bursting, smoking pond of sulphuric mud commands unusual attention.
Half a dozen lakes are linked together, each from five to twelve miles in length, the sides heavily verdured with an evergreen growth, and high hills rising in every direction, making the trip through the lakes very interesting. One of these, Rotomahana, is a boiling body of water. Launches travel through this steam-laden lake with as apparent safety and comfort as through normal waters. The shores contain numerous and deep fissures, steam coming from these openings in great clouds. Both lake and shores present a scene like that after a big fire, when nothing but smoke remains.