|
The s.s. Rotomahana—Opotiki, a military
settlement—A sensible system of emigration—Faults of the.
Sydney system—A chance for capital—The town of Gisborne—
Napier—Public spirit—Projected :'harbour works—
Napier, the Malta of the southern seas —An attenuated
army.
We left Auckland
on a Thursday afternoon in the Rotomahana. She is seldom
driven at her full speed, as the vibration is somewhat
excessive. The catering is first-class, and the army of
stewards are more than ordinarily attentive and obliging.
They are quite military in the precision of their
movements. At the sound of a handbell they range
themselves in position. At another signal the covers are
removed with a flourish. At each fresh signal some fresh
manoeuvre is repeated with a precise exactitude which
would rejoice the heart of a rigid disciplinarian, and
which, in good sooth, contributes much to the comfort of
the passengers, and entirely does away with the usual
scrambling and disorder at meals on shipboard.
At the bottom of
the deep bay which trends southward from Auckland's
spacious harbour, and a little to the westward of East
Cape, lies the small military settlement of Opotiki. It
was formed during the war, each settler in exchange for
the fee simple of twenty acres being liable to military
service. Officers got a proportionately larger
grant. This is now a flourishing community of farmers and
wool-growers.
In some of the
country papers I noticed the advertisements of an
Immigration Society, which seemed to me to be capable of a
useful development in Australia. The idea seemed to be to
encourage lads and lasses to emigrate under the auspices
of the society; and it undertook to provide situations for the adventurous
youths on their arrival in the colony. Farmers and
settlers, desirous of having helps, were invited to send in
applications to the local agents, or to the head
office; and, from what I read, it seemed that in return
for board and tuition in all sorts of country work, giving
"colonial experience," in fact, the new comer was bound
down for a term, to his host and teacher. Doubtless such a
system might be abused. But under careful supervision, and
the direction of genial men of tried probity, would it
not be better than the haphazard no-system which is
pursued in Sydney and elsewhere ? In New South Wales
emigrants are often shamefully treated. Domestic servants,
indeed, are competed for as if they were prize pedigree
stock, but male labourers, artisans, and such like, are
often turned adrift without knowing to what part of the
country they should go for employment. A labour bureau
after the American fashion would be a decided
improvement on the present faulty system.
The scheme I
refer to as being advertised in the New Zealand papers seems to have the
meritof being in accordance with common sense. The Sydney
plan is something as follows:—Here is a young
fellow yearning for an opening in the outer world. His
parents are quite willing* to give him a little money to
start him. They cannot give him much ; but what little
they can scrape together is precious. It is the
hard-earned savings of much self-denial and laborious
years, The youth under our Sydney system arrives in a
strange country after a voyage, during which he has little
kindly supervision, and may be exposed to many sadly
adverse influences. He is cast out on his own resources,
with less thought bestowed on him, than on the bales of
merchandise that travelled out with him in the hold
of the ship. He soon finds out the value of his letters of
introduction. If he apply to a labour agency—a perfectly
irresponsible medium, be it remembered—not even licensed
by the State, or supervised in any official way, he may,
after considerable expense, succeed in finding employment.
He may ? Yes ! But he may not—most often does
not—till his little hoard has vanished, and he is no
longer in a position to refuse any offer. Then begins the
life in the new world, round which was centred so many
roseate hopes and anticipations. The best material in the
world would feel cast down, and the lad does not really
get the best chance. How many get wearied and disheartened
before the battle is well begun ? How many sink in the
fight, and are lost after all the brave hopes and
worthy resolves? But suppose now that on his arrival he
was met and welcomed by some good cheery inspector of such
a society as I am referring to. His luggage is looked
after for him. He is directed to the lodging guaranteed by
the society. He has a list of vacancies put before him,
every information as to locality, mode of life, prospects
of success in this or that, are clearly and kindly
explained to him. His money, if he have any, is put safely
out at interest for him. His selection is made. He knows
he has some one who will take, an interest in him. He
acquires his experience, and at the end of two years'
time, who can doubt that he is ready to start a career for
himself, and become a valuable acquisition to the State?
Methinks there's
room for philanthropic, patriotic Australians doing something in this
direction, which ought to have been done long ago, which
Dr. Lang (fine old Great Heart!) did do, and which
the societies I speak of are doing now, in connection with
immigration to New Zealand.
I am aware that
heartless scoundrels have acted nefariously under the
guise of doing all that I suggest; but, under directors of
known character, such a scheme would, I think, be a
laudable and patriotic, and, I verily believe, might be
made a profitable venture. The young immigrants would
be in fact apprenticed. In my humble opinion there
is far too little apprenticeship now-a-days in every
department of human effort.
But a truce to
moralizing.
From East Cape
to Gisborne, a distance of about eighty nautical miles,
one sees but a wild mountainous country, with a
precipitous, rugged coast. This country is as yet exclusively
in the hands of natives, if we except the two widely-
separated hamlets at Tologa Bay and Waiapu. There
is no farming. The settlers subsist by their trade, and
barter with the natives. The Maoris themselves
cultivate—chiefly maize and potatoes, and a very little
wheat at times. This they thresh out in primitive style by
the aid of their horses' hoofs. Native wheat in New
Zealand can be known, as native indigo is, in India—by
the dirt in the samples.
There is a large
amount of fine forest-land and many rich fertile valleys
inland waiting exploitation, but the coast is very barren. There is a
proposal before the speculative public now to form
a great popular syndicate and acquire this tract of
country by purchase, and then settle it on a communistic plan. Here's a
chance for the disciples of Henry George. I would like to
see it tried.
Turning round
Gable End Foreland, a sheer abrupt rocky face like the
gable of a mighty house, a formation, as one can see by
the detached fragments and hummocks in the sea at its base,
evidently the result of some tremendous landslip, we enter Poverty
Bay, in the mid circumference of which nestles the neat and thriving little
town of Gisborne.
The roadstead is
exposed to south-east gales, and a poor stranded barque,
lying battered and broken on the strand, with the exultant
waves hungrily licking her riven ribs, proved conclusively
how dangerous these can' be at times. Even in this little
coastal town, public spirit is ahead of Sydney in at least one respect.
Gisborne can boast of a Harbour Board. A loan has been proposed, and plans
are already prepared, and will shortly be proceeded with, for the formation
of a harbour which will render the anchorage safe at all times. On the
substantial wharf are commodious sheds. The streets are wide, planted with
shade-trees, and the embankment of the river is strengthened with
flourishing rows of pollard poplars. The river winds picturesquely past,
skirting the town, and the bridges, footpaths, &c., were all in capital
order. There is a capital hotel, kept by Wilson, and many really highclass-
looking shops.
A cheese factory
has been started here lately, and the cheese^ I tasted was
exquisite in flavour. There is a future for Gisborne. The
back country contains magnificent pastures, and the people
seem wideawake. The getting ashore was a hazardous
feat. The sea was high. The steam launch bobbed about like
a cork. The gangway was slung from the ship, and was now
high in mid-air, now banging on the funnel, or deck, or
cabin hatch of the launch. Luckily we all got
ashore and back to the steamer again without accident; and
in the evening away we steamed for Napier.
We arrived off
Napier, in Hawke's Bay, very early, and caught the first
launch. The offing here is too exposed to south-east
winds; but here, too, the Harbour Board is vigilant and
active. It is indeed pleasant to see the signs of so much enterprise and
public spirit. The sea-shore here is fringed with shifting banks of shingle,
which has been carried down from the main range by the swift rivers that
tear through the gorges and denude the hill country, on a scale which is,
perhaps, paralleled nowhere else on the face of our globe. This moving
shingle is carried up by the currents, which set strongly into the bay, and
many leagues of lagoon which formerly existed have been silted up by the sea
action. In fact, the bold spit, behind which lies the town itself, was
formerly an island ; and tradition has it, that Captain Cook sailed between
the spit, which was then called Scinde Island, and the mainland, over the
very spot on which is now built the trim, bustling town. Port Ahuriri, the
merchants' centre, with all its great wool and produce stores, and
commodious warehouses, is built on reclamations from the marsh. On the
shingle bars, in fact, which have been cast up by the ocean currents. There
is still a great body of water in the lagoon inland, and this creates a very
powerful scour, sufficient to keep the channel deep and open with the aid of
a dredge, which is constantly at work. The workmen employed by the Harbour
Board are kept busily engaged raking out and stacking up the great round
water-worn boulders, which the tides are perpetually casting on the bank at
the mouth of the harbour. Acting under reliable engineering advice, the
board propose to build out a long breakwater into the deep, which would turn
the ocean currents, and with the strong natural scour from the lagoon,
would, it is believed, keep the harbour clear. The plans provide for a
harbour with a depth of thirty-six feet, as the tides are high here.
It was proposed
to expend 300,0001, on this important work. In Parliament
the motion was scouted. But the Napierites were
determined. The prejudices of party, the divisions of
cliques, the differences of creeds, were all forgotten.
Common cause was made, and after a long and sore
struggle, the bill was passed, and very shortly the work
will be commenced. Already there is an enormous
meat-preserving industry flourishing at Tomoana, where the
cleanest, most succulent dainties of this description are
turned out in a style not excelled anywhere. Large areas
are now laid down in tobacco, and this bids fair to become
a thriving industry. The Hawke's Bay pastures
and crops are famous throughout Australasia. Cheese
factories are being established. The frozen meat industry
has already attained goodly proportions. Much timber is exported, and the
port is bound to become one of very great importance.
Already the annual exports have reached the
imposing total of 600,000/. More power to the Harbour
Board, say I, and good luck to the plucky, public-spirited
people of Napier.
Since writing,
the plans have been adopted, the contracts let, and the
work has been begun.
These same good
folks of Napier must surely have sturdy legs. They would need them. The
steeps, and stairs, and climbing walks, and bellows-
bursting paths, beat Edinburgh hollow, and would
even, I think, run Malta hard. The town itself, with its
shops, hotels, public buildings, factories, &c., is on the
flat on the landward side of the spit or mountainous
bluff. The merchants' portion, as I have said, is at. Port
Ahuriri on the seaward side of the spit. But the dwellings
of the shopkeepers and merchants are perched high up on
the precipitous sides of the hilly bluff itself. They are
perched aloft at every conceivable altitude, and look down
at you from towering elevations. They crown rugged
heights. They line precipitous gullies. They stick like
limpets to sheer walls of rock. Embowered amid
artificially made gardens they peep at you from shady
foliage in places where you would think it hard for the
trees themselves to keep a foothold. All the villas and houses are of wood,
and really the general effect of this garden crowned,
villa bestrewn, precipitous bluff-land is very pleasing. There are many deep
cuttings leading to the various ravines, and everywhere wooden steps
and winding walks. The extent must be some thousands of
acres, some few miles perhaps, but every spot on which by
any exercise of ingenuity a house could possibly have
been built has been taken advantage of. Napier is,
in fact, the Malta of the southern seas, only with all the
rich accessories of southern vegetation, and the clear,
crisp, glorious freshness of the southern atmosphere.
There is a very
efficient water service. Fire-plugs at every corner. The
streets are clean and the shop fronts bright, and the
municipal watercarts, drawn by really magnificent horses,
actually keep the dust laid. Think of it, ye city magnates
of Sydney!
There is one
hansom cab. The driver is neat, obliging, and moderate in
his charges. He hops down to open the door for his fare.
He cheerfully assists with luggage. In one corner of the
cab is a small hand-bell to draw his attention to the
wants or wishes of his passenger. A neat glass panel is
provided on which to strike matches. A file of the
latest newspapers is ready at your elbow, and in the
remaining corner is a handsome horn-shaped vase, with a
dainty fresh bouquet of flowers, set in water, and
brightening up the interior.
Think of that,
ye long-suffering cab patrons of Sydney! Think of it, ye
much maligned, courteous, gentlemanly, angelic Bayards; ye never-to-
be-forgotten cabbies of Sydney.
The Salvation
Army at the time of our visit to Napier had become
somewhat attenuated. The officers outnumbered the rank and
file in rather too much Mexican fashion. The band
consisted of one very uncertain cornet and two
blasting—not to say blasted—instruments, whose scope
seemed limited to a hard-and-fast slavish adherence to one
monotonous sound, emitted in jerks or slabs as it
were. The sound would have suited a jungly boar with a bad
cough, but was not calculated to rouse any one to
religious fervour. Rather the reverse. The army consisted
of three instrumentalists, five red-coated officers, two
poor girls in poke bonnets, and as far as we could see one
rank and file.
To me it was
really a. melancholy sight. Nobody seemed to take any notice of them. The
row they made was simply exasperating. Yet they
tootled away, and sang hoarsely their one tune (it
never varied, at least during the four days we heard
them), and perambulated the streets with a regularity
which surely merited more recognition than it met with.
On Sunday they
paraded past the churches, rather markedly as I thought,
and seemed defiant in their blare and irreverent noise. It
seemed out of harmony with the quiet Sabbath air of the
place. The Presbyterian Church we attended was
crammed. Every seat was uncomfortably full. The minister,
a plain blunt Scot, with an unmistakable accent smacking of the Grampians,
gave an eloquent extempore sermon on "The persistent
influence of a good man," which was listened to
with marked attention. The singing, to the accompaniment
of a capital organ well played, was excellent, and most
heartily joined in by the crowded congregation. The
English and Roman churches seemed just as well attended as
the Scotch. On the whole, my impression of Napier was that
it is a well-ordered, self-respecting, thriving town ;
and the pleasant and profitable Sabbath we spent
there was not the least enjoyable of the many delightful
days we spent during our trip.
In the afternoon
we wandered along the shingly beach under the overhanging
cliffs, and watched the breakers come rolling in. We
climbed the flagstaff-hill, past the asylum and gaol, and had
pointed out to us the quarry and cutting in the hill,
where the prisoners are sensibly forced to work,
and in part pay for their subsistence, instead of being
pampered and kept in easy idleness at the expense of the
ratepayers.
Back to church
in the evening, where the congregation was just as dense and as attentive as
in the morning. On Tuesday we bade good-bye to
Napier. |
