Publicly accessible
URL: http://www.nzetc.org/collections.html
copyright 2008, by Victoria University of Wellington
All unambiguous end-of-line hyphens have been removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to the preceding line.
Some keywords in the header are a local Electronic Text Centre scheme to aid in establishing analytical groupings.
The New Zealand Railways Magazine is on sale through the principal booksellers, or may be obtained post-free for 6/- per annum.
Employees of the Railway Department are invited to forward news items or articles bearing on railway affairs. The aim of contributors should be to supply interesting topical material tending generally towards the betterment of the service.
In all cases where the Administration makes announcements through the medium of this Journal the fact will be clearly indicated.
The Department does not identify itself with any opinions which may be expressed in other portions of the publication, whether appearing over the author's name or under a nom de plume.
Short stories, poetry, pen-and-ink sketches, etc., are invited from the general public upon New Zealand subjects.
Payment for short paragraphs will be made at 2d. a line. Successful contributors will be expected to send in clippings from the Magazine for assessment of the payment due to them.
The Editor cannot undertake the return of Ms. unless accompanied with a stamped and addressed envelope.
All communications should be addressed to The Editor, New Zealand Railways Magazine, Wellington.
I hereby certify that the publisher's lists and other records disclose that the circulation of the “New Zealand Railways Magazine” has not been less than 24,000 copies each issue since April, 1938.
Controller and Auditor-General
10/11/38.
(Photo., Thelma R. Kent.)
Looking across the heavily-wooded slopes to Mt. Christina, Eglinton Valley, South Island.
“Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.”
—Shelley.
The Boat Harbour, Lake Waikaremoana, North Island, New Zealand.
(Photo., J. Cowdrey.)
How the interests of the people of New Zealand are interlocked is at present being explained, with a wealth of technical detail, in the course of a campaign instituted through the Bureau of the Department of Industries and Commerce for the purpose of stimulating and permanently increasing the internal trade of the country.
All who have had an opportunity to see the development of factory production in New Zealand are aware of the extraordinary advance in technical skill and mechanical efficiency recorded.
In some respects the comparatively late development of her secondary industries generally has been to New Zealand's advantage. It has been found, in the course of investigation by competent authorities, that through the adoption of the latest machinery and methods of manufacture, New Zealand manufacturers and artisans are turning out articles superior in many respects to the products of countries where such manufactures have been standardised for many years.
With a universally high standard of education, a healthy climate, good physique, and mental endowments that reflect the best elements of the British stock from which they spring, New Zealanders are particularly well-equipped to win in any competitive pursuit upon which they care to engage. And they have—especially those of the younger generation—a highly developed mechanical faculty which accounts for their success as inventors and operatives.
Further confidence in each other's work, and interest to ask for and try New Zealand products for comparison with imported articles, is all that is required to ensure a very large increase in the use of New Zealand's products by New Zealand's people.
It can well be a good New Year resolution for New Zealanders to buy with the money earned in serving New Zealanders the goods these same New Zealanders produce. No matter how fast the internal circulation of goods and services in this way may be, it can never impoverish the country, but will rather help to add to the richness and joy of living and to the advantages which New Zealanders already possess as a natural heritage.
One side of New Zealand's economic development which cannot be assailed from any angle is that of its tourist trade.
There are no international complications involved in the travel of people from overseas through our country. No economic resource is exhausted when other people look at our scenery, nor are we making any demands upon the possibly limited stocks available elsewhere when folk from other lands pay us a call.
In these circumstances New Zealanders should use every contact they have as a means for attracting travellers and settlers, for not only have we lots of scenery practically going to waste at present, but the country can only grow better and better as there are more and more people to help make it grow.
Every railwayman, particularly those with some years of service, will, I feel sure, experience a sense of satisfaction and pride in the progress made by the Department during the past year; and in making comparisons with the years that have gone before will realise that 1938 reaches a point of progress in the history of the Railways of the Dominion indicating the high-water mark of their achievement to date.
As we all know, the service has had its ups and downs in the seventy-five years since the first section was opened in 1863—periods of expansion and periods of contraction following largely the fluctuations occurring in the general field of the Dominion's economic development; but with a full knowledge of what has taken place in the past, I may fairly claim that there has been more change for the better in railway affairs during the past three years, of which 1938 provides a fitting climax, than in any equivalent period in the past; and this applies both to the range and quality of transport provided for the public by the Department, and to the conditions under which the employees of the Department work.
We enter upon 1939 with the knowledge that, as the result of the capital expenditure in recent years upon buildings, track improvements, rolling-stock, signalling, road services and other important phases of the Department's work, we have never been better equipped to meet the transport needs of the community—with a substantial portion of the rolling-stock programme still to complete. In these circumstances it rests with each railwayman to do his part, by taking advantage of the improvements effected, and to help in every possible way to popularise the service by the care, courtesy and attention he gives to the Department's customers.
At the same time I would ask members of the staff to exercise the greatest care in all matters relating to expenditure: to make the most economical use of the stores and other materials provided, and the best use of the existing facilities for the conduct of the Department's business.
I anticipate that 1939 will see a marked extension of air-conditioning on express trains, and, judging by the opinions expressed regarding the vehicles of this kind already in service, the new cars are very popular indeed. We may also feel confident of public appreciation regarding the latest type of seating now being introduced on principal trains. More rail-cars will also be running during 1939. These will be of the new Standard type which have already undergone extensive trials with outstanding success. All this means greatly increased satisfaction to passengers and is fortunately available in time for the Centennial Exhibition period which is to commence in November.
There has also been a great acceleration in the provision of more powerful locomotives and in the construction of new and improved rolling-stock for goods and livestock traffic.
Generally, the outlook for 1939 can be regarded as particularly bright from the railway operating viewpoint, and in the opportunities of service to the public which railwaymen will be afforded.
General Manager.
The Melbourne Cup is the greatest race in the Southern Hemisphere, and one of the half-dozen richest equine contests on earth. Interest in it is world-wide. I remember Pat Cotter, an American writer who had lived long in Alaska, telling me of the grizzled Australian prospectors simmering with excitement in the first week of November. “They waited for the Yukon river boats with the news of the Melbourne Cup winner,” he said, “and pokes of gold dust changed hands all round the Arctic Circle.”
The first Cup was in 1861, the prize-money £200, and four thousand people attended. In four years’ time a trophy of plate was added, and the added prize-money slowly rose to £1,000.
Then the boom times came, and when the New Zealand horse, Carbine won, the stake was £10,000, and there was a cup worth £150. The list of prize-moneys provides almost an index to the financial changes in Australia's condition. As depressions and booms came and went, the Melbourne Cup stake ran up and down, falling to £3,000 and rising to £10,000 and a £200 cup.
The race is for two miles, and naturally attracts the best horses in Australia and New Zealand, and this article will try to show how the glorious record of New Zealand horses in the race provides a real romance. It definitely assists the claim that New Zealand is fitted to be the thoroughbred farm of the whole world. It can be said, too, that the evolution of the New Zealand racehorse is convincing proof that the British race has a way of reproducing its distinctive characteristics, however far Anglo-Saxons and their Celtic brothers wander to make a new Homeland. If the ancient St. Bede, or gay King Charles II could come back to Trentham or Ellerslie, or better still, see the picnic races at Castlepoint, they would feel at home, knowing they were among British folk.
The first victory of a New Zealander in the Melbourne Cup was that of Martini Henry, a three-year-old colt who was a picture of equine perfection.
The last winner, fifty-five years later, was Catalogue, the veteran of the field who, on looks, would not win a prize at a country show. He was eight years of age, and no horse of that degree of antiquity had won the race for seventy-three years.
Experts of all degrees have been explaining away his runaway victory ever since the race, but assuming that Catalogue can smile, he should be wearing a contented grin from daylight to dark. He broke other records: he was the first horse ever to win with a No. 5 saddle cloth; he was the first horse ever to land this rich prize, to be trained by a woman; he had never won at more than a mile and a-quarter. This fact, that he was regarded as a “non-stayer,” made him a wild outsider in this race, but students of breeding would have pointed out that he had a good strain of Spearmint, who was the son of Carbine and the grandson of Musket. Among these believers was his New Zealand woman trainer, Mrs. Alan Macdonald, better known as “Granny Maher.” It is scientific truth that the Musket infusion of blood stands first in the world to-day for imparting the quality of endurance. As a matter of fact, the first three horses in the last Melbourne Cup, Catalogue, Bourbon and Ortelle's Star, all claimed a strain of Spearmint.
Now the sons and daughters of Musket are New Zealand's own possessions, born and bred in the pretty Sylvia Park stud farm close to Auckland. They changed the landscape of racehorse breeding all over the world.
We are inclined to overlook the fact that the settlement of Australia was a good half-century older than New Zealand. It is noteworthy, however, that the New Zealand Cup is only four years younger than the Melbourne Cup, and that the New Zealand Derby was established five years before the A.J.C. Derby and only four years after the Victorian race.
The breeding of the thoroughbred horse was handled in a planned and systematic fashion from the very first years of our settlement; our stud book, the equine Debrett, was in comprehensive book form before the first Australian compilation.
Our British forebears contained many men who had horse wisdom, and loved the thoroughbred. With unfailing care they watched developments in England, and the arrival in Australia of good sires and mares imported by the second
His importation of Emma at the same time as Flora McIvor was one of the factors in the extraordinary preservation of the “No. 18” family in New Zealand. It has faded in England, and desperate attempts are being made to revive it. We got such demi-gods among thoroughbreds, as Multiform, from this line.
A similar work was later carried on in Canterbury by Mr. G. G. Stead. He brought in a great son of Yattendon in St. George, and was steadily importing high-class mares.
The stage had been expertly set, but strangely enough the Auckland province was to provide the particular scene for the appearance of the star who was to make horse-breeding in New Zealand a national industry of world importance.
Musket was the leading actor in this drama. This English horse belonged to the eccentric Lord Glasgow, who had many queer habits, from refusing to name his mares, to having an annual round-up of yearlings for trial, the bad performers being condemned to be shot out of hand. Musket was among the doomed, and was only reprieved at the request of a horseman who had ridden him in work. Musket had a brilliant English career, beating all the best in the land, including the Derby winner, Blue Gown.
Lord Glasgow died, leaving a will as eccentric as himself, and great ingenuity had to be exercised when a trustee's death caused a dispersal sale. The goddess of high chance threw New Zealand a gift of priceless value. Musket, at the sale, for some reason went for about a quarter of his real value, and he was bought by Mr. Russell for a Waikato firm who wanted him to improve the standard of carriage horses! Mr. Russel actually tried to sell Musket on the way out, but he was landed from the appropriately named steamer “Hero” in February, 1879.
Soon after this, the Auckland Stud Company was formed and the chairman, Major Walmsley, impressed by the new English importation, bought out the Waikato Company, and so Musket came to Sylvia Park, to make New Zealand famous for all time in the annals of the world's thoroughbred horses.
Here arose the beginnings of New Zealand's connection with the great race across the Tasman Sea, the Melbourne Cup. In the usual New Zealand fashion that I have described, the Auckland Stud Coy. managers looked carefully at Australian equine ranks for suitable matrons. Among these was a fifteen-year-old mare called Julia, and she was promptly mated with Musket. The great figure in Australian racing in the ‘70's was the Honourable James White. His Melbourne Cup and Derby double with Chester in 1877 nearly broke the Ring, and his horses dominated the classic races of those days.
Towards the end of 1881, he was on his way to England, via San Francisco, and while the ship was waiting in Auckland, he slipped out to see Sylvia, whom he had admired in Australia. He was impressed with Musket, and delighted with Sylvia's colt by him, for whom he promptly made an offer. Major Walmsley, however, had English ideas about prices, and stuck hard and fast to the immense and unthinkable price of 1,250 guineas, at that time, the highest price ever paid for a yearling outside of England. The proverbial luck of the plucky purchaser stayed fast, and the Hon. James White thus became
Now the world of racing sat up and began to take notice of New Zealand. With almost amusing swiftness, the Sylvia Park folk entered the Australian market, sending over a batch of youngsters for the sales held three months after Martini Henry's Melbourne Cup. Once again, the Hon. James White entered the lists and his top bid gave him another son of Musket, Nordenfeldt. Once more the big Australian scored, for this fellow was to become known as the “bull-dog of the turf,” and at Musket's untimely death was destined to become the worthy successor at Sylvia Park of this great sire.
The story of the sons and daughters of Musket was only beginning, and soon they were making New Zealand famous in all the lands of the Seven Seas. In the compass of this article I can only mention a few. Trenton comes first; he was an example of classic equine beauty, he had unexampled endurance, and had a world-wide influence on bloodstock breeding. He will be best remembered in Australia as the sire of a marvellous quartette of mares, Lady Trenton, Auraria (Melbourne Cup winner), Quiver (who dead-heated with Wallace), and lastly the amazing queen of the turf, Wakeful, still rated as the greatest mare of all time under the Southern Cross. Maxim, the next son of Musket, was considered by Sir George Clifford as the greatest horse he had ever seen. He left mighty sons and daughters here, and then carried the New Zealand flag to California, where at the Rancho del Paso stud he was a brilliant success. In passing, I should add as an extra that another son of Musket, in Matchlock, was sold in 1885 to an Indian Prince and his name is still remembered. In this year, however, Carbine was born, and in a couple of years he became a world figure. His record was 43 races, 33 wins, 6 seconds, 3 thirds, and once only unplaced, that time without shoes. His relation, Martini Henry, won the Melbourne Cup in 1883, Trenton had been narrowly beaten in 1885 and 1886, and Carbine himself ran second in 1889, and duly won in 1890.
He was known as “Old Jack” to the worshipping crowds and performed every sort of miracle. He had the gift of drama. He earned all sorts of heavy penalties, was left several times, and again and again swept up to send the roaring crowds hysterical with a win by a head on the post. He seemed to know where the winning post was at least as well as his jockey, and always “knew what to do.”
His mother was Mersey, another mare brought to New Zealand after careful thought. The racecourse deeds of Carbine were wonderful, but negligible in comparison with his achievement in infusing new life into the thoroughbred families of the world. It is a long story, but it is perhaps not an overstatement to say that this strain, originating in New Zealand, remains one of the potent forces in the evolution of the staying racehorse of to-day. French horses lately have been getting an inordinate share of the long-distance races in England, and many experts ascribe this phenomenon to the plentiful supply of the blood lines of Spearmint, Carbine's greatest son, whose Grand Prix victory is still Gallic turf history.
The best filly to-day in England, Rockfel, is a direct descendant of the great New Zealander.
Now I want to repeat that when Carbine went away to Welbeck Abbey, New Zealand was already in possession of a noble array of splendid maternal families of thoroughbred horses.
This provides the enduring foundation of New Zealand breeding success. We should remember that Phar Lap descended from Carbine's granddaughter, Catherine Wheel.
The “head-work” of our sagacious pioneers, the amazing fertility of our grasslands, our limestone downs, our mild climate, all worked together to invest New Zealand with the reputation of producing the highest grade of racehorse.
The Melbourne Cup has already been described as the greatest testing contest of staying horses in this part of the world. Crossing the Tasman is no morning stroll, and consequently the percentage of New Zealand horses is always very small. However, the New Zealand record is a just cause for pride.
We got as far as Carbine's great victory in 1890, carrying the all-time record weight of 10st. 5lbs., and playing with the field. By the way, the account of the race reads very like the performance put up by our last New Zealand winner, Catalogue.
Carbine left the ruck of horses in the straight and with Ramage sitting still, tore past the post with three lengths to spare. Pandemonium broke loose; men and women laughed and wept in frenzy, and the roar of applause sounded like thunder. It was not until 1907 that a New Zealander was to win the race again, but the influence of our horses was still paramount, mainly through the potency of Trenton as a sire. His daughter Auraria won in 1895, his son Revenue in 1901, and Lady Trenton's son Lord Cardigan won in 1903. Bloodshot, a son of Maxim ran second in 1896.
New forces had arrived in New Zealand, among them a representative of St. Simon, possibly the greatest name in British breeding history. It was extraordinary
Two sons of Soult, in Wairiki and Solution, essayed the Melbourne Cup, both were installed hot favourites by the Australian public, who had learned to respect New Zealand contenders, and both failed, Wairiki breaking down hopelessly. However, in 1907, Apologue, again a hot favourite, won nicely for Mr. “Bob” Cleland, of Auckland, and the Queen City had a wonderful afternoon when the news came through. The habit of making New Zealanders favourite had some disastrous results; among the failures were Reputation, in 1915; The Cypher, in 1922; Sir Simper and Nightly, in 1934; Sir Regent, in 1937; and, of course, the brilliant Royal Chief in Catalogue's race. This led to the caption everywhere “Wrong New Zealander Wins Melbourne Cup.” Phar Lap was, of course, favourite whenever he started and twice he let his horde of followers down. However, his deeds need no recalling here. He truly earned the title of “world beater.” The most heart-breaking happening was the misfortune of Concentrate. I heard the account of this race on the radio and, just as the announcer excitedly said “Here comes Concentrate with a wet sail—it's all over,” the New Zealander stopped almost to a walk and even then struggled into third place. The rest of the story is that Nightmarch won in 1929, Phar Lap in 1930, Gaine Carrington was third in 1932, Wotan won in 1936, Willie Win ran second in 1937, and our ancient relic, Catalogue, won this year.
Only three horses in the past dozen years won with a greater weight than Catalogue, and they were Nightmarch, Phar Lap and Peter Pan.
It is a comforting recital, but in the pure tests of merit, the weight-for-age races, the performance of New Zealand horses is still more exciting.
Every racing enthusiast would like to own a Derby winner. In the sale ring, wealthy bidders pay for a likely youngster prices that have no relation to his possible earnings.
The New Zealand record in the richest of these races in Australia, the A.J.C. Derby, is most intersting.
Naturally, Musket blood played an important part in early times. Nordenfeldt won in 1885, Martini Henry's son, Singapore, in 1889; Trenton's son, Trenchant, in 1893. Then Lochiel's son, Bonnie Scotland, won next year for Spencer Gollan, who took our horse Moifaa home to England to win the Grand National. Carbine then came on the scene and his two sons, Charge and Amberite collected in 1896 and 1897, and then there was a gap to Noctuiform, in 1906. Our stud-masters in New Zealand had been carrying steadily on in the traditions of their forebears, and in 1916 the deluge started. From 1916, when Kilboy won, to 1923, three New Zealand-bred horses,
(Continued on page 56).
Aboard the Rotorua Express: The man smoking the cherrywood said to his friend: “Never see you with a pipe now, old bird. Chucked it? “Had to! Throat irritation. Doctor said ‘stop.’ So I stopped.” “Ever try the toasted New Zealand tobacco?” “No. Any different from the ordinary brands?” “It can give the ordinary brands 70 in a 100 (to put it in the language of billiards), and then run out in a single break.” “How does it differ from the ordinary brands?” “To begin with it contains very little nicotine. That's why it doesn't irritate the throat or burn the tongue. You can smoke it all day and then some. It can't hurt you. Secondly it has an unrivalled flavour and a matchless bouquet. The secret of its excellence is that it's toasted! Yes. There are various brands. You try one, and I'll wager you'll soon be smoking that old pipe of yours again.” He said he would! The five brands are: Navy Cut No. 3, Cavendish, Cut Plug No. 10, Desert Gold and Riverhead Gold.*
A Kind Maori friend successfully spread a story in the Northland—the Kauriland of old romance—that I was a re-incarnation of a famous chief whose home was in Hawaiki long ages ago. So the Maori heart and hand went out to me in places of peace beyond the rustle and bustle of Auckland—Albert Edward Glover's “fair Queen City of the North which laves her feet in the blue and sparkling waters of the Waitemata.”
* * *
A tribe appointed three of its members as helpful companions, skilled in Polynesian story-telling and in arts and crafts for the making of cosy camps and preparing meals far away from all bugbears of cost of living.
There may be people in the Northland who worry about tallies of butterfat, tallow, hides and pelts, but I did not meet them. Human fuming and fussing would seem absurd in that land where the clock's pointed fingers are not constant goads as they are in less happy regions.
This sense of escape from the hurly-burly of life is partly due to the mild climate and partly to the merging of the Maori into the European in various localities. Even a slight tincture of Maori blood tends to an increase of philosophy and mellowness of temperament. It adds beauty to the eyes of girls and women and puts melody in their voices.
* * *
Mated tuis and bell-birds were singing their first love songs of spring when we camped in a ferny dell by a murmuring rill beyond Hokianga. From a secret creek, a favourite haunt of whitebait, we could easily scoop up half a bucket of the fish for breakfast.
One day I was taken in a canoe from Rawene up the Taheke Creek, a magic mirror in which weeping willows admire their tresses. Suddenly the little craft was moored by some steps which seemed to trickle out of a thicket. Up we went—and there it was, an inn of heart's desire, such a one as would have gladdened Gilbert Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc for one of their merry week-ends.
* * *
We rode horses by easy stages to the Bay of Islands. No wild galloping—just a gentle jogging. Word had gone ahead that we were on the march. So in villages Maoris sang and danced for us and called blessings upon us.
Indeed, everything was done to a song. My Maori attendants built the camps and paddled to chants of other days.
Here and there our gaze fell upon ancient fruit-trees, survivors of orchards planted by the early missionaries. No sign of a house; just a few old apple and pear trees mingled with kowhais and puriris which had sprung up near the aliens, as if to comfort them in their loneliness. What stories those fruit-trees could tell of homes which have vanished! I thought of verses of Madison Cawein:—
* * *
We had a week at the head of a tidal creek in the Bay of Islands.
Here every place is a piece of history. One moonlit night a soft crooning of the ebb tide on the shore came to me as a lament for other days. Mingled with the sad sighing of phosphorescent waters was the plaintive trilling of night crickets.
In a reverie I heard again the chanties
Hazard.
To-day Russell is a rival of Akaroa as a place of peace. A cock-crow at dawn, waking people for work, is an impertinence by those restful shores. Truly do these lines of Swinburne apply to Russell:—
* * *
On the way to Whangarei I had some meditations by the tangled stands of mangroves which help to make the Northland different from any other part of New Zealand. They stir memories of old stories of boyhood's days—the escape of tortured slaves or other victims of cruelty and their lurking in tropical jungles of mangroves. They hid in peril of horrible fevers and crocodiles until a miracle swished them to safety.
But, of course, the mangroves of Northland are free from pests. They flourish in clean coastal waters and at the mouths of creeks where the salty tides can play.
Away we went across the peninsula to the Trounson Kauri Park with a good supply of cooked food and raw fruit, for it is almost a sacrilege to light a match for any purpose in that sanctuary. We were chatting about light things when we entered the forest, but soon silence came upon us. The wagging of a tongue, except in noble song or hymn, is ridiculous in that Temple of Nature, with its great canopy of green upheld by huge columns. In the musical murmur of the wind in the leafy heights, one could easily imagine the trees grieving for their brethren who had fallen before axe and saw, a sacrifice to settlement and commerce.
The estimated age of one Kauri King is more than twenty centuries. It was saluted by the seasons when Julius Caesar and his legions invaded Britain.
I remembered well a remark of Mr. Guthrie-Smith at his Tutira homestead two years ago in a chat about the main marvels of New Zealand. His vote was cast for a kauri forest and the vast night-flight of mutton-birds to an islet by Stewart Island.
No wonder that in the old Maori religion those tremendous trunks were regarded as limbs of the forest god Tane. What a pity that so many of them have been put to base uses! Perhaps some of the sawdust went into sausages long ago.
* * *
In another native forest, where we tarried for a few days, my thoughts wandered to Elsdon Best, who died some years ago. Many a time he camped alone in such woods, but never was he lonely.
“Loneliness is yet unknown to me, though solitude I know full well,” he once wrote. “Maybe, in the days that lie before, when books and memory fail me, when materials for writing are not, when I can no longer look upon the grand old forest, its every denizen, the gnarled, stunted growth of storm-lashed trunks, the stately peaks of terrace and valley, the wealth of shrubs and ferns; when I can no longer see to grope in dank spots for minute specimens of the molluscan fauna, nor hear the song of forest birds and the swirling waters of mountain streams, when the sun shines not and the mind refuses to follow the old discipline—then it may be that I shall know loneliness, and that will be a very good time to lift the trail of Maruiwi, the trail which Maui of old broke out in days when the world was young.”
* * *
My guides made camps in several sheltered green valleys by the sea, delightful abodes of the kind which inspired James Russell Lowell for some lines of his “Sirens”:—
* * *
And yet into such Arcadias and Lands of Beulah one may be induced to receive an occasional deputation of bohemian writers, artists and musicians. Of course, they are not allowed a long stay.
[I made a mild protest when I was shown the drawing of the tail-piece of this meandering article. “Oh, let it go,” the editor said with a broad smile which threatened to turn into hearty laughter. “Besides, what else could you expect from ‘Thirteenth Cluers'? Anyhow, it's too late for an alteration.” Well, well … .]
[All Rights Reserved.]
(From a photograph in Auckland, 1886)
Paratene te Manu, the ancient warrior of Ngati-Wai.
It was in the grey-and-rose dawn that our little Nautilus lay-to off the Island one summer morning of long ago, and we pulled over the long ground-swell in the dinghy and watched our chance between the seas to jump ashore on the rugged boulder bank, where rocks rolled and crunched upon each other with every in-send of the surf. But even before we dropped into the dinghy we heard the birds, above the growling noises of the coast. The tui and the bell-bird were chanting away at morning song—I suppose hundreds of them—in the pohutukawa trees and the manuka thickets that fringed the shore.
The sun had not yet shown himself over the sea-rim; a long blanket of mist swathed the mountain tops, and the air was raw and damp; but every bird in the Maori groves was piping and gurgling and bell-ringing. They were all around us when we landed, fluttering and hopping about the branches, some of them sucking the honey from the flowers, hanging to the twigs—often upside down—others seeming to give all their energies to the morning's music. It was an entrancing hour—a dawntime pleasure that I have recaptured in part many times since, but only once in such overwhelming measure, and that was in a deep valley among the forest ranges of the Urewera Country. What pen can reproduce the enchantment of such moments? Sometimes a New Zealand poet comes near it, as in Satchell's rime of a bell-bird's song:
Sometimes a musician attempts to reproduce it. But what flute, what pipe, what human voice can faithfully give us even those three deep, rich, dropping notes of the tui, “the essence of pure sound,” that the Northern Maoris interpret as “Pa-re-ro”?
But here we are under the Christmas-trees of Hauturu Island, otherwise the Little Barrier, high-peaked, densely-timbered, walled with dark cliffs of volcanic rock, dissected by gorges and gullies, with high steep ridges rising between like green-garmented ribs. Here, fifteen miles from the mainland, moated by the ocean, harbourless, bayless, wooded as it was a thousand years ago, fog-draped, surf-washed—here is the most secure of all New Zealand's many island homes set apart as national refuge-places for the native birds. It is, one is free to fancy, the Garden of Eden all over again, without the Serpent—at any rate, an Eden for the Maori birds, and in particular for those members of the bush bird-family that are too quickly disappearing from the mainland before the direct attacks of animal pests and the indirect, but even more deadly, destroying march of the settler and the bushfeller.
You can see from the Auckland hills the faint blue summit of Hauturu, like a serrated whaleback, the loftiest island in the waters of the Hauraki; it looks a place of faerydom from afar, a shadow of an island. Nearer, it looms blue-black of colour, even grim of contour; it looks a palisaded hold, this bold steep-to isle, and it is fortunate for the birds that it is so rough and forbidding of approach. You find it different when you land, but—supposing you have official sanction to visit it—the difficulty is to make that landing. We were weather-bound in Little Omaha Cove for two days before a favourable slant and comparatively smooth seas gave us the chance that morning, wn Eden of birds; though there is no serpent, it is not without its curses—the pakeha rat and the wild cat—and, I suppose there were such prowling creatures even in Paradise. Isle of Aves—yes, and pleasanter even than the Last Buccaneer's beside the Spanish Main, for those tropic birds may be gorgeous of plumage, but they are unmusical, croaking things by comparison with our sober-coated tui and bellbird, and the little riroriro of Alan Mulgan's praise, the grey warbler, whose plaintive yet cheery trill always seems only half-finished—
There were more than birds to interest one on Hauturu in those days. There was the Maori life, soon to vanish for ever from this isle of beauty and legend. It was in 1895, and a little Maori hapu, the Ngati-Wai, still lived on the island. My old coastwise-sailor acquaintance, Tenetahi, and his wife, Rahui te Kiri—as good a sailorman as himself—were the principal people of the few families who composed the owning hapu. We visited them in their homes, where the Government custodian now has his house on the flat at the foot of the forested hills. This place was renowned for its sweet potatoes, which grew to perfection in the good warm soil formed by the decomposition of the volcanic rocks. Around the whares were those kumara gardens, the maize and tobacco plots, and the peach trees. The cultivation patches were fenced in with manuka; the pig-proof fences were crossed by rustic stiles.
There, under the peach-trees, I talked with a wonderful ancient relic of the cannibal days, the venerable warrior Paratene te Manu, grim, black-tattooed, spear-scarred. His life-story would have filled a book. His memory went back to the days of Hongi; in his youth he had voyaged in Ngapuhi war-canoes many times along the coast, even as far away as the Mahia Peninsula, shooting and tomahawking and eating “long-pig.” He was a youthful musketeer in Hongi's army that conquered the Tamaki isthmus and all the Hauraki shores in the early Eighteen-twenties. Later he followed Hongi's warrior lieutenant and successor, Te Wera, in many a raid.
The ancient man—he must have been over ninety years of age, he said he was a hundred—was not happy at the prospect of exile from his island home. He had to leave a few months after my visit, for the Government was clearing everything out but the birds—the Ngati-Wai had sold the island to the Crown—but I have always thought it was a pity he could not have been left there to finish his days, among his peaches and his kumara, the tui and the bell-bird.
Our small steam-yacht, the Nautilus, on the trip to the Island in 1895, took officials from Auckland to serve summonses to shift on the die-hards who had repented them of the bargain forced on them by the Government. The venerable Paratene was found sunning himself in front of his wharé. The bent, tattooed old fellow regarded his summons with great aversion. He would not touch it, so it was laid on the ground at his feet, after the Crown Native interpreter had translated it, and he picked up a manuka stake and war-danced feebly around the objectionable blue paper, making jabs at it as if he were spearing a foe. “Go to your Court!” he cried. “I won't go to your Court! This is my island, and I'll never leave it. I shall die on my island!” Then he threw down his stick, having sufficiently exhibited his defiance, and, with a change of tone, made request “Ho mai te tupeka.” He got his tobacco, squatted down at his door, lit up and was happy.
The poor old boy couldn't do the birds much harm; indeed it was not the Maoris who slaughtered the rare species on Hauturu, but mercenary pakehas, who were paid for the work by collectors who called themselves scientists. At least half the interest of the island lay in its Maori life. However, evicted Paratene was; he died at Whangaruru, on the mainland, a few months later. Tenetahi, too, and his wife Rahui te Kiri, were cleared off, and I have always thought that the manner of their clearance was not altogether fair, and that the question of compensation should have been readjusted. Tenetahi was a sailor and a scow-owner, a real old sea-dog. Well, I remember his round, merry face and his rolling walk—and his sturdy wife, too; Rahui was a first-rate sailorman herself. The pair of them, with a tattooed old Maori seaman named Te Maré, and a brace of boys ran their centreboard schooner, the Ida, carrying kauri logs in to the Auckland mills.
So, the Maoris, their few cattle and their goods having been cleared out of the island, the Lands and Survey Dept. set about making it a sanctuary for native birds. Some of us in Auckland thought Tenetahi and his wife should have been appointed custodians,
Looking towards Herekohu Peak, Little Barrier Island.
There was a succession of Government custodians, and the Tourist Dept. took over the charge of the sanctuary. Once there was a pitiful tragedy. A friend of mine, in the Tourist Department of those days, Robert Hunter-Blair, and his newly-made wife were the only people on the island. The husband was taken ill and died in a few hours. The young widow, a frail Scottish lass, waited vainly for assistance, then she contrived heroically to give her dead burial alongside the house, and remained in her solitude for some days until the Government steamer chanced to call on her round of lighthouses and State sanctuaries. It was as in the old Scots ballad, “He Slew My Knight”:
On Kapiti Island, too, a one-time custodian, J. L. Bennett, is buried. He lies beside his wife in a beautiful nook on the eastern shore. The bell-bird and the tui that they loved make music all day long over their sleeping heads.
The story of Hauturu (the name means a fair and steady wind) in Maori tradition goes back several centuries, and many a time it was a rendezvous for war-canoes in the days when every Maori tribe's hand was against its neighbours. For generations it was the home and refuge place of the Ngati-Wai, who—as was solemnly sworn to by the ancient Paratene te Manu in the Native Land Court in Auckland in 1886—had occupied the island from a period “when men were stones.” The Judge dryly remarked of this legendary era that it was “a period unknown to the Court and to modern science”; nevertheless, Ngati-Wai were awarded possession of the island as against the other claimants, the Ngati-Whatua tribe of the mainland. Our present-day landing-place was not safe for canoes, but on the western side of the flat there is a cut in the boulder bank where a passage was made to haul the long war-craft up safely beyond reach of the surf. Pomare, the Bay of Islands chief, whose pa at Otuihu was destroyed by British troops in 1845, once occupied Hauturu; and in the early days of colonisation he seems to have offered the place to an Auckland man, in return for a schooner. But he reckoned without his Ngati-Wai, the tangata-whenua, who decidedly objected to parting with their ancient home. It was a strange, solitary spot that surf-girt home, yet Ngati-Wai loved it as the Western Highlander loved his lone shieling on the misty island.
Later came the pakeha coastwise smuggler, who found the unfrequented part of the south-west corner of Hauturu, despite the awkward landing, a convenient and safe hiding place for un-Customed liquor and tobacco.
Hauturu is just a deeply cut-up mountain range, five and a-half miles long and between. three and four miles in width—a trifle smaller than famous Norfolk Island, but infinitely more broken. Away in there towards the craggy island-top, well-named Herekohu, the peak to which the fog clings closely, are the secure haunts of the shyest and most rare of birds, the hihi, tihe, or tiora, called by pakehas the stitch-bird, and the tieke or saddleback. Kiwi, too, are in there; but they often come down near the home of man these halcyon times.
There is a great contrast between this island and Kapiti. Hauturu is primeval, unspoiled. Kapiti is a once half-ruined place, only just rescued in time; and splendidly regenerated by the Lands Department and its excellent custodians.
All the birds on the island appear to be on the increase. Besides the very plentiful tui and bell-bird, these species are seen in large number: Grey warbler, fantail, whitehead, white-eye, kingfisher, kaka parrot, red-fronted parrakeet, wood-pigeon, pied tit, rifleman (bush wren), robin, morepork owl. The rare
All about the flat at the landing-place, and all around the coast, the grand old Christmas-tree grows, and every tree is a scene of joyous bird-life at this time of the year. There is a place around the coast, Pohutukawa Flat, a terrace several miles from the homestead; there the forest creatures have a honeyed paradise when the trees put out their oriflammes of blossom. Quite fifty birds, chiefly tui and korimako, have been counted on a single pohutukawa tree—fluttering from branch to branch, thrusting their beaks into the flowers for the honey, chattering and chanting bursts of song, the tui for sheer mischief teasing and chasing the bellbird, and being itself chased by the kaka parrot, uttering its harsh, high cry. The little parrakeet, or kakariki—two varieties, the red-fronted and the orange-fronted—flits about the honey tree.
Here, too, in the seaward groves, that far-travelling migrant, the pipiwharauroa, or shining cuckoo, comes to rest in the spring of the year, after its long flight from the tropics, and the ear is rejoiced with its high, clear notes—which the Maori interprets as “Ku-i, Ku-i, whiti-whiti ora, tio-o.” You hear it close to the towns, as well as in the heart of the Maori wilds. I have heard its sweet, shrill whistle alike in remote sanctuaries and in such places as the bluegum plantation alongside the Rotorua railway station.
There is plenty of room for exploration about the flat, with its curious boulder bank thrown up by ages of sea-pounding, and on the hills that rise steeply from the old garden-levels. Up in the mountains that rise into peaks of from 2,000 to 2,400 feet, and along the precipitous coast of this 7,000 acre island—where most of the acres stand on end—it is scrambling, rather than foot-climbing. The island is all sharp ridge and deep gorge, and looking down into the shadowy depths of some of those gulches where the big rata and tawa and kauri in whole groves grow on incredible slants, you wonder how you are going to reach the other side, and wish for some kind of flying machine.
High up on the mountain ridges three kinds of petrels, or mutton-birds, the taiko, titi, and oii of the Maoris, have their nesting places in the earth and under the roots of the big trees. The late Hugh Boscawen (of the Lands and Survey Department in Auckland), who did a lot of exploration on Hauturu, used to say of the mutton-bird that “it tastes something like the smell of a blown-out oil lamp.”
One of the natural-history treasures of the place is the tuatara lizard, which, as on the other off-shore islands, lives in the mutton-birds’ burrows. Another is the pupurangi, the large land snail; I £ und a shell of unusual size on the hills just above the old wharé. There is a remarkable shrub, seldom found on the mainland, the parapara (Pisonia Brunonia), which entraps not only myriads of insects but sometimes small birds, by means of a glutinous fluid similar to bird-lime, which exudes from the flowers and leaves.
The late Robert Nelson, Government Custodian of the Island for many years, gave some very pleasant word-pictures of the bird life in his reports. It is very much the same to-day under Mr. Hargreaves, the Custodian for the Tourist Department. Here is a June scene at the kitchen door, as described by Mr. Nelson:
“It is not unusual to see thirty or forty tuis and bellbirds waiting when the door is opened in the early morning, and as many sitting on the trees near at hand. Mrs. Nelson gives them the house scraps and left-over porridge
When the morning milk was drained from the buckets into a can, the bell-birds were all around. They sat along the rim of the can, trying to drink the milk as it flowed in.
There, too, is the kaka parrot. When food is laid out, he gets the biggest share. He gets away with the crusts of bread, and he often hangs around the kitchen door when it is quite dark, or whiles away his waiting time by walking noisily about on the roof.
What a picture, in the season of ripe fruit, a hundred tui and korimako in a peach tree, singing their loudest and sweetest as they daintily and leisurely enjoyed their meals. They seemed always to have plenty of time for song.
In midsummer, as in the breeding season, the bush everywhere is ringing with the songs of the various species. “Their charming melodies are delightful to hear,” was a typical item in the monthly reports. “An hour in the bush, sitting listening to the birds, is worth far more than the finest concert in the city.”
And, per contra, a note on the pakeha-bird interlopers: “I am glad the imported birds are decreasing. Long may they stay off the island; they are a great pest.” Rats, too, are a curse to the bird-island; they have become too cunning to take the poison laid for them. Wild cats are more easily dealt with. The custodian shot many of them.
In March, when the peaches and figs in the garden are ripe, all the birds, Maori and pakeha congregate in the trees. A Nelsonian diary picture: “The starlings and blackbirds are taking the lion's share of the figs. They are not easily destroyed; they are too much awake, and discern danger all the time they are on the trees. By hiding in the centre of a bush near the fig-trees, I have been able to shoot fifteen in two days. The tui and bellbirds are all busy feeding on the figs, singing and screaming and chasing each other, when all at once quietness reigns. A blackbird makes its appearance and commands the whole tree. The report of the gun and the fallen dead bird do not seem to trouble or frighten the native birds, for in a few seconds the feasting and singing recommence.”
One season Mr. Nelson made a large scarecrow, which drove the foreign birds away. The Maori birds, of course, knew it wasn't meant for them.
The birds would very soon have taken all the grapes one year, when there was a very large crop on the vines, but the custodian's wife saved some for the household and for the winter supply of jelly by filling two cake-tins with the previous season's jelly and some fruit pulp, and setting it out on the paths. In a few minutes there were scores of birds jostling each other around the tins and feeding joyously. The news of the glorious kaikai seemed to have been broadcasted through the bush, for next day there were far greater numbers there, and before a week was out it looked as if every tui and every korimako on the island were gathered there for the feast. The moment one flew away its place was taken by another. Then the tui chased the bellbirds away, and the little fellows came dancing around, waiting an opportunity to get a place on the dish-rims; and there was a kind of queue sitting on the branches of a near-by apple-tree, waiting till the first table had finished.
The native robin, the toutouwai, is a tiny habitant of the bush that shows a pretty confidence in its human protector. It comes up quite close, and, like the fantail, will hop on to a stick if you hold it out. The garden-digger it regards as its benevolent friend, turning up worms for it, and by way of thanks-giving for its meal and its mate's, it rewards the spade-man with song.
The custodian remarked on the kaka's noisiness, a comment that recalled to me an old Maori bush-guide many years ago in the Urewera Country. We were tramping over the ranges from Ruatahuna to Lake Waikaremoana. The shawl-kilted Hauhau mountaineer broke
The Boulder Bank, western landing, Hauturu. The large boulder represents an ancestor of the Ngati-Wai, according to the Maori.
That rara avis, a white kiwi, came into the Hauturu story every once and again. The custodian “got a good look at it by the light of the full moon,” one night and several times afterwards. It seemed a kind of spirit bird, a forest ghost of the night. The Maoris would have tapu'd it thrice over. It is an albino bird caught in the Taupo country and taken to the island. Native folklore of the Tongariro-Taupo district invests white birds, whether tui or pigeon or kiwi, with an aura of sanctity, infringement of which brings dread penalties. “Should a man kill a white bird in these woods,” an old warrior of Ngati-Tuwharetoa told me, “he would be punished by the fairy gods of the mountains and the forests. Te Ririo, the atua of the mountains, would come for him and drag him into the wild lands, and if he survived to reach his home and people again, he would be demented, talking a strange tongue.”
This lone albino of Hauturu struck up acquaintance early with the brown kiwis. At any rate, one day Mr. Nelson, when travelling up a gully, saw a young vari-coloured kiwi; its head feathers were white, its back and breast brown, like the North Island species, its legs light yellow, and the hinder parts white. “It looked pretty,” he wrote in his report. And in the following year he reported again that the al-
(Continued on page 44.)
Ahappy New Year to all! Railwaymen the world over may look back with satisfac-faction on their efforts during 1938. Here in Britain the railways have by no means regained their one-time prosperity, yet bearing in mind the trials and troubles of the past months, our four big transportation systems have made a really admirable showing, and as the New Year develops one and all anticipate more prosperous times. The year that has just drawn to a close will be remembered as one in which the main effort of the railways was concentrated on the speeding-up of both passenger and freight train services. The extended utilisation by the European lines of road transport was another worth-while feature; container movement showed a praiseworthy expansion; while electrification made marked progress in many lands. Streamlined passenger trains have definitely come to stay, these mostly being of the light-weight type. Railcars, too, have a most hopeful future.
Freight business, which dropped off heavily in the latter half of 1938, is now picking up in Britain. Very striking is the progress made in freight handling methods, first and foremost among the improvements effected being the introduction of large numbers of fast goods trains, giving a next day delivery wherever possible. These trains run at average speeds of from 40 to 45 m.p.h., and many cover journeys of over 100 miles non-stop. Container transport has filled a long-felt want. In 1928, the Home railways had 1,574 railroad containers in use. Today, 14,000 containers of various types are in service. Road motor collection and delivery services have grown apace in both city and rural areas. Some 3,000 country stations now enjoy the benefits of these rail-road links. The last few years, too, have seen vast sums of money expended with good results on new warehouses and warehouse equipment. New and more commodious marshalling yards also have been opened at suitable points. The goods wagon stocks of the four groups have been well maintained, and so far this season there has been no serious wagon shortage. Several interesting new types of truck have recently been introduced. On the Great Western, a type of ventilated box car with slotted gauze-covered ends and sides has been provided for the movement of fruit and vegetables. Shock-absorbing wagons are another introduction by the G.W. and L. M. & S. Companies. On the L. and N.E. line orders are now in hand for 1,000 new covered wagons for the conveyance of fish from East Coast ports. The same system, also, is building in its own shops an interesting type of trolley wagon, designed to carry a load of 120 tons. This design is intended for use in the movement of heavy machinery without transhipment to continental destinations by way of the Harwich-Zeebrugge train-ferry.
Great changes continue to be made to the railway map of Europe. The Austrian Federal Railways have ceased to exist as a separate system, and have been swallowed up in the German National Railways, many elaborate reorganisation schemes having been brought into play. The latest development is the replacement on the Austrian lines of the sleeping and refreshment cars of the International Sleeping Car Company by those of the Mitropa undertaking. The International Company is a Belgian concern, while the Mitropa is a German firm. In Czechoslovakia severe pruning of the railway system has followed the handing over of territory to Germany, Hungary and Poland. Prague continues the head-quarters of the Czech lines, but the inflated railway system which arose out of the Treaty of Versailles is now no more. All these changes in Central Europe naturally affect long-distance train services as well as local, and at the present time the various railway organisations are busy working out new routes and new regulations concerning the running of many of the regular cross-European expresses.
Photo., Emit, London)
Florence-Bologna electrified tracks, Italian State Railways.
Passenger train speeds on the continent of Europe continue to improve. France, in particular, has made tremendous progress in this direction, while maintaining an enviable reputation for safety. Two typical mainlines illustrating recent accelerations are those between Paris and Lyons, and Paris and Bordeaux. From Paris to Lyons, on the P.L.M. system, is a distance of 318 miles. This is covered to-day in 4 hours 50 minutes. On the 365 1/2 miles run from Paris to Bordeaux, the journey time has been cut to 5 hours 44 minutes. Some very fine fast runs with heavy steam trains are found on the Northern Railway, between Paris and Calais, over which route there is operated the world-famous “Golden Arrow” Pullman, providing the shortest and quickest connection between the French and English capitals. Actually, the two fastest timings in regular daily service on the French railways are those of the “Sud Express,” which covers the 70 miles between Poitiers and Angouleme in exactly one hour; and a 68 m.p.h. run from Valence to Avignon. Railcars attain high speeds in daily service on the principal French lines. The Paris-Longeau daily run at 76 1/2 m.p.h., and the 73 m.p.h. flight between Paris and Nancy are two typical timings.
With more settled conditions on the continent, travel between Britain and the mainland of Europe promises to increase very markedly during the coming months. One of the most popular routes to the continent is that operated by the L. & N.E. Railway by way of the port of Harwich. A new luxury boat train, the “Hook Continental,” was recently introduced between Liverpool Street Station, London, and Harwich, running in connection with the railway steamer sailings to and from Holland. The train consists of eleven carriages, having seats for 84 first and 240 second-class passengers, and two Pullman seating 44 first-class passengers. Most of the carriages are of the saloon type, but by a clever arrangement of seats a considerable degree of privacy is assured. Each section in the first-class coaches seats four passengers on revolving chairs which, with specially-designed tables, enable the occupants either to sit facing the table during meals, or to turn away from the table at other times. In the second-class sections, seats for six passengers are provided. The train is electrically lit throughout, and all cooking is performed by electricity. Air-conditioned and sound-proofed, the “Hook Continental” leaves London every evening conveying passengers for all European centres.
Harwich is but one of the many railway-owned ports scattered around our coasts.
Exhibitions of educational and instructional films produced by the L. M. and S. Railway film organisation this winter are being attended by more than 100,000 members of the company's staff. The film units are making a tour of the system, involving exhibitions at 200 different points, and the travelling of approximately 20,000 miles. In the larger centres the films are shown in halls and institutes, while the more remote parts of the line are reached by mobile film units—cinemas on wheels having a theatre capacity of fifty persons per vehicle. Three of these mobile units are in constant use, and five new films have been prepared for the current tour. These cover such subjects as the repair and overhaul of an express steam locomotive at Crewe; scientific research in the railway laboratory at Derby; handling holiday traffic; and the daily work in a locomotive running shed.
Princess! Come, leave the fatted soul of things, Break with the fetish of the tithings owed.
Taste vagabondage sweet, around which clings Full fragrance of the harvest of the road.
—R. Morant.
* * *
* * *
* * *
(Concluded.)
Samuel Enderby having passed away, the firm became known as Enderby Brothers, and consisted of Charles, Henry, and George Enderby. Charles Enderby was a Fellow of the Royal Society; one of the original members, and for several years a Council Member of the Royal Geographical Society, and a Fellow of the Linnaean Society.
Like his father, Charles Enderby instructed his captains to lose no opportunity for exploration and discovery. Not only were the masters of whaling vessels so directed, but more than once ships were sent out largely, if not wholly for the purpose of discovery.
Two of the ships so commissioned were the Tula, commanded by John Biscoe, R.N., and a tiny cutter, the Lively, under Captain Avery. In February, 1831, Biscoe, sailing in the Far South discovered the coast which he named Enderby Land. After wintering in New Zealand he again went south, “and continuing his circumnavigation of
Photo, Thelma R. Kent.)
The Leyell Stream, near Kaikoura.
Also under the auspices of Enderby Brothers, a voyage of great importance was made by John Balleny, master of the schooner Eliza Scott. In 1839 the Eliza Scott, accompanied by the cutter Sabrina, started from New Zealand, and crossing “the Antarctic Circle in longitude 177 E.,” Balleny, unlike former voyagers directed his course to the west instead of the east. He thus discovered Sabrina Land, and a group of islands now known as the Balleny Islands.
These voyages were made at considerable cost to the firm of Enderby Brothers; and the captains and crews of the vessels engaged, suffered hardships so great that Captain Scott—who well knew the Antarctic—describes them as “extraordinary.” “Yet,” he says, “in spite of inconceivable discomforts they struggled on, and it does not appear that any one of them ever turned his course until he was driven to do so by hard necessity.”
As Samuel Enderby had done, so his son Charles urged the speedy colonization of New Zealand as the only way to prevent acts of insubordination on the part of British crews. A further proof of Enderby's wide interests is shown in his being one of the men brought together by Dr. Junius Smith, in 1838, to form the basis of the English and American Steam Navigation Company.
About this time, 1838, whale fishing as a British industry began to decline. The Americans seemed to monopolise the trade. According to Bullen, Englishmen had never been really as much at home in whaling as were the Americans, who employed many hundreds of ships in the whale fishery. England now had to buy whale oil, British whalers being unable to supply all that was required.
In 1846, Charles Enderby received from Mr. T. R. Preston a letter written on behalf of several men connected with British shipping interests, who had become alarmed at this decline in the whaling industry, and at the consequent dependence of Britain on foreign nations for whale oil. Believing that on such matters there was no more competent authority than Enderby they asked him to suggest some method of reviving the whaling industry. In response, Enderby laboured to bring about the re-establishment of the British Southern Whale Fishery, and in this he was successful.
In the following year, 1847, he obtained from the Crown a grant of the Auckland Islands, in recognition of their having been discovered by one of his father's captains—Abram Bristow—and also for other services rendered under the firm's auspices in the Far South. Enderby's intention was to make the Auckland Islands a base for the prosecution of whale fishing, and he published a pamphlet stating his reasons for so doing, and also showing the advantages that the islands offered to settlers. In proof of his faith in the enterprise, he purposed going himself to superintend the establishing of the settlement. “I proceed to the colony,” he said, “with the full support of Her Majesty's Government, and the assurance from the Admiralty that a vessel of war will visit the islands once in every month. The interests of the general body of the settlers, will, therefore, be amply protected.” It was proposed to use, not the usual expensive ships of large tonnage, but vessels suitable for bringing
Though of quite secondary importance, colonization of the islands was expected to proceed along with the establishment of the whaling station; but it would be a whaling colony, the land being cultivated to supply its needs. Such, in brief, was Charles Enderby's plan.
In general, Enderby's proposition met with approval; it was also adversely criticised. A writer in the London Times of November 1848, strongly condemned
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
Lake Gunn, South Island.
The Times, in commenting on this letter, said that Mr. Enderby had been offered facilities for carrying out his scheme, in Australia, Van Diemen's Land, and New Zealand; and it was only a belief in the peculiar fitness of the Auckland Islands which had led to their being chosen. In view of subsequent events, it should be noted that Charles Enderby had been influenced by the opinion of important men who had visited the islands, particularly by that of Sir James Clark Ross, who, in 1840, stayed there for three weeks. Ross, in speaking of Enderby's proposal, said: “In the whole range of the vast Southern Ocean, no spot could be found combining so completely the essential requirements of a whaling station.”
Pending the finalisation of the Auckland Island scheme, Enderby wrote to Sir Henry Pelly—Governor of the Hudson Bay Company—suggesting that Vancouver Island should be made a branch station for the whaling ships from Auckland Island. If this plan were effected, the colonization of Vancouver Island would be assured. Furthermore, a British possession would reap the advantages attendant on the visits of whaling ships; some of which might be employed in trading to India, China, Japan and other places in the Pacific Ocean, thus extending British commerce, as also connecting British interests in those seas.
The Enderby Brothers handed over their grant of the Auckland Islands to the British Southern Whale Fishery Company, and as Charles Enderby had been appointed Lieutenant Governor of the islands, the company deputed him to act as their commissioner there. By about the middle of 1849, arrangements for launching the enterprise were completed. Prior to his departure from England a public dinner was held in Enderby's honour, many men of note being present.
In August, 1849, the first ships left England to found the whaling colony at Auckland Island, bringing with them the Lieutenant Governor, medical men, clerks, a surveyor, a storekeeper, bricklayers, masons, agriculturalists and labourers; with sixteen women and fourteen children. Arriving at their destination in the following December, work was at once commenced. A twelve-roomed house provided for Enderby by the company, was set up; also about twenty-five other houses, and a store. In due time whaling operations were begun.
The settlement had been established for some ten months when Enderby wrote to Earl Grey, stating that all on the island (seventy-two in number, irrespective of seamen) were enjoying good health. The fact that in June gooseberry and currant plants, brought from Hobart Town, were coming into leaf, showed that the season had not been as rigorous as had been expected. This letter was written from Wellington, whither business had brought the Commissioner.
In June of the following year Enderby wrote to the Directors of the Southern Whale Fishery Company, telling them that it was his intention to embark on the Black Dog for New Zealand, one object of the visit being to confer with the Bishop on the subject of engaging a clergyman to reside as Chaplain at Port Ross; and also to obtain a medical man who would assist him (Enderby) as secretary in place of Mr. King, who had resigned. The Commissioner also stated that twelve persons were about to leave the islands, the number remaining would be ninety-five, and to provide animal food for these would require twelve sheep weekly. While in New Zealand he would try to buy 300 sheep; failing to do this on reasonable terms, he would proceed to Two Fold Bay, on the east coast of New Holland.
Enderby arrived at Auckland, New Zealand, on the 29th of August, sailing later for Australia, where he secured the sheep and also such stores as he deemed necessary. He left Sydney for Port Ross on 16th October.
Possibly, Enderby's ideas of the amount of stores necessary for the small colony, were extravagant. Dr. Dakin mentions that in looking through some old letters of Robert Towns—a Sydney shipowner, and also a kind of agent for the London Company—he noted that Towns expressed surprise at the quantities of stores ordered, stating that he couldn't “think of sending a tithe of the order.”
The Directors of the Company were dissatisfied with the reports of matters concerning the settlement, and decided to send Mr. George Dundas, a director, and Mr. T. R. Preston, secretary of the Company, to visit the Auckland Islands and investigate affairs there. In December, 1851, Dundas and Preston, furnished with full powers to act as special commissioners arrived at Port Ross.
Briefly, as a result of the inquiry,
Black Dog. According to Enderby, they threatened to put him in irons if he refused to go with them.
Immediately on the arrival of the Black Dog at Wellington, Enderby brought an action for trespass against Messrs. Dundas and Preston, the case—which occupied three days—being heard before Mr. Justice Stephen. The Welling Independent, after briefly reporting the case, concluded: “The judge ordered that in both cases each party should pay their own costs.”
Enderby appealed to Sir George Grey. Sir George pitied him and showed him much kindness, but felt he had no jurisdiction in Enderby's quarrel with the commissioners.
Later, Enderby wrote to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, seeking redress, but without getting any satisfactory result, as the trouble was entirely between himself and the Company. The Company accused Enderby of mismanagement, while he complained that the mode of managing the Company's affairs and of conducting the fishery had not been carried out according to the plans he had submitted to the public.
The whaling settlement at Auckland Island was a complete failure, a failure which caused great disappointment both at Home and in the Colonies; whaling in the South Seas being considered a trade of national importance. Toward the end of August, 1852, the Earl of Hardwicke arrived at Otago, bringing the remnant of the Southern Whale Fishery's staff, crews, and property, including the Governor's house, which was offered for sale. The Otago Witness contained an article which expressed regret, but not surprise at the abandonment of the settlement. Some portions of Mr. Enderby's plan were considered well worth adopting, but it was a mistake to have chosen the Auckland Islands as a site in order to prevent the desertion of crews; the result had been that the men regarded the island as a prison. Whales were plentiful enough, but the difficulties attending the capture of them were so great, owing to the boisterous weather, that scarcely any oil was obtained.
To many people in Sydney the failure of the scheme brought no surprise; the site being considered bad, and the attempt to colonize—folly. It was said that £30,000 had been spent on buildings and improvements at Port Ross, whereas, had Port Jackson, Newcastle, or Port Stephen been chosen as the whaling base, no more than £2,000 need have been expended on the erection of a store and dwellings for the labourers.
Also instead of a Chief Commissioner, who as Lieutenant-Governor, required a staff, the seven or eight ships employed could have been managed by any Sydney merchant with the help of an extra clerk. Never again would the Southern Whale Fishery be likely to form a base south of Otago.
The evacuation of the settlement was carried out under the supervision of the H.M.S. Fantome, anchored at Port Ross. R. E. Malone—an officer on board the Fantome—wrote an account of affairs in connection with the Company, which, he said, had been misled and had lost heavily. Apparently, Enderby had at least not over-rated the health of the colonists, for, according to Malone, though for the greater part of the year the weather was wet and windy, yet the colonists presented a thriving appearance; a proof that the climate was healthy. The cattle, too, were in good condition.
In the month of June herbage was springing up in all directions, but it grew only to be stunted by the wind. The farms were failures, nothing growing to any size—the turnips resembled miserable radishes.
(Photo. Capt. J. C. Mercer)
An aerial view of Broken River and the Midland Line, Canterbury, South Island.
There had been discontent among the seamen on the whalers. Shortly after the Fantôme's arrival at the islands, the Hardwicke returned from a four months’ cruise, with hardly any whale oil, and the ship's company in a deplorable state from rebellion, sickness, and shortage of food. The captain said he had been for three weeks beating off the island, unable to get to the anchorage.
From all accounts, Charles Enderby was not fitted for the task of governing a colony, planning its food supply, and managing a whaling station. Like many another enterprise, the Southern Whale Fishery colony at Auckland Island failed, chiefly through miscalculation.
Not amid the gloom of failure, but rather with the light of achievement shining on him, would one take leave of Charles Enderby—the man of whom “Scott of the Antarctic” wrote: “To the disinterested exertions of Mr. Charles Enderby and to the zeal of his officers was due the discovery of Graham Land, Enderby Land, Sabrina Land, Kemp Land, and the Balleny Islands.”
All honour to “The Vigorous Enderbys.”
To all of us … perhaps as we smoke our placid pipe in front of the fire … perhaps as we gaze wistfully from the office window on a sunny afternoon … comes that relentless urge … that irrepressible desire … to see what lies just around the corner … beyond the horizon. There seems to be in the mind of every New Zealander the feeling that “the grass is always greener in the other fellow's yard” … a feeling that we must look far afield to discover beauty and the peace of mind that comes with it. So it is, at some time or another, every New Zealander turns his back on his homeland and journeys to far lands, always searching … always seeking that indefinable something … the beauty of Nature. But just as surely so do they return, satiated but unsatisfied, to find that what they sought lies where it always was … at home.
This wanderlust has led the restless feet of New Zealanders to the four corners of the world. To sunny California … to the depths of darkest Africa … to the sim