We may remember noticing, in our first survey, that Cook Strait was much shallower than the surrounding seas, and that there was an evident connexion between 1 the North and South Islands of New Zealand. The strait at one point is narrower than the Strait of Dover, and the connexion between the two sides is still more clear when we look at the structure of the land. The parallel ranges of the Kaikoura Mountains, which we saw in the north-east corner of South Island, reappear on the other side of the strait. We can trace the continuation of the seaward Kaikouras in detached fragments of highland along the east coast of North Island; while inland there runs an unbroken range from the coast at Wellington right up to Cape Runaway at the eastern corner of the Bay of Plenty. So we have a backbone in North Island as well as in South Island, but on the eastern instead of the western side. The result is that the plains on the east are smaller than those in South Island. There is one of these plains behind Wellington and another south of Napier; the railway runs through them and connects up a whole string of small agricultural towns. North of Napier there is no railway, and the country is hilly or mountainous with few settlements. The whole arrangement is similar to that which we have seen in South Island, and is equally dependent on the position and structure of the main mountain backbone. Napier lies 2 at the mouth of an estuary, while Wellington, the only good port in the south of the island, is in a drowned river valley, running up between the seaward spurs of the hills and sheltered by them from the gusty winds of Cook Strait.

As we steam in from the sea we might well imagine 3,4 that we were entering one of the fiords of South Island. The hills come down to the water’s edge so 5 that the city which they shelter is somewhat crowded and cramped for space. The old settlement was on a terrace up the hill; but a modern port must be close to the water-level, so the wharves and warehouses 6 are built largely on land reclaimed from the foreshore. In fact, the foundations are piles driven into the mud, and the buildings in the pictures before us seem to be growing out of the water. Here is the passenger wharf 7 with our steamer, and beyond it the town in the early morning haze. From the tower of the Customs House we can obtain a good idea of the business part of the city. On one side of us are tall buildings, offices, and 8 warehouses; on the other are factories, sheds, and railway sidings, with the harbour and shipping beyond. 9

It would be a rather ugly city except for the terraced hill in the background, where we find some of the finest buildings. If we look closely at some of these, we may be struck by a remarkable feature in their construction; many of them are made entirely of wood. The chief reason for this was the fear of the earthquakes to which the whole of this district is subject. Here is another curious result of the same thing. We see a fine cricket-ground, on which a match is in progress between Australian and New Zealand teams: the ground is in the Basin Reserve, which was originally 10 intended for a dock but was raised in level during the great earthquake of 1848. The Government offices are said to be the largest wooden buildings in the world; 11 notice the curious style of the architecture and contrast it with some of the many public buildings of stone which we saw in Australia. Even the Houses of Parliament are of wood. Parliament meets here, since Wellington is now the capital and seat of Government for the whole Dominion. The present meeting place 12 is the old Government House, since the former Parliamentary Buildings were burnt down in the summer of 1907. Only a fragment of them remains, chiefly the 13 library which we see in this picture; the marble statue in front is that of John Ballance, a former Premier of New Zealand.

Wellington, by its position, is a natural centre for politics and for trade, whether across the ocean or round the coasts; it is the chief port of the island and the starting point of a whole system of railways which has grown outward from it. As a trading centre, Auckland comes a good second, and Lyttelton third.

We have noticed already the railway to Napier, 14 which reminded us somewhat of that in the Canterbury district. The lines running to the north and north-west carry us into an entirely new type of country, and before following them up we must look carefully at the build of the island on the other side of the mountain backbone. Here our experience of South Island will help us little. Instead of a gentle uniform slope to the ocean, we find a confused and bewildering structure. The mountain ranges in the long northern neck and in the Coromandel Peninsula, with its continuing islands, run from north-west to south-east, almost at right angles to our main dividing range. In the broader part of the island these ranges disappear, and we have a broken plateau in the region round Lake Taupo with short ranges lying on it in irregular fashion. We may notice that rivers radiate from this centre in every direction except the east. Finally, in the south-west corner, we see an isolated and symmetrical mountain block. The forces at work here seem to have been very different from those which shaped the long ridges of South Island. The Taupo district will give us the key to the whole: it is volcanic and contains active cones, geysers, and hot springs in great number. There is another contrast: in the south and west of the island we have no fiords or inlets, but long, smooth coasts hollowed out into bights; whereas the north is made up of islands, inlets, and peninsulas. We shall see later that these differences in structure have more than a purely geographical interest, since they have had a most marked influence on the settlement and history of the island.

Let us now start on our journey by rail and observe the country as we pass rapidly through it. At first we travel through open lands with many prosperous-looking farms. Then, as we turn northward on the main trunk line, the scenery gradually changes; there are rugged hills, plateaus with steep broken edges, and rivers running at the bottom of narrow gorges. The whole face of the country looks disturbed and unfinished, and becomes wilder and more desolate as we approach the volcanic district in the centre. At Waiouru, we leave the train and mount a coach which jolts us sadly over the rough roads. From the station, looking northward, we can see in the distance the great cone of Ruapehu, with slopes of dark purple and a 15 dazzling cap of snow upon the summit. Beyond it are other cones, one of which, Ngauruhoe, we see here; 16 and below us, as we drive along, is the Wangaehu, a narrow stream flowing in a dark grey bed, its waters heavily charged with sulphur. Further on is the Waikiti, at the bottom of a deep chasm.

As we draw near to Lake Taupo we notice here and there puffs of steam rising from the scrub at the side of the road, and on the roadway we meet Maoris, tattered and dirty looking. Here we see two of them meeting and 17 saluting one another by touching noses. At last we drive on to the jetty at Tokaanu at the southern end of the lake. There are more Maoris here and on the steam launch which is to take us to the other end. Taupo lies right up on the central volcanic plateau, and we are about to visit part of the great geyser region a short distance from its northern end. It is the largest of the lakes of New Zealand, and is interesting not so much for its beauty, as it has little, but for its close connexion with Maori history. Here is a view 18 of the lake looking back towards Tokaanu and the volcanic range of mountains.

A short drive from the landing place at the northern end brings us to Wairakei, where we walk down a pleasant green valley to view the geysers. First we visit the Champagne Pool, a little lake with steep red 19 walls and deposits of white silica on the lower rocks. Here the water is always bubbling and spouting at a temperature above boiling point. The deposits of silica often form beautiful terraces: the most famous in the world were at Rotomahana, not far from Lake Rotorua which lies at the north end of our district. Here are two pictures of the Rotomahana terraces; notice 20 the people bathing in the hot pools. These great terraces were destroyed by the eruption of Mount Tarawera 21 in 1886, but there are many smaller formations of the same kind to be seen in the district. Here, for 22 instance, is one gradually being built up round the Twin Geysers.

Further down the valley we come to the great Wairakei Geyser which plays for three minutes and then is quiet for eleven. Here is a distant view from 23 the opposite bank of the river; and here we see the geyser at work with great vigour. Notice the curious 24 projection in the foreground of the last picture; it is the trunk of a tree, petrified by the deposit of silica, which is not white here but pale coffee-colour. There is a rainbow, too, in the vapour above, which is unfortunately beyond the capacity of our camera. Other smaller geysers are all round us with deposits of claret-colour, black and yellow, due to the different salts dissolved in the hot water. The ground shakes with the explosions of steam beneath us, and everywhere is heat and vapour; yet all the time the cold waters of the Wairakei River are flowing by within a few feet of us. Scattered over the valley are beautiful lakes and pools of different colours. Here is one of them, the Blue Lake, lying in a corner of an old crater; 25 the perpendicular walls which form the bank in front of us are white striped with orange.

Everywhere in this district volcanic agencies have changed the face of nature. In one part we find long stretches of grey pumice plains, with no vegetation but dusty brown fern. In another part, great deposits of 26 sulphur have been laid down over the earth. It is a country with a beauty of its own, but more attractive to the tourist than to the colonist and settler. It still remains a barrier separating the centres of white settlement and only recently crossed by the trunk line of railway.

It was in this wild country, to which the rail and coach now bring curious visitors from all parts of the world, that not many years ago the Maoris made their last stand against British power. East and west of the lake is the King country of which we hear much in history; except for the tourist it is still in the main left to the Maoris.

In Australia, as we have seen, the real obstacles to settlement were the climate and the character of the country; the aborigines were pushed back into the wilder districts or simply crushed out of existence by the civilisation of the white man. Not so the Maori: he has been a very important element in the life of New Zealand, whether as friend or enemy of the white invader, from the time of the earliest settlers—the whalers of Cook Strait, and the traders, boat-builders, and missionaries of the Bay of Islands which lies on the east coast of the long northern peninsula. The British have been settled in New Zealand barely three-quarters of a century, as the proclamation of annexation dates only from 1840; while the Maori has been in possession for five or six centuries at least and shows no disposition to be crowded out. He was, when first we met him, on a far higher level than the aborigines of Australia.

Who, then, are the Maoris? They are a brown race, a race of seamen who came in their long double canoes from the islands to the north and settled along the neck of North Island—the Fish of Maui as they called it—and at Otago and some few other points in South Island. They brought with them their island customs, especially the division into families and clans which were always fighting among themselves. In New Zealand they found all the materials for their usual mode of existence: timber for their houses and sea-going canoes, native flax for the weaving of clothes, stones for their weapons, as they had no knowledge of metals; and fish everywhere in the rivers, lakes, and seas. So here they built their houses, with little patches of garden for their few vegetables, while the surrounding country was the common possession of the clan, whence they added roots, berries, and wild birds to the larder. Everywhere, in the best positions for defence, were dotted about their fortified enclosures, 27 or pahs, in which they took refuge in the numerous clan feuds. Their religion consisted of a kind of fetichism, and their whole life was subject to the principle of tapu, or taboo as we commonly spell it, a principle common over all this part of the Pacific, and among savage races elsewhere. The Maoris were chivalrous fighters, eloquent orators, and careful preservers of the traditions of their past history. Such was the race which, in the nineteenth century, contested the settlement of the island with us.

Here is a portrait of a chief showing the method of 28 tattooing the face. Here again we see him with his taiaha, or staff of office: he looks civilised enough 29 now; in fact, dressed as he is, he might be mistaken for an Englishman, but doubtless he was very different in the old days. He is nearly ninety years old, and so must have seen the settlement and fighting almost from the very beginning. The building behind the group is a meeting house of the usual Maori shape, though the galvanised iron roof seems scarcely to agree with the elaborate ornamentation of the woodwork. Notice the curious scroll carving on the fetich pillars: it is a favourite design among the Maoris and appears also in the tattooing of their bodies.

We see the Maori here in European dress and we find him entering Parliament and the learned professions, or becoming a successful farmer and grazier in every way as civilised as ourselves. But he is not anxious to be a mere imitator of the white man, as he is intensely proud of his own race and past history. In the remoter districts he still clings to his ancient fashion of life. Here is a typical group, in native dress, and here is the 30 simple private house of a chief. Again we have an interesting portrait of the daughter of a chief, holding 31 her father’s heavy staff; her curious dress is largely made up of the feathers of the wingless Kiwi, which we 32 have already seen.

The Maori dances are among the most interesting of their social customs. We may perhaps see the haka, a survival of the old war-dance, performed by 33 half-clad warriors. It is now a ceremonial dance of welcome. Very different is the poi, the pretty action-dance 34 and song of women and girls, which we may see in the dancing-house of any native village. We notice that the costumes of the dancers are made up of native flax and feathers. The chief native sport is the canoe race, as the water is everything to the Maori. Here is one of the huge dug-out war canoes, hewn from a single 35 tree-trunk, and now becoming somewhat rare; and here again we see his canoe used to mark the grave of a chief. 36

We are now in the district south of the Bay of Plenty and near Lake Rotorua, which we reach by a railway running up the valley of the Thames. Here is a typical scene. In the group before us a woman 37 is smoking a pipe; we may often see the same thing among the peasants of Ireland. Down below, a crowd 38 of Maori children are bathing in the stream, while the tourists watch them from the bridge. The place is called Whakarewarewa, a name rather difficult to pronounce. This is the northern end of the geyser district, which we have already visited. Here we see 39 the tourists again, with their cameras, waiting for the great Wairoa Geyser to start; and here is the geyser 40 playing. Not far away are some Maori women cooking by the steam heat provided by nature. 41

The centre of this region is Lake Rotorua, calm and cold, while all around on its banks are hot springs, geysers and boiling mud-holes. Here, where a few years ago was only bush, or primitive village, a fine modern town 42 has sprung up for the benefit of the tourist in search of beautiful scenery, or the invalid coming to the health-giving waters. Not far away is another lake, Rotomahana, 43 in a huge basin formed by the eruption which destroyed the famous terraces. Here we may enjoy the strange experience of boating on boiling water, with the geysers working all around us. Volcanic activity is everywhere in this wonderful country, and it is only natural that round it have gathered countless Maori legends.

We can easily understand the fondness of the Maoris for the water. They were a race of islanders and fishermen, never really happy unless their houses were built close to the water’s edge. This determined their mode of settlement; they only took to the dry land of the interior as a refuge from their enemies. So we found them, when first we entered the island, scattered along the narrow part of the Fish, where are bays and inlets in abundance, and along the coasts of the Bay of Plenty and the Taranaki Bight. Lake, river, and marsh were their dwelling places; and when we find them established of their own will in the interior, it is on the banks of Lake Taupo, a small sea in their eyes. The white settler wanted, in the main, the drier districts for his farms and cattle, that is, the parts of least value to the Maori; but none the less, settlement was not effected without a generation of trouble and a long period of petty warfare.

Down to 1830, except for the missionaries, the Maoris knew us chiefly through the trading ships which visited the islands, and the few white men, not real settlers, who lived the life of the natives and sometimes took part in their clan feuds. The main occupation of the Maoris was fighting among themselves; and it was the petition of some chiefs in the Bay of Islands for protection from another clan which first led to the dispatch of a British official from New South Wales. This official had no real power and depended for his information as to the natives entirely on the missionary interpreters. Then a Frenchman intervened, and in 1835 proclaimed himself sovereign of New Zealand, apparently on the strength of some land which he had bought years before at Hokianga. This led to a league of the northern tribes, headed by the missionaries, which demanded British protection.

Next we hear of a French bishop setting up a mission at Hokianga, and a French syndicate buying land in Banks Peninsula, in 1838; while the English Land Company, started by Gibbon Wakefield, dispatched its first batch of colonists in the next year. As the result of these movements, the British Government was forced to take action, and the Governor of New South Wales promptly proclaimed our authority over the whole of New Zealand. His agent, Captain Hobson, concluded the Treaty of Waitangi, at the Bay of Islands, in 1840; by this agreement the native chiefs recognised British suzerainty. South Island was occupied just in time, as Hobson’s officers reached the Banks Peninsula only four days in advance of a French warship and party of French colonists. So that it was really France which hurried us on to the effective occupation of New Zealand.

The later history of our relations with the natives all hinges on the land question. The New Zealand Company, and many private speculators as well, bargaining through interpreters, believed that they had bought enormous areas of land for a mere nothing: the Maoris imagined that they had sold very little. Moreover, it was very doubtful who really had the power to sell the land, since the waste lands of the Maoris were all held in common. To settle the disputes the Home Government sent out a special Commissioner who decided that most of the bargains could not be allowed to stand. Even so the Maoris found it hard to appreciate our ideas as to sale and possession of land. There was endless trouble until Sir George Grey was sent over from South Australia in 1845, learnt the native language, and reduced both sides to order. For comparatively small sums he succeeded in buying gradually those parts of the country which were most essential to the white settlers, while leaving plenty for the support of the original inhabitants; for we must remember that the Maoris were very few in proportion to the area of the country. Grey was popular with the Maoris, and when he left, in 1855, the country was fairly well organised.

But the land question was not yet finally settled. In 1857, the Maoris tried to federate under a native king, the main object of the association being to oppose the further sale of land to the white settlers. The whole of Central Maoriland, east and west of Lake Taupo, was unfriendly to us. The trouble came to a head over a land claim in the Taranaki district, and the result was over ten years of raids and casual fighting which could hardly be called organised war, since it moved from district to district, and the different tribes had no common policy or unity. As the sections were subdued from time to time, the usual penalty inflicted was confiscation of land; so that by 1870 the whole of the coast strip, from the north of Hawkes Bay round by Wellington to the Mokau River on the west, was in our possession. So, too, was all the land on both sides of the Lower Waikato, and a narrow fringe along the Bay of Plenty. Thus there was practically a ring fence put round Central Maoriland, and until quite recently there was no connexion between Wellington and Auckland across this isolated block. Sir George Grey, who had returned as Governor, in 1861, was largely responsible for laying down the lines on which the Maori problem was finally and successfully solved.

One interesting result of the war was that Wellington became the capital instead of Auckland. Auckland was the original settlement, moved from the Bay of Islands in 1842, and marked out by Hobson as the future capital. By its position it divided the tribes of the north from those of the south, and this was a great advantage in the early days of settlement. Port Nicholson, later Wellington, was founded in the same year by colonists of the New Zealand Company; while New Plymouth, in Taranaki, was settled in 1841. So we have three original and contemporary settlements, Hawkes Bay being split off from Wellington later. We have already seen a similar process in South Island. After 1865, the population of South Island increased very rapidly, until it exceeded that of North Island, while the Maoris in the latter were thought to be as numerous as the white people. It was inevitable that the capital should be brought nearer the centre of power of the white population, and so, in 1865, Wellington was chosen as the capital by a committee of Australians to which the question was referred.

We have seen the importance of the Taupo district in past history, and how throughout, as in South Island, the structure of the country has profoundly influenced its development and the relations of the settlers with the Maoris. If instead of travelling up the trunk line of railway we had continued along the coast to New Plymouth, we should have realised the meaning of the purchase and confiscation of the narrow strip all round. We noticed before how the rivers radiate from the Taupo district in three directions to the sea; but in their upper courses they are of no use, since they flow between forest-clad hills, in deep gorges, where the stream is often broken by rapids, 44 such as we see here, on the Upper Waikato. The river up here does not seem to be of much value for navigation, and though the scenery is beautiful the river valley is not attractive to the settler. Lower down it is different.

We may reach the coast by following the line of the Wanganui, the most beautiful river in New Zealand. For scores of miles we rush down, in the little launch. In one reach the river is swift but smooth, running between sloping, densely forested banks; in another 45 steep fern-clad cliffs close in to form a gorge through which the water foams and swirls in rapids. Above, 46 we may catch sight of a Maori village; all the way down we meet canoes, slowly poling against the swift current; while lively parties of Maoris board us at every landing. Below Pipiriki the scenery changes, and near the sea we pass through open level country dotted with sheep and dairy farms, and these are steadily pushing the forest rim further back. Along the coast strip there is a whole string of small agricultural towns which suggest to us that the country round is of great value to the farmer. It is the same all the way to New Plymouth which lies under the shadow of Mount Egmont, a huge detached volcanic cone. Everywhere, in the clearings by the railway, are prosperous-looking dairy farms, the Taranaki district being specially famous for the quantity and quality of its dairy produce. Why is this so? The district is warm, it is also moist, as it lies on the west coast; in fact Mount Egmont enjoys the heaviest rainfall in the whole island. Here is a farm in Taranaki with the 47 mountain in the distance, and here we have a near view of the great cone. 48

The economic progress of North Island, so far as we have seen it, has consisted largely in the occupation 49 of the lowlands near the river mouths, and the gradual clearing of the forest further inland—a rather different forest from that of South Island, since the climate is warmer and drier. To open up the country for farming we had to reduce the hunting grounds of the Maori, and even to drain, in spite of his opposition, some of his favourite marshes. As a result of the settlement we find in the south-east, south and south-west, butter, wool, meat and timber produced in large quantities; while in the centre we have nothing but the scenery and some forest as yet untouched.

If we think of the products which are most valuable to New Zealand at the present day, we shall find that with the exception of timber they have been introduced from abroad by the white settlers and were unknown to the Maoris. But the marshland, dear to the Maori heart, produces one plant which was necessary to the natives in the past and is still very useful to us. This is the New Zealand flax, though it is more like hemp than the flax from which linen is made in the northern hemisphere. The Maoris wove the fibre of this plant into clothes. Here we see the long blade-like leaves 50 being cut in the swamp; we follow it to the mills where it is unloaded and sorted into lengths. Inside the mill it is put through various processes until the fibre finally appears as a rope or bale of fine white twine 51 ready for the market. In this form it is sent from the mill all over the world and commands prices as high as Manila hemp with which perhaps we are more familiar.

We will now leave the south and pay a short visit to the northern districts. Here the conditions are somewhat different. There is gold to be found at the base of the Coromandel Peninsula, and it is mined largely from the quartz rock, not merely washed from the alluvium as in South Island. This has led to the growth of a group of small mining towns. There is coal, too, in the basin of the Waikato and in the districts north of Auckland. The presence of these minerals in itself would lead us to expect a difference between the north and south of the island; but the difference extends further, to the vegetable products of the soil. We are moving out of the west wind region into the zone where, as in Victoria, the greater part of the rain falls in the mild winter, and the summer is dry and hot though tempered by the nearness of the sea. It is a land where the orange and the vine grow well, in great contrast to the cool and moist region in the south of South Island. Many people find the change from Auckland to Dunedin or Invercargill very trying to the constitution.

North Auckland has its forests, but they are different from those of the south, for here and here alone grows 52 the Kauri pine. Here is pictured the life of the tree. First we see it growing proudly in the forest; next 53 the lumbermen are at work on the huge trunk; finally the logs are hauled away, and at any of the little 54 ports of the peninsula we may see the timber ships loading; here, for instance, is a Norwegian sailing ship 55 taking in a cargo for Liverpool. The Kauri pine is responsible too for a curious local industry. The forests of the past have left masses of gum buried in the swamps, and many labourers are employed in spearing or digging for it. They become very expert in finding likely spots in which to probe. Here we have a group of Croatian diggers ready to set out for the day’s 56 work; notice the long slender spears which they carry and the great swamp saw for digging out the gum. We may see them scraping the gum and then follow them home in the evening over the desolate 57 plain to their primitive camp. It is a strange industry carried on by these foreigners, and the life seems hard, but the resin is one of the most useful for making our varnishes.

We have already noticed the great number of bays and inlets along the long northern neck of the island. In the far north is the Bay of Islands, the site of the 58 earliest settlement, represented now only by the small town of Russell. Fifty miles further south we have the deep inlet of Whangarei Harbour, where a port and a short railway line mark the presence of coal in the country behind. Finally, on Waitemata Harbour, a western arm of the wide Hauraki Gulf, stands Auckland, 59 the former capital and still the largest town in New Zealand. The population of the city with its suburbs is now over a hundred thousand. Only eight miles away by rail is Onehunga, on Manukau Harbour, 60 a gulf almost landlocked but opening into the waters of the Tasman Sea.

The best way to appreciate Auckland is to approach it from the sea. As we steam along the coast from the north, on our left is the curiously shaped Rangitoto Island, an extinct volcano; on our right is a long peninsula, with two low rounded hills, also volcanic, joined together by a low neck of land on which stands the suburb of Devonport. Across this neck we get a brief glimpse of the city standing on two groups of small hills with narrow valleys running down to the harbour between them. Then we turn round the North Head and suddenly the whole bay, two miles broad, opens out before us. On our left are the residential suburbs of Remuera and Parnell, with houses and gardens running down to the water’s edge; further up the bay is the main city with its long quays busy with traffic, and large steamers anchored in the deep channel. Beyond are more suburbs, and we can follow the winding inlet for fifteen miles through beautiful scenery which reminds us somewhat of Port Jackson. On the north side again another city is growing up, so that Auckland seems to be built round a great lake, open at the two ends. The air is clear and free from smoke and everywhere the sparkling blue water reflects the bright sunshine. Here we see Auckland, looking across the 61 water from Devonport, and here we look down on it from Mount Victoria. 62

Auckland, for its beauty, has been styled the Naples of the South, and, like Naples, it has its volcanoes. We have noticed some of these already, and in the neighbouring country over sixty small cones, such as the one before us, can be counted within 63 a radius of ten miles. Even the hills on which the city stands are partly built up of volcanic debris. Fortunately for Auckland the volcanoes are no longer active, and it lacks also the picturesque dirt and squalor of Naples. It is modern, clean and prosperous. It has also something more than beautiful scenery to recommend it. Though it suffered in some ways by the removal of the capital to Wellington, it is still, and is likely to remain the chief port-of-call in the Dominion. It is near to Sydney and is the natural centre for the trade of the neighbouring Pacific islands. It is the last port of departure for vessels sailing between Australia and America; and when the Panama Canal is finished, it will stand on the shortest route from the eastern United States to Sydney and Melbourne, and an alternative route to the Suez Canal for the United Kingdom and the whole of Western Europe. It is the chief link connecting New Zealand with the outer world, and a fit point of departure for our final cruise among the islands to the north.