A TRIP TO PORT WAIKATO

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9184, 13 October 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

A TRIP TO PORT WAIKATO

[by rambler.] Therk is probably no city in New Zealand from which so many beautiful and picturesque spots are .so easily accessible as our own "Corinth of the South." Every highway and byeway stretching away from the city of Auckland leads, to quiet, secluded districts teeming with natural beauties and embowered in scenery which some day will be rendered world-famed by the pencil of at t and genius or the glowing description of u heaven-inspired poet. And yet the melancholy truth must be admitted, very few of all the thousands who toil and moil in this throbbing city by the sea, few, indeed, of those who, like the lilies, require not bo toil or spin, who lead lives of leisured ease, and for whom tho terrible drama of the world passed fair and smooth, like a summer stream—few, very few, ib must be confessed, are personally acquainted with the wealth of Nature's charms which lies invitingly ab their doors. Explain ii who can, ib is an indisputable fact thab we are not a travelling community. The solitude of our primitive forests is broken only by the axe of the laborious bushman, and the crack of the stockman's whip is too often bhe only sound which awakens the echoes of our sombre ranges, towering in solitary and majestic grandeur to the blue vault of heaven; tho broad bright waters of our rivers flow ever onward to tho mighty ooean in lonely silence. Tho merry laughter of glad young voices, the boisterous exuberance of those no longer young, but who can yet be glad away from the world and its troubles ; the clink of the geologist's hammer; the noiay enthusiasm of botanical parties; the easel of tho painter ; the pensive figure of bhe poet; the exhilarating merrymaking of joyous excursionists—none of these disturb the solitudes or lend naw interest to the pic tureeque. The town does not empty into the country its crowds of weary and overwrought men and women, of jaded, palefaced children when the labours of the week in the home, the workshop, and the school are ended, and some hours are free to bo given up to nature and to nature's god, to breathing the pure air of heaven on the mountain tops, or by the playful wavelets on the sandy shore. It is too much the fashion to obtain our supply of ozone at the end of the wharf on Sunday morning, and to seek recreation and excitement in promenading Queen-street on Saturday night, bhere inhaling ibs malodorous fumes of stale tobacco, sour beer, and cheap whiskey. And yet a day in the country is worth a week in the town. Not being a bishop, ib is permitted to mo to enjoy a modest holiday now and then, and tho other Saturday I left town along with two genial friends with the intention of spending ib at Port, Waikato. The morning did not open promisingly. A strong south-westerly wind was blowing, with occasional rain squalls. But all our arrangements had been nmde, and, as wo rose from the breakfast table of the Commercial Hotel—our rendezvous —fortified for come what might with steaming cups of fragrant tea, grilled steaks, and all that that favourite hostelry is deservedly famed for, we felt inditferenb to the elements and fit to face all sorts of fortune. There are several routes by which Port Waikabo may be reached. You can at uncertain and ii'regular intervals steam down the river from Mercer, or you can go by way of Waiuku. We had selected the latter route for various reasons. Personally, I felt some curiosity bo see a place which had afforded the rasping humourist of the Auckland Wekkja'"News, "A. Tramp, Esq.," so much scope for his mosquito-like playfulness ; and, as its exact geographical location was a matter of some uncertainty, to discover for myself its precise whereabouts. We left Auckland by the quarterpast seven train, and reached the Onehunira Wharf at eight o'clock, jusb as the whistle of the stout little steamer Manukau was .sounding its third and last asthmatical shrill. There were not many passengers, nor was there much luggage. With the exception of ourselves, they were all settlers returning bo their homes from the market or visits to their friends in town. A quiet, sturdy, evidently hardworking class. Farming, of course, does not ply ; but these small farmers, I should jay, had not much to complain of as regards the good things of this life. They were well dressed, apparently well fed, and had all that complacent look of comforb and content which ooineth of a good conscience and an easy mind. One, a young man, was taking back with him half-a-dozen pigs of tho typical Maori breed, for which he had given seven shillings and sixpence apiece, and which he reckoned would cost him ten shillings a head by the time he got them to his farm. On the way down he sold one for twelve and sixpence to a fellow-settler, who had seemingly no particular use for a pig, and who bought it out of pure good-nature, and, perhaps, ; because twelve shillings and sixpence was to him neither here nor there. A chatty, communicative man, who <a quarter of a century igo rowed across the wide reaches of the" Manukau in a little dingy, built himself a raupo hut, and cleared his little bib of land, and brought down his wife and family and all his household goods. And there has he remained over since ; and he looks as if the world had used him well. There were many hardships to be endured by the pioneer settlers in thoso days. Steamboat communication was an undreamt of luxury. Many other things which they enjoy to-day were undreamt of. Were they happier, those early settlers, in those semi-civilised days ? I often think they were from the tona of regret- which invariably accompanies uieir reference to them. Wonderful, boo, arc tho manifold resources of these settlers. I gob a speck of gritty matter in one of my eyes, and it was occassioning mo some inconvenience and pain. " Let me ha'o a look at it," said a hornyhanded, quiet-looking man in the little cabin of the .steamer, where, with a tumblerful of water, I was endeavouring to get rid of the annoyance. Ho himself, 1 saw, had only one eye, but that was preternatural!}, bright and keen. I submitted to have my troublesome ocular examined. "Aye," he said, "I sec it. It's a wee bit o' sand you've gob in'b. If you just stand still, I'll tak' ib oob in a minute." Whereupon he took from his pocket a villainous-looking clasp-knife, and, opening bhe blade, placed a corner of my pockothandkerchief over ib. "Are you going to take ib out with that ?" I asked, in some trepidation. "I'll no' hurt you," he replied, and was about to proceed to business. Bub I demurred. It luoked as if he meant bo gouge my eye out. " I'm no' a novico ab this sort o'work," ho said, very quietly, as if to inspire me with confidence in his skill and dexterity. " I'm a blacksmith, and I'm ayo bakin' something oot o'somebody's een." Bub in spite of this satisfactory explanation 1 still hesitated. " If I'd only a horse nail," said lie, looking round the cabin, as if he expected to see horse nails growing on the walls, "I'd whisk it oob in half a minute." I was thankful that I was nob in his smibhy, where, I dare say, horae nails aro as plentiful as leaves in the forest. Bub to my amazement and horror the owner of tho afore-mentioned porkers brought from .somewhere a six-pound packet of the nails in question, which the amateur oculist examined wibh critical eye. "They're raither smooth," he said, after drawing his thumb across one of bhem, as a barber tesbs tho edge of his razor. "A coarse ane's the thing. Ye jusb draw ib smartly across bhe ee, and, if there's onybhing in't, ib brings ib oob. There's a good deal o' magnetism in a horse nail, and ib attracts onything like thab," indicabing the speck in my blinking eye. Whether it was the clasp-knife or the packet of nails or bhe discovery that my two friends had forsaken me in my moment of need, unable to witness so critical an operation as the one impending, and dreading a horrible catastrophe, or whether tho speck in my eye was only imagination—whatever was the cause my eye suddenly got all right, and the claspknife and tho horse nails were put away unused. The Manukau steamed along in fine style. She is a roomy, comfortable boat, and kept in excellent order. We were nob long on board, however, before we learnt that something was wrong. From the captain at the wheel—short, stout, of rubicund visage, and merry, twinkling eyes—to the sturdy, stalwart A.B. in the fore-hatch, there was a Civil servant air about them which only too plainly showed that the roar of retrenchment had not passed without smiting them on the hip. There were

dark rumours current, too, of something worse in store. But tho difficulties, ib is to be hoped, have been surmounted, and that the good steamer Manukau will long continue to plough the waters of the harbour which gives her her name. She is a vessel that is admirably suited for the trade ; she is a boon and a blessing to the settlers; her captain is as popular as captain ever was; her engineer is suave, Scotch, and skilful; and her crew give one the impression of being a happy family party. The arrival of the steamer at the little wharves along the shore line is an event which produces an agreeable simmer of excitement away in the scattered hamlets in the interior. The carts are waiting in the cutting which lead up from these narrow, long, black platforms, whose only ornament is a small goods shed at the extreme end, to carry away the bags of flour, sugar, tea, and wicker-encased jars of whiskey which are brought by the steamer. There are nob many people on the wharves to see her come in. Two or three settlers, with whips in their hands, sometimes a Maori or two, now and then a young lady, who has come down to see if the lony-expected parcel of books, or, it may be, her town-made dress, or for that matter something "secret, sweet, and precious," has come ab last, and whose face, radiant with expectation, becomes sad and clouded, as the skippor calls from the bridge, "Nothing for you to-day, miss."; Poor miss! How long has she waited, how often has she come down, how many times has sho heard the same old stereotyped roply to her mute inquiry. She turns, and walks slowly home again ; and the earth and the sky and the dancing sunlight on the waters have losb their charms for her. On we go, skirting the shore, dismal and uninviting enough to be sure. Poor land without a doubt. In the back lands the soil is fairly good, and now and then we catch sight of a white homestead in a paboh of green away in the interior. And yet ib was here that the new Grecnock of tho South was to arise, and the thriving towns of the Clyde woro to be reproduced under the Southern Cross. As wo approach Wuiuku, the channel narrows, and signs of sebblomonb become more numerous. The celebrated township itself, a mass of white and green, stands at the head of tho navigable watars of this reach of the Manukau Harbour ; and very pretty it looks, shyly peeping out from a wealth of weeping willows. There is, by comparison wibh what me have seen, quibe a crowd on the wharf. Looming prominently in the foreground, a newspaper in his hand, is the familiar and bulky form of Mr. Hamlin, M.H.R., and his first salutation to me, as we glide slowly alongside the wharf is, "Have you brought the Tramp with you." The Tramp was the theme of the hour all tho time I was in Waiuku, and his sayings and writings were familiar in the mouths of all men as household words. Many of the references to that popular entertainer, whose chief end in life is to combine amusement with instruction, for the gratification and edification of his fellow man, were, I regret to say, couched in a full-blooded phraseology of a somewhat uncomplimentary character; but it is the fate of great men and great wits to be misunderstood by their contemporaries. The time will come when Waiuku will laugh the loudest at the "Tramp's" humour, and struggle for the honour of crowning him with laurels. He has immortalised the village. Every schoolboy in New Zealand can now tell you all about it. Waiuku and Timbuctoo are, perhap3, the two most familiar names in modern geography. It was half-past eleven o'clock when we arrived at Waiuku, and after parbaking of a glass of beer ab hosb Sedgwick's, a homely, comfortable, unpretentious hostelry, and having a look round the thriving township, we started in one of Parker's traps for the Otawa Creek, where a boat was in waiting to take us on to Port A wonderful man is this Parker ; full of energy and information, and with quite a Gladstonian flow of language. He knows everyone, and all about everybody, and pours out his knowledge with impetuous volubility. An entertaining man beyond question. Nothing is too great or too little for his restless vitality. He is a special constable and a livery-stable keeper. And he shines in both of these somewhat incongruous capacities. Waiuku is as innocent of crime as sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain. What ib would be in this respect without Parker, no man knoweth. Neither kuoweth any man what it was before it possessed Parker. Those must have been the dark ages of Waiuku history. Sutficeth to know that ib now enjoys Arcadian peace. Evil-doers trouble it not. Parker does his duby well. As a livery-stable keeper he is entitled to equal praise. His manners are obliging and his charges aro moderate. And furthermore, his chief crowning virtue is that he loves the Tramp as a brother. Altogether he is a very worthy soul. But I am digressing. Toresume. The road for the most part is fairly good. It runs through a large swamp and a pretty piece of bush, and in driving along, one gets a good view of the country, which in the distance is bold and rugged. In an hour, we reached our starting point on the creek, and embarking in a small boat, manned by two youths, a Maori and European, glided away down its placid surface. The creek runs through a dense bush, and every bend discloses new beauties which would delight the soul of an artist. Very enjoyable was it to sib in the boaband watch the wonderful and beautiful panorama unfold itself. Ib was here, where there were no waves, where the water was as smooth as a mirror, that the vocalist of our party broke forth into nautical song, and made the woods and wilds re-echo with "A Home on tho Ocean Wave." When our boat emerged from the creek, and gob fairly into the river waves in plenty were met with, and he relapsed into silence. There was a strong head wind blowing, the white horses were chasing one another right merrily, while the booming of the breakers on the bar could be distinctly heard. Occasionally a fierce rain squall struck us, as we plunged and laboured among tho waves which, out of mere gladness I suppose, had a trick of coming on board, striking you in tho face as you sat huddled up at the stern of tho boat wrapped in mackintoshes which would not or could nob keep out the water. Ah those waves ! I sat on the weather side, and they ran up my sleeve, and down my back, and smacked my face and drenched my hair, and filled my laps. What were those wild waves saying? The Maori laughed loud, and tugged away ab the oar. Our progress was necessarily slow. Bub we kept forging ahead, and at half-past three we arrived at Port Waikato, cold, stiff, and web. Thei - e were two Europeans and a few Maoris standing on the beach to welcome us on arrival. Mr. Marshall, a tall, elderly gentleman, with long, flowing, white beard, invited us to spend the evening with him and his wife, in their beautiful home on the hill close by. Mr. Parker, the other, who owns a poultry farm here, had a smoking dinner ready for us, which we sat down to with appetites keen as razors, and ate as hunters arc wont to do on returning from a long 'day's run with the hounds. The joint of .sweet, delicious mutton was done to a turn, the fowls were temptingly crisp and brown, the bread had been specially baked in our honour, and we relished that meal as we had not relished a meal for many a day. Had we been princes from the sun Parker could not have done more for us. A good, honest, hospitable soul. And so unsophisticated. He has lived here for twenty-seven years. European scares, the wiles of diplomacy, the rumours of war, the panic on Continental bourses, tho marshalling of troops —these things trouble him not. He lives his life free from the great cares of the world. Its wild throbDings, its anxieties, its tumults, affect him not. Happy Parker ! Born in Lincoln long, long ago, he has almost outgrown the recollection of his native soil. But somewhere in his good honest heart lie cherishes up a remembrance of the dear old scenes of his youth. When one night our vocalist sang " Write Me a Letter from Home," the old man lapsed into silence, and there was a far-away look in his eyes. Like the dying gladiator's, his thoughts were far away. He was young again, and back in Lincolnshire, and was once more among the friends of his youth. Sweet is memory to the old. Those bygone days will never come again. Never more in all likelihood will he see his native land, and the dear ones of long ago. But Parker is happy. He entertained us loyally. His hospitality was unbounded. May he live long. In the evening we paid our promised visit to Mr. and Mrs. Marshall. Hβ is full of interesting stories of the old times, for he came to New Zealand as far back as 1831, and like Judge Manning saw much of the ways and customs of the Maoris long before the wave of civilisation had reached them, and turned the current

of their Uvea into the channels of modern ! progress. Uβ has resided at Port Waikato for nearly a quarter of a century, and declares that there is nob a more salubrious spot in all New Zealand. Hβ is postmaster, native interpreter, and generally "guide, philosopher, and friend" to natives and pakohas. His influences among the former is said to be very groao. He is a staunch teetotaller, and an anti-tobac-conist. Altogether a very entertaining, genial old gentleman. His wife, who is much younger than her husband, is a well read, vivacious, intelligent woman who occupies her time in looking after her flower garden, her canaries, her pet turkeys, and her poultry. She is a magnificent horsewoman, and is often to be seeu galloping along the beach or across the hills. Two boys, brothers, from the Purnell Orphan Home, supply the place of the domestic "slavey." Mrs. Marshall found, after repeated trials, that a girl would not stay. No "followers," no companions, no " nothink " —one after the other grew melancholy and pined for the gaieties of city life. They found Port Waikato too utterly quiet. The boys, however, appear to be happy enough, and out of their savings have purchased a small boat, in which they go out fishing. We got back to our quarters about ten o'clock. Very comfortable they were. We were located in what is locally known as Dashwood's house. When the troops were here it was the officers' quarters. It stands on a rising piece of ground and commands an excellent view of the sea, the river, and the general landscape. Many a scene of revelry have its walls witnessed, when the clash of scabbards, the jingle of glasses, and the martial song mingled together. Wβ did our best to recall the old times, and when I turned in for the night it was to dream of war and alarms of war, the booming of gunboats on the river, the call of the bugle, and the tread of the sentry on the verandah under my window. Next morning we were up with the lark, and had a plunge in the river. The day was devoted to rambling about, and a very enjoyable ramble it proved. Port Waikato is situated on a littlo bay, backed by high ranges, on the southern side of the Waikato River, near where ib loses itself in the sands of the ocean. The country is very broken. Ridge and gully alternate for miles. High bush-clad ranges extend as far as the eye can reach. But all along the southern bank of the river are pretty little bays, with cool fresh bits of green sward, and pleasant sandy beaches. During the Maori war in the Waikato the Port was a busy, bustling place, full of troops, and sailors, and all the impedimenta of a campaign. All that is changed now. With the exception of the Marshalls, the only Europeans are Mr. Parker and Mr. and Mrs. Herdson, who occupy the old mission house which was formerly the residence of Dr. Maunsell. There are, however, three furnished cottages for the convenience of visitors, and during the summer months they are usually occupied by families desirous of enjoying quietude and complete liberty. Mr. Parker, to whom I have referred, keeps an excellent store, his trade being principally with the natives, and looks after an admirable poultry farm, sending in his egg-s, some eighty dozen a week, to Auckland. Mr. Herdson is a very intelligent man, and a versatile genius to boot. Photography is among his numerous accomplishments, and he showed us some very good specimens which ho had taken. Close to his place thero is a very extensive beach. In wandering over the sands we came across the wreck of the barque Waverley, which went ashore here twentyseven years ago, and one of ray friends found, dimmed and worn by the waves and weather, his name cut , into the deck more than fifteen years before. It was a glorious day. The sea stretched before us. The white breakers were rolling in on the bar, and on the ranges behind us the cattle lay in clusters dreamily gazing iuto space. Perfect peace prevailed. The noise and din of the world come not here. Quietude forever reiene. On the other side of the river, facing Port Waikato, .1 singular phenomenon is to be witnessed. The sand has travelled, and is still travelling over hill and dale, converting what was once a green and fertile country into a de3ert. Thousands of acres have been covered. And the sand is still travelling along as if endowed with life. It is a melancholy spectacle. Nothing apparently can stop the progress of the devastating tide. It is stated that in former times a great landslip diverted the course of the Waikato River, and caused this encroachment of sand. But it says little for our science or enterprise that its onward flow has not been stopped before now. On Monday morning we left Pore Waikato with regret, and after a pleasant trip arrived in Auckland at five o'clock. For those seeking rest and quietude, natural scenery, and invigorating air, and a complete change of life, I know of no place which can be so warmly commended.