EN ROUTE TO NEW ZEALAND.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 18, 30 April 1892, Page 443

EN ROUTE TO NEW ZEALAND.

'KIWI.’)

A DAY AT THE CAPE.

(BY

tE were steaming through historic waters. The dark blue waves that our sharp iron l bow clove in twain and passed on to be churned into milky foam by our giant propeller, had in apes past kissed the sides of Diaz and Vasco di Gama’s gallant ships. The treasures of many a lumbering old Indiaman, the guns of many a privateer, aye, and the grave of many a stout hearted, pig-tailed mariner lay beneath us. The rugged bluff upon our port that divided two mighty oceans had once been regarded as the corner of the earth. From the trough of the very sea upon our starboard the frightened seaman had in later years beheld the ‘ Flying Dutchman ’ start. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun shone brightly upon the ‘ Cape of Storms.’ Thus far had the good steamship Tongariro borne us in comparative comfort from the shores of Old England, whence our young New Zealand personalities had been to see the ‘land of our fathers.’ On we raced in fine style, accompanied by a school of porpoises, until about two hours’ time brought us to the entrance of Table Bay. Towering in its majesty behind the city of Capetown, the Table Mountain stood, presenting an appearance beautiful in the extreme, capped as it was by a thick white cloud which gave the suggestion of a spotless, new-laid cloth. The few minutes we had to wait for the pilot were pleasurably employed viewing the hills which bounded the city on three sides, and the fine sweep of beach which stretched at its foot. Naturally the bay was much exposed to the violence of the ocean, but a splendid piece of work in the shape of a breakwater has made the harbour as secure in stormy weather as one could wish. Sydneyites with their harbour, and Aucklanders with theirs, may perhaps realise the necessity that existed for Capetown to have such a protection when it is related that an old tar (who has been sailing on the South African coast for years) told me that he has seen six eight-hundred ton ships go ashore in one night—total wrecks —through the swell that rolled in straight from the ocean. Under the pilot’s directions we steamed past the breakwater and made fast to a coaling jetty inside what is known as the ‘ Outer Basin.’ Here was waiting for us the most motley crowd mineeyeshnveeverseen. Composedof negroes, Boers, Chinamen, Malays, Europeans, and nondescripts, all of whom were dressed or undressed after their particular religion, fashion, or whim, it looked at once interesting and confusing. No sooner had our vessel’s hawsers been made fast to the jetty than the dread work of coaling commenced, and we left. A fine tramcar conveyed us from the wharf to the city, which I had better * fall to ’ and describe. The tourist, who remembering the age of the capital and principal seaport of Cape Colony, views it from the sea, cannot fail to be disappointed. This is, however, but a first impression—an impression that fades away on a closer acquaintance, as he discovers that the principal portion of the city is situated in a depression between Lion’s Hill and Table Mountain. To the most casual and most superficial observer the changes which Cape Town has been subjected to at the hands of the Dutch and English are as distinctly related by the architectural oddities of the place as by the pages of the most carefully-written history. Thus the older part of the town, with its flat-roofed houses and narrow streets, looking so generally oriental in character, told us of the position it once held as the ‘ half-way house ’ between Western Europe and the Golden East. The queer gabled houses with their old-fashioned tiles, little windows and diamond-shaped panes, spoke to us of the Dutch influence, and carried us back in thought to the happy days we had so recently spent in the : Faderlandt ’ among the canals and windmills. Whilst the broad streets of the newer portion, with the many fine English buildings, conspicuous among them being the Houses of Parliament, the General Post Office, the Standard Bank, and the Public Free Library and Museum—record the history of the past few years. Wherever he has been, where can you not find some noble trace, some loving remembrance of Sir George Grey ’ In giving such invaluable books and manuscripts to the Auckland Library he but followed a self-set precedent, for to the Capetown Library and Museum he has given munificently. To this building in duty bound we hied, and spent a couple of enjoyable hours in inspecting the treasures within.

When wearied of books, and tired of seeing curios, we turned into the Botanic Gardens, and under the delicious shade of giant trees ‘thought it good to be there.’ The strains of inspiriting military music floated down for some distance from where the band of an Imperial regiment was playing to our ears, and so livened us up again, that when the melody had ceased we set forth once more to look about us. As the Tongariro was not to proceed on her voyage again until midnight, and as it was then but little before mid-day, we elected, on the advice of an obliging gentleman whom we met, to take train for Wynberg, a village that lay about eight miles inland. The railway station from which we started was a veritable miniature Cannonstreet, and reflected great credit upon the place. The book - stall, without which an English railway - station would be incomplete, was there, and displayed upon its shelves literature sufficient to last a man on a voyage to the moon. But as such a journey was not to be ours, we deemed the Cape Times sufficient to satisfy our thirst for news and entertainment on the journey when, the bell having rung, we took our seats, and were soon proceeding —certainly not at a break neck speed—to our chosen place of visitation. The route brought us in sight of some pretty stretches of country, but nothing of the order to rush into raptures about. Undoubtedly the best sight was that of the Lion Mount, the sides other than that which was seen from the sea being brought into view as the train travelled westward. Away back in the old days of the Cape the Dutch used Lion’s Mount for signalling purposes, having a gun stationed at its

summit to apprise the inhabitants of the approach of the friendly Indiamen, or warn them of the appearance of suspicious-looking rakish crafts. Now a signal house with all the modern appliances is situated at the top, and it commands one of the most splendid views to be seen anywhere. Near Wynberg, however, the scenery more than made up for what was lacking in the first part of the journey, and as the train dived into an avenue of tall trees and pulled up at the platform of a country station, the sight was beautiful indeed. Wynberg resembles our Whangarei, or rather Whangarei resembles Wynberg, with respect to its salubrity of climate and fruit-producing qualities. Acres and acres of ground are covered with vines, and the grapes are of the most delicious order. The beautiful shady lanes with which Wynberg is blessed, the fragrance of the air and the spirit of calm with which she is enveloped wove that charm over our ocean-tossed souls that forbade us to think (for some time) that we were hungry. It was postmeridian, and the rays of the sun were falling aslant when we reached the Standard Hotel. To our delight our host proved to be an old Wellington man, and with his company and some of the best wine in the Cape a pleasant dinnerhour was spent. Nothing would please him but that he must return with us to the city and show us the place thoroughly, so four o’clock found us once more in Cape Town. Much that we had before missed the genial host of the Standard showed us, taking us over the Jewish synagogue and the Mahommedan mosque. He regretted that the shortness of our stay prohibited an ascent of Table Mountain, which is over 3,500 feet above the level of the sea. Except under the charge of a practical guide strangers should not attempt to ascend the mountain, as in several instances pedestrians have in the fog lost their way, and perished from hunger and cold. By the courtesy of the commanding officer we were shown over several batteries which were situated in Table Bay, and paid a visit to the Old Castle, a place rich in historic memories. This fortress, the walls of which are of great thickness, was built by the Dutch in 1674, and is said even now to be bomb-proof. A chat about the country and its people after tea, and a three-quarter mile stroll through Oak Avenue in the moonlight filled the remainder of our time on shore, and with the sights of the earlier part of the day formed the subject of much beguiling conversation during the remainder ot our voyage to New Zealand.