Travels Eighty Years Ago
Nelson and New Plymouth

The following is the second Instalment of some rough notes of travel, in New Zealand, in 1858. These notes are taken from a small, and now very rare, book published in England, by Mr. Robert Scott, in 1860, and submitted to the “N.Z. Railways Magazine” by P. S. Smallfield.

Nelson is a decent little town. Though it is level, damp and deep in mud, I like it much better than Wellington. The shops are first rate. Christ Church, which I have been in during worship, is erected on the choicest piece of ground, and built of wood, with a shingled roof, the front overlooks the bay and Boulder Bank; and the other side opens into a wide avenue leading to the mountain range and cemetery. There are several good chapels and schools; and the Freemasons have built themselves a hall 50 feet by 24 feet. All articles of dress are dear. It is a slow, easy place. No one can inform you within a day or a month when a ship will sail. Adjacent to the towns is a bog, which, if not drained, must be productive of fever.

Some time ago a person leaving Nelson for England gave to a friend several town lots, considering them of such trifling value as to be unworthy of being retained in possession during his absence; but on his return he found they could be sold for £4,000. Town lots that were purchased for £5 seven years ago are now valued at from £100 to £2,000 each. This is one of the ways that money is made or picked up here. Whether a reaction equally extreme may be expected, I cannot say.

While I was in Nelson the Freemasons’ Hall was opened by a ball, which I attended; and a delightful and fashionable entertainment it was. Among the guests was a Maori chief. I will now relate how I attended this ball. As all my luggage had gone direct from Melbourne to Auckland, the articles of dress I now had on had been picked up on the road hither. As all had gone to the ball and left me alone, Mrs. L., the landlady, brought my “nobbler” of whisky, and remarked: “Now, Mr. Scott, you had better say you will go.”

I replied: “If I had clothes, I certainly would go.”

She left, but returned in five minutes with two black dress coats, three white and two buff waistcoats, one necktie, one white lawn handkerchief (perfumed), and two sizes of white kid gloves to choose from. The only chance of staying away now was a misfit. I tried on one coat; but no. I tried on the next; could not be a better fit. All being correct, the landlord, who was a Freemason, furnished me with a half-guinea ticket; and, because it was raining, a “whitechapel” was called to convey me across the street. Being introduced, a considerable number appeared delighted to see me; all the more, I think, because of my not being expected. It was a stylish affair. The dresses of the ladies were rich and rare. The Maori chief was dressed in the handsomest English ball costume. I at first thought him an Indian merchant. I left at half-past two, returned to my hotel, and retired quietly to rest.

At the end of my stay in Nelson I found the “merry men” smiling over the victims of the “Dun Mountain Copper Mining Association” which had been formed there. The money which was professedly to carry on the operations of this association was nearly all raised in England. An agent, or manager, who also came from England, received a liberal salary for several years. In June crome had been found in the Dun mountain, worth about £12 a ton in England; but the idea of finding copper was all “bosh.” It is a notorious fact that never was a grain of copper in or near the Dun mountain—the specimens were obtained elsewhere.

(Rly. Publicity photo.)
The Inangahua Valley, near Reefton, South Island, New Zealand.

After another sea trip I reached New Plymouth, where the people hear from England only ten times a year. The situation of the land postman, who is a Maori, is no sinecure. The route he takes exposes him in some places to great danger. He leaves New Plymouth and goes by way of the Waiatra and Monganui Bluff for 30 miles. Then past a point where the rocks project into the sea, and the track over the point reaches the height of 3,000 feet.

The postman, with the bag of letters on his back, has to ascend a cliff 300 feet high, then by means of a rope with a succession of knots on it, to climb thirty feet higher to a ledge only about three feet in width, with the sea raging below on one side, and the cliff like a stone wall on the other. When he leaves this ledge he has to descend a ravine, where the rugged sides of the rock tower high. In this ravine there is a chasm to be crossed; but he will sometimes have to wait hours for a favourable opportunity of passing without being engulfed by the sea, which, with short intermissions, furiously rushes up and overflows the chasm. Directly on one wave breaking he has to leap to the opposite side; and if this daring feat were not accomplished without one slip, he would be dashed to the rocks by the next wave. But even having passed this perilous spot, he has to swim rivers, cross bogs, and climb mountains and hills before he reaches the termination of his journey, which is 160 miles from New Plymouth. When will there be some other opportunity of passing directly overland to it?

Guides on this overland journey have been known to exact the last penny from the traveller, and after- page 42 page 43 wards strip him of his clothing, leaving him with the words: “You go to Mother Victoria; she give you plenty more.”

The day after my arrival in New Plymouth I took a walk with two gentlemen who were staying at the same hotel with me, when I saw hundreds of the most beautiful spots in this delightful climate that would make admirable settlements. The soil and the herbage were luxuriant, and the rivulets of rippling clear water, plentiful. There were capital wood homesteads, and fine gorse fences. The footpaths were good, but the horse roads bad.

On the 12th I accompanied two friends into the bush. My horse at one time sank in the mud till my feet were more than covered. We stuck fast for a while, but at last managed to wriggle out.

On the 14th I walked to Omata, a village four miles distant. When crossing an iron sand hill, I slipped and rolled to the bottom, almost smothered in hot sand. There I fell on some “cuttie” grass, and in stretching forth my arms to break my fall, I was surprised to find all my fingers cut across, bleeding and smarting severely.

Mount Egmont, ten miles from New Plymouth and over 8,000 feet high, is a prominent landmark. Few parts of the world are so pleasant to reside in as near this romantic snow-capped mountain. When the mosquitoes and sandflies disappear, the vicinity of New Plymouth will indeed be a physical paradise.

On the 6th of September a waterspout, accompanied by lightning and thunder, came from Cape Egmont, and passed over the barracks, tearing and carrying up into the air fences, posts and sheds.

At one o'clock of the same day the steamer for Auckland hove in sight. It was to me a happy spectacle. A gun announced her arrival. I was quickly down on the beach, hoping that I was now to be transported to my destination, where I should meet my son Manfred.

At 4 p.m. I seated myself along with others in the conveyance boat of 30 tons burden. The boatman pulled on and on over the infernal surf for a long time pretty well. One of the ladies asked me to hold a jug containing food for her baby. Shortly afterwards I received, slap on my back, the bulk of a cross wave, which filled the boat ankle-deep. In a minute or two another, and then another wave broke over us. I sat steadily looking at a coming wave, which appeared to rise from twenty to thirty feet straight up, high above our already half-filled boat. All were calm, not a murmur was heard. Then the surf wave fell, sank our boat, and swept clean away the passengers and crew—in all seventeen persons. When I arose from the dark waters I distinctly saw in the distance all my companions far apart. On my left were men on hurdles and boats’ oars, and some clinging to the floating luggage. Straight ahead I saw a lady by herself, and a man and another lady with an infant, all floating. I then let go the rope and swam towards the shore, which I did easily enough except when the surf swept over me. All this time I was unconsciously holding in my right hand the jug with the baby's food; then thinking I could overtake and render some assistance to a lady three or four hundred yards on my right who was drifting towards the rocks, I dropped the jug and tried to approach her. But as I drew near, too exhausted I am afraid to render much help, I perceived two people from the shore approaching, one towards her, the other towards me, to render assistance. I waved my hand for them to leave me to myself, and both to go to her. Having reached the beach, I rested on a boat for a little while to take breath and get rid of some sea water. I then, with some assistance, reached the hotel, where I was rubbed thoroughly dry, wrapped in blankets, dosed with brandy, and soon I was sound asleep. In the morning some wounds I had were dressed. One of the passengers was for six days in a most precarious state. All, however, were ultimately saved, and restored to strength. Even when in peril in the waves, I could not help noticing the confusion on the beach. Some were running in one direction, some in another: some shouting this, others that.

(W. W. Stewart collection).
A typical scene in the Railway Yards at Auckland, North Island, New Zealand.

Maoris, officers, soldiers, townspeople and ladies might be seen a short way in the sea, some clothed, some stripped. Such were the circumstances connected with my first attempt to leave New Plymouth for Auckland.

I subjoin an extract from one of the New Plymouth newspapers relating to this untoward incident.

“The arrival on Wednesday of the White Swan from Nelson was nearly attended with the saddest result to a considerable number of persons. The weather was squally from the westward with a rough sea, and it was notified through the harbour boat, which had communicated with the steamer, that the latter would not wait beyond the return of the boat from the shore. Accordingly the remaining passengers hence for Auckland had no alternative but to leave at once. The boat had nearly passed through the surf, which was breaking some distance out, when she shipped one or two seas, and, in hauling back to regain the shore, the hawser parted. The boat then breached to, shipped more water, and sank. The crew and passengers, including two ladies and two children, in all seventeen persons, were now struggling for life amidst drifting luggage, oars, and other floating materials, in an angry and broken sea. A considerable number of military, civilians, and natives at once rushed into the sea to render aid… . The undersigned take this opportunity of expressing their sense of the strenuous exertions of all to save the passengers—

John Whiteley, Joseph H. Fletcher, Jas. Ritchie, Robert Scott, H. Renshaw, and S. Ford.”

(To be concluded.)