Not far beyond the Rainbow Mountain we passed within a few hundred yards of the prison for long-sentence misdemeanants. These convicts have a quite idyllic lot; they are well-housed, in cottages that look out over the surrounding country and are not even enclosed within high walls, their “hard labour” is the planting of trees, and they are allowed almost every privilege but liberty. We saw one of them out fishing with a warder; both were smoking as they leaned with their rods over the parapet of a bridge, and both looked very happy and free from care.
“I suppose a good many of these fellows escape?” asked Captain Greendays of the driver, and then, noticing that a gun was propped against the bridge he added, “I should not think that shooting would be much use,—a chap could get off and out of range before his absence was even noticed if all the warders are as careless as that one seems to be!”
“Escape!” exclaimed the driver. “Bless you, they carn’t escape, Sir! You see every soul around here is well-known, and no stranger would have a charnce of getting through unnoticed. And the gun is not for the prisoner,—they are both having a day’s sport, it’s Sunday, and they are out having a day’s fishing and shooting like independent gentlemen! They are a dashed deal better off nor most honest chaps, Sir!”
Later on we heard that our driver’s version was quite true, both as to the difficulty of escape and the good times allowed to the prisoners. At the time we passed there was quite a select company in the gaol,—a doctor, a solicitor, a secretary, a bank-clerk, and a some-time editor, among others, and when the weather was not as fine as they liked they calmly refused to go out to work!
Soon after passing this prison we came to a mud-volcano, and as it was the first we had seen we stopped and got down for a closer inspection. It was the strangest thing, about twenty feet high, like a tall ant-hill hollowed out in the middle. And someone had thoughtfully placed a ladder against it, so that we were able to look right down into the well, but as the boiling mud bubbling up splashed our clothes we were not at all pleased with the result of our curiosity.
A few minutes later we arrived at Wai-o-tapu, which is only a wayside hotel near the “Sights,” as they call the little hot-spring valley close by.
The “Wai-o-tapu,” or Sacred Water, sights still belong to the Maoris, who charge half-a-crown to every visitor who goes over them. After lunching at the prettily-situated hotel we were shown over by a young Maori, and thought them well worth a visit, for they are quite different to the sights at Rotorua, and a great deal prettier, as sulphur takes the place of the Rotorua black mud. Each item is named, some very amusingly. There were the milk, the cream, and the mustard pools, the blue, green, and light-green lakes, the Paddle-pool, the Champagne-pool, which is set fizzing by throwing in a handful of sand, the Primrose Falls, the Sulphur Cave, and so on, quite a big programme for half-a-crown! Most of the springs are hot, but the cold ones are removed from the
