How,again,are we to account for the repetition of the phenomenon exhibited by the larger rivers,in every tributary,small or great,from the glaciers to the sea?They are all as like as pea to pea in principle,though of course varying in detail.Yet every trifling watercourse,as it emerges from mountainous to level ground,presents the same phenomenon,namely,a large gully,far too large for the water which could ever have come down it,gradually widening out,and then disappearing.The general opinion here among the reputed cognoscenti is,that all these gullies were formed in the process of the gradual upheaval of the island from the sea,and that the plains were originally sea-bottoms,slowly raised,and still slowly raising themselves.
Doubtless,the rivers brought the stones down,but they were deposited in the sea.
The terraces,which are so abundant all over the back country,and which rise,one behind another,to the number,it may be,of twenty or thirty,with the most unpicturesque regularity (on my run there are fully twenty),are supposed to be elevated sea-beaches.They are to be seen even as high as four or five thousand feet above the level of the sea,and I doubt not that a geologist might find traces of them higher still.
Therefore,though,when first looking at the plains and river-bed flats which are so abundant in the back country,one might be inclined to think that no other agent than the rivers themselves had been at work,and though,when one sees the delta below,and the empty gully above,like a minute-glass after the egg has been boiled--the top glass empty of the sand,and the bottom glass full of it--one is tempted to rest satisfied;yet when we look closer,we shall find that more is wanted in order to account for the phenomena exhibited,and the geologists of the island supply that more,by means of upheaval.
I pay the tribute of a humble salaam to science,and return to my subject.
We crossed the old river-bed of the Waimakiriri,and crawled slowly on to Main's,through the descending twilight.One sees Main's about six miles off,and it appears to be about six hours before one reaches it.
A little hump for the house,and a longer hump for the stables.
The tutu not having yet begun to spring,I yarded my bullocks at Main's.
This demands explanation.Tutu is a plant which dies away in the winter,and shoots up anew from the old roots in spring,growing from six inches to two or three feet in height,sometimes even to five or six.It is of a rich green colour,and presents,at a little distance,something the appearance of myrtle.On its first coming above the ground it resembles asparagus.I have seen three varieties of it,though I am not sure whether two of them may not be the same,varied somewhat by soil and position.The third grows only in high situations,and is unknown upon the plains;it has leaves very minutely subdivided,and looks like a fern,but the blossom and seed are nearly identical with the other varieties.The peculiar property of the plant is,that,though highly nutritious both for sheep and cattle when eaten upon a tolerably full stomach,it is very fatal upon an empty one.Sheep and cattle eat it to any extent,and with perfect safety,when running loose on their pasture,because they are then always pretty full;but take the same sheep and yard them for some few hours,or drive them so that they cannot feed,then turn them into tutu,and the result is that they are immediately attacked with apoplectic symptoms,and die unless promptly bled.Nor does bleeding by any means always save them.The worst of it is,that when empty they are keenest after it,and nab it in spite of one's most frantic appeals,both verbal and flagellatory.Some say that tutu acts like clover,and blows out the stomach,so that death ensues.
The seed-stones,however,contained in the dark pulpy berry,are poisonous to man,and superinduce apoplectic symptoms.The berry (about the size of a small currant)is rather good,though (like all the New Zealand berries)insipid,and is quite harmless if the stones are not swallowed.Tutu grows chiefly on and in the neighbourhood of sandy river-beds,but occurs more or less all over the settlement,and causes considerable damage every year.Horses won't touch it.
As,then,my bullocks could not get tuted on being turned out empty,Iyarded them.The next day we made thirteen miles over the plains to the Waikitty (written Waikirikiri)or Selwyn.Still the same monotonous plains,the same interminable tussock,dotted with the same cabbage-trees.
On the morrow,ten more monotonous miles to the banks of the Rakaia.
This river is one of the largest in the province,second only to the Waitaki.It contains about as much water as the Rhone above Martigny,perhaps even more,but it rather resembles an Italian than a Swiss river.With due care,it is fordable in many places,though very rarely so when occupying a single channel.It is,however,seldom found in one stream,but flows,like the rest of these rivers,with alternate periods of rapid and comparatively smooth water every few yards.The place to look for a ford is just above a spit where the river forks into two or more branches;there is generally here a bar of shingle with shallow water,while immediately below,in each stream,there is a dangerous rapid.A very little practice and knowledge of each river will enable a man to detect a ford at a glance.These fords shift every fresh.In the Waimakiriri or Rangitata,they occur every quarter of a mile or less;in the Rakaia,you may go three or four miles for a good one.
