The view from this place is indescribably direful. One looks down and round on to a gruesome company of conical hillocks closely clustered, all whitey-grey with ashes, and absolutely devoid of vegetation save for some starved tufts of a kind of pampas-grass; immediately below the house is the Frying-pan, with its bubbles dancing in the sun, surrounded by the steam from the geysers and the horrible blow-hole that roars continuously, like a wild beast, while a little beyond is the great black cavernous crater of Waimangu, and away in the distance there are more spectral hills, and not a green thing in sight.
Waimangu must have been a terrible sight in the days of its activity. The crater is over an acre and a half in extent, and when the geyser was alive it used to discharge its appalling mass of boiling water, mud, and stones to heights varying from two hundred to a thousand feet. An awful accident took place on one of these occasions. A number of tourists, who had come to view the geyser, included a mother and two daughters, guided by a brother of the guide Warbrick. They all took shelter in the hut put up for that purpose, out of reach of the shot, excepting Warbrick and the two girls, who were so foolish as to stay behind to take a photograph, thinking they could get away in time. But the wind must have changed without anyone noticing, the geyser shot to a tremendous height, the shower of boiling stuff fell in an unexpected direction, and the unhappy mother saw her two children engulfed and carried away with the guide in the hideous stream that flowed away after the shot.
Yet in spite of this dreadful occurrence Warbrick, who has a reputation for being brave to fool-hardiness, a few months after his brother’s tragic death in that very spot, rowed in a boat over the basin of the geyser, for a bet, a few minutes before it was due to play!
The tourists who had crossed the lake with us went back to Rotorua from Waimangu, so that we were left in undisturbed possession of the Accommodation House, and in sole enjoyment of Mr and Mrs Inglis’ hospitable attentions. We could not resist drawing Inglis out: he talked just as if he had been the Engineer-in-Chief of the Thermal District.
“I had a splendid little geyser blowing here a short time ago.” he told us. “And then the rain came, and destroyed all my arrangements, so that instead of one good geyser I have nothing now but a lot of small bubblers!”
We exchanged glances in severely grave silence, but when he had left the room Captain Greendays observed,
“I shall expect to-morrow morning to hear him calling down a tube: ‘Two hot spouts and one sulphur bath, please!’ and the answer: ‘Spouts is horf. Sir!’”
In spite of our doubts as to the safety of the place after the experiments this modern wizard had been making we passed a very good night at the Accommodation House, probably thanks to our exhausting pilgrimage. Inglis and his wife proved to be excellent caterers, and the house was comfortable, with good-sized, well-furnished rooms.
