At last I ventured to interrupt Bacon in the perusal of his learned work. “Where do you think,” I asked, “we are going to?”
To which he answered perfectly dryly: “I suppose we cannot be very far from New Zealand. We have made a considerable détour through the upper air in order to take advantage of the atmospheric current which arises between the tropics, and then extends to the north and south and east successively, but now we are descending again. See how the barometer is going up.”
Thinking on Bacon’s words, I looked once more through one of the telescopes, and at some considerable distance I viewed two large islands barely separated by a very narrow strait.
“Now we are among our antipodes,” continued Bacon. “New Zealand is the Great Britain of the Southern Pacific.”
“But still she has not anything like a population so wealthy, powerful, and civilised.”
“Still a better one than you would have imagined. Already New Zealand has several large cities with the same institutions for education and science and art as are to be found in Europe. She possesses an important commercial navy, has plenty of ore and coal mines, a splendid agriculture, innumerable herds of cattle, a flourishing industry, and an energetic population, chiefly of English descent.”
“What has become of the Maoris?”
“They have utterly disappeared, no one really knows where to. According to some New Zealand naturalists, they have died out; others imagine that they have migrated somewhere; others again are inclined to believe that a portion of the native inhabitants are of lineal Maoric descent. If this were the case, they must have considerably improved as a race; for the people here are now extremely peaceful. Should you ever visit Londinia in your travels again, you ought not to omit paying a visit to the National Museum; there you will find two embalmed Maoris, a male and a female, the former beautifully tatooed. You will see them side by side with other embalmed specimens of the aboriginals, such as New Hollanders, American Redskins, etc., all of whom have long become extinct.”
“Does the same apply to the inhabitants of all countries where Europeans have settled?”
“No, only to those that are situated beyond the tropics; for the tropical regions, with the exception of the cooler mountain districts, are in the long run unsuited to the Caucasian race. The interior of Africa has still its original negro population; New Guinea is still inhabited by the Papoos, and many other islands of tropical clime are still occupied by the descendants of the ancient aboriginals, although they are rather on the decrease.”
“Have those tribes that belong to the so-called inferior races improved at all in civilization?”
“Not much. With all of them progress is slow, extremely slow. Some even hold the opinion that their progress is after all more imaginary than real; that is to say, that it merely consists of their aping some of the European manners and customs, and of these rarely the best. Still I believe I have sufficient ground to admit that they too are progressing, only that their progress differs essentially in its character from that of the Caucasian races.”
Meanwhile we had reached so far the northern island of New Zealand that I was able to see through the telescope, not only the mountain tops but even the most densely populated districts.
Our fellow-passengers woke up one after the other, and Miss Phantasia asked me would I stay at the same hotel with them at Melbourne? “We go to the Old-England,” continued she; “we have already ordered our dinner.”
I answered of course that I could never too late part with such excellent company.
Bacon called the steward, and gave orders for us to be put down near Cape Maria van Diemen, from which a telegram should be sent to Melbourne.
Shortly afterwards we floated over New Zealand, and I was obliged to confess that Bacon had not said too much of that country. Few districts in this world have been so largely favoured by nature. The large bays and gulfs were crowded with innumerable vessels apparently belonging to all nations. Of cities, towns, and villages, there was no end, and everything indicated the highest degree of prosperity.
Among the most conspicuous flags I noticed one very liberally represented; it had twelve suns on a blue field. Not knowing what they meant, I once more inquired of my guide: what country did they represent?
“That is the standard of the twelve united states of New Holland, which together form a federate republic,” answered Bacon.
“A republic!” was my reply; “I always thought that New Holland belonged to the British crown.”
“Such was the case,” replied Bacon, “at one time; but the child has outgrown the mother. For ever so long the New Hollanders manage their own affairs. They are, as you are doubtless aware, of European descent. That is the great difference between New Holland and the East Indian islands, which at one time were yours. We have therefore parted on the very best of terms, and the only bond that still joins us together is that of reciprocal commercial interests. The vast Southland has become a powerful government; and if ever—improbable as it is—civilization should migrate from Old Europe, it still would know where to find a centre. You will soon become aware of this on our landing.”
We were rapidly moving. New Zealand disappeared from our horizon, and in opposite direction other districts seemed to emerge from the sea. That was New Holland, the great Southland, the goal of our voyage.
Every passenger began to look after his luggage. The long extensive coastline lay before us. We were slowly and obliquely descending. The objects on the surface of the earth grew in size and distinctness. It was evident that we were approaching a large city. Melbourne it was. A few moments afterwards we heard a bustle and a kind of confused noise, only to be compared with the unfurling of sails and the untying of ropes. A violent shock followed, and—I woke up in my arm-chair.
THE END.