After leaving Dannevirke, the Prince took a turn on the foot-plate of the engine of the train, which he drove at something like fifty miles an hour to Woodville, where he had halted the day before. At Woodville the track turned southwards through wilder country, including a certain amount of still uncleared bush. Even here, however, the land is being opened up, and I heard of farms changing hands at as much as seventy pounds per acre. As the afternoon progressed halts were made at various stations, including Featherston, where the Prince was received by cheering crowds from a military training camp near by. At dusk the train skirted the wide Wairarapa--lake of shining water--where wild swans still breed in some numbers. Here we seemed to have reached the end of the track, as high hills closed in on either side, and there was no sign of a tunnel. The big single engine, however, was replaced by three smaller ones of special make for mountain climbing, one of them being attached at either end of the train and the third in the middle. A start was then made up a zigzag track consisting of three rails, the third so fixed in the middle, between the other two, that pulley wheels beneath the body of the engines can get a purchase below it, thus completely wedging the train and preventing its too sudden descent in case of accident. Slowly then the train crawled up the gradient, which, in places, is no less than one in fifteen. On the way we passed heavy timber-fences erected to break the force of the wind, which has been known so strong, at times on this part of the line, as to overturn a train. In the darkness we crossed the Rimutaka--ridge of fallen trees--and slid smoothly down to the other side into the rich Hutt valley in which Wellington stands.
A fairy city of lights, outlining spires, roofs and street lines, lay by reflection in the black water of a broad still harbour, as the train skirted the low coast of Petone, landing-place of the first white settlers, eventually passing through extensive suburbs and coming to a standstill in the station of Wellington. Here the reception was a climax to the demonstrations along the journey from Auckland. Mayor Luke, supported by the city councillors, in ermine and gold chains, received the Prince, as he alighted from the train. Mr. Massey, and other members of the Dominion Government, were waiting at the entrance. Outside, one of the smartest captain's guards-of-honour imaginable was standing to attention, with band and colours. Beyond, restrained by a rope barrier, an enormous crowd cheered and cheered. The eye travelled over the heads of the nearer people, and then further away, and there was no thinning off. One then began to realize that one was looking up a broad street which climbed a hill, and that the entire hill was a palpitating mass of shouting humanity, dimly seen in the half-light of the illuminations.