Chapter III.
The Voyage.

"Halloween," 31st October, 1839, saw the good ship "Bengal Merchant" out of sight of land and fairly off on her long voyage, under command of Captain Henley, and with Dr. Logan in charge of the medical department. Three other vessels were equipped by the New Zealand Company, and sailed about the same time or a little earlier. We shall make their acquaintance on arrival. Besides the crew of the "Bengal Merchant," there were 120 passengers, and these all, with the exception of one boy, who died of sunstroke in the tropics, were landed in good health, after a voyage of 104 days. Among the passengers was a Presbyterian minister, Rev. McFarlane, whose services were appreciated, especially by an elderly bachelor, who took a sure method of engaging the life-long services of his dairy-maid, viz.: by marrying her! This gentleman caused some amusement by his eccentricities. The death and burial of the poor boy were most sad; the feeling of utter loneliness and solemnity in witnessing a burial at sea is overwhelming; yet greater than the mighty deep is God's omnipotent love. One day shall "the sea give up the dead which are in it."

As a result of the ignorance that prevailed as to the requirements of Colonial life, many were the extraordinary, incongruous articles some of the passengers burdened themselves with—for instance, house-bells, skates, bird's-eyes, and hosts of similarly useless things! Curiously enough, the bird's-eye man was the first to find a market for his wares; he sold them shortly after his arrival to a speculative bird stuffer who had run out of stock. Ploughs, harrows, scythes, and other farming implements were numerous, but for many years proved superfluous luxuries, which in most cases perished from disuse and rust. One of the passengers, Mr. Yule, brought a cart, which proved most useful in drawing the heavy boxes of the new arrivals up the shingly beach, a band of men acting as beasts of burden in lieu of the absent horse. Simplicity, too, characterised many of the passengers, unused as they were in those primitive days to travelling. A maid of the doctor's, on losing a water-can overboard, was inconsolable, till, on the kindly suggestion of a wag, she hugged the happy thought—"the fowk (people) on the next boat'll get it." This reflection soothed the frugal mind of the bereft damsel. This simple lassie provided herself with a reaping hook and "grape" (potato fork) with a view to harvest operations in the new world; needless to say, these proved as valueless to her as the lost can!

No doubt many incidents of that long voyage would be worthy of mention, did we but know them, but our information is slight and vague in regard to life on board the "Bengal Merchant." One funny incident Mr. Hay used to relate with gusto: A fellow passenger, who made himself objectionable by his inordinate greed and selfish care of his own large person, was in the habit of tying himself to the mast, near which he secured his seat at table, so as to steady himself that he might give his undivided page 36attention to his knife and fork. One day, while they sat at dinner, an enormous sea washed over the ship, and came with overwhelming force into the saloon. The passengers all saw it coming, and had time to rush into their berths out of the way; but this-unfortunate gourmand, unable to extricate himself got the full force of the monster douche-bath around his cherished person, and worse than the wetting and loss of his dinner, he had to endure the laughter of his shipmates, who did not spare him!

During the long voyage Mrs. Logan and Mrs. Hay, who until they met on board knew each other but slightly, became warm close friends, and were mutually comforting and helpful to each other. The fact of Dr. and Mrs. Logan's friendship for Mr. Hay and his relatives in Glasgow, particularly his favourite sister, Mrs. Raeburn, cemented this bond between them, which lasted unbroken through the long years to follow. Dr. and Mrs. Logan had an only child—a son—then an infant of a few months old, now our good friend, Mr. H. F. Logan, to whom, as well as to his mother, we are much indebted for many details of this time!

The welcome cry of "land ahoy" greeted the ears of our voyagers on February 4th, 1840, when Cape Farewell was sighted, and after some days of stormy, thick weather, the vessel made Port Hardy, d'Urville Island, and dropped her anchor in New Zealand waters. They called here according to orders, to find out if any alterations had been made by the Company's agents (who had preceded them in the survey ships) as to where their final destinaton was to be. The only information got there was from native visitors to ship, to the effect that three big ships ("kaipuka"), each with three masts ("rakus"), had been there, and had passed on to Port Nicolson—now Wellington harbour.

This was the first introduction of our passengers to the Maoris, and great excitement prevailed on board when the canoe came alongside, with four men and a woman, to interview the "pakeha" (stranger). They were taken on board, made much of, and sent away happy with food and finery. The woman had bestowed upon her the relics of a red silk dress, with which to bedeck herself. The Maoris made themselves fairly understood, having come in contact at various times with whaling parties, who taught them a mongrel lingo called "Pigeon English."

Whilst the previous ship, "Duke of Roxburgh," was off this port, which she could not make on account of a a south-east gale, a sad accident occurred: her commander, Captain Thompson fell overboard in a sudden lurch of the vessel. Owing to the heavy seas running they were unable to do anything to save him. The mate had to take charge of the vessel into Port Nicolson.

After a few hours' stay at Port Hardy, our good ship sailed out, and next morning, 12th February, 1840, Wellington Heads was made, in a drizzling mist and high north-west winds. The ship was hove to, and a cannon fired to attract attention, with successful effect. Soon, out of the haze, the salutation "Tenakoe" (Anglicé: "How are you?"— "Good day"—"Hillo;"—it may stand for either) was heard, and a Maori gentleman appeared in a canoe, and was soon on board. His Pigeon English was intelligible enough to convey the information that some vessels were already lying at anchor in the harbour. Under his pilotage the captain at once commenced working the ship up the entrance, and all hands being eager to assist in manipulating the sails, she made good speed. Soon they heard their first European greeting, a hail from the captain of the "Ariel," who, on hearing the report of their gun, came down in his boat to meet them. In a short time they page 38dropped anchor under the lee of Somes' Island, near the three other vessels, "Ariel," "Aurora," and "Roxburgh," and learnt they had the honour of being the fourth passenger ship to arrive, following the two survey ships, "Tory" and "Cuba" the heralds of the New Zealand Land Company.

Next day three young Maoris, sons of the chief Epuni, of the Ngatiawa tribe, came on board to give the new arrivals a welcome. Dressed in their native costume, a blanket or mat, with the addition of a shirt, which, since the arrival of the "Tory" and "Cuba," had become a fashionable article of male attire among the natives, these youths won golden opinions for their dignified, gentlemanly bearing. They dined in the saloon, and acquitted themselves most creditably, managing to carry on a "korero" (conversation) with the doctor and some of the passengers. Dr. Logan had possessed himself, while at Hokianga of a small Maori vocabulary, compiled by the missionaries there, which proved most useful in these interviews. Although no missionaries had up to this time been stationed in this district, still the art of writing had reached them, probably from the station that Bishop Hadfield established and first occupied in October, 1839, at Otaki, then a large Maori settlement. The visitors, proud of their accomplishments, were only too pleased to write their names on cards, which they presented to the captain with the simple-hearted politeness natural to them. Their father, the chief Epuni, a portrait of whom, almost life size, may be seen in the Parliamentary Buildings, Wellington, was as fine a specimen of a Maori and a man as ever lived. He was a true "native's gentleman," whose friendliness to the "pakehas" and control over his tribe assisted more than anything to enable the new-comers to establish themselves peacefully on the shores of what they fondly hoped would prove to them a veritable "Land of Goshen."

At this time the fighting men belonging to Epuni's tribe —the Ngatiawas—were away warring with the Ngatikahuna tribe in the Wairarapa District, and did not return for three weeks after the "Bengal's" arrival. Their return was dreaded by the passengers as the beginning of troubles, for thrilling accounts had been given them by their Maori friends of the warlike propensities of the Ngatikahunas, who, it was feared, would speedily follow to retaliate and revindicate their honour by killing as many as possible of the Ngatiawa tribe by way of "utu"—pronounced hute.

Maori War Canoes.

These fears were happily never realised, though many a scare they had, as we shall see, years after they landed and settled down. The redoubtable Ngatiawa warriors however, were not long in making their presence known in startling fashion to the pakehas, after their return from the wars.

One morning early, the anchored "Kaipuka" (big ships) were surprised by seeing and hearing five war-canoes, each containing 18 or 20 men. They had come page 40in right royal style to welcome the pakehas by dancing the "Haka" (war-dance) by way of salutation. The "Haka" is a hideous combination of discordant sounds, grimaces, and contortions of their lithe bodies, which they executed for the delectation of each vessel in turn, a sight once seen never to be forgotten! It was intended as a high honour to the pakehas, who were expected to enjoy the performance as much as did the performers themselves. They stood on the cross-seats of their war-canoes, keeping time in every movement, their features distorted, tongues out, eyes rolling, bodies and limbs violently convulsed to the finger tips; their arms they threw out from their sides simultaneously; each frenzied gesture was accompanied by discordant yells, groans and snorts, which culminated in crescendos; the shrieks then gradually died down to weird mutterings, only to rise again to wilder heights, if possible, than before. This truly awe-inspiring exhibition, which is now well known, though only indulged in on festive occasions, as may be supposed, alarmed the new-comers not a little. The ladies fled to their cabins to shut out the sights—if not the sounds!—and all felt relieved when the exciting display came to an end.