Chapter XV. Bound for the South Pacific.

About a month after the conversation of which the last chapter is a partial abstract, two completely equipped French frigates, the Marquis de Castries, and her consort the Mascarin, under Captain Marion du Fresne, and Lieutenant Crozet, second in command, both bound for the South Pacific, were ploughing their way over the broad Atlantic, their ultimate destination being the islands of New Zealand, so named by the Dutch navigator Tasman more than a century before.

The hearts of all on board, from commandant to cabin boy, beat high with hope of varied adventure, boundless wealth, perchance of distinction page 73 as the result of their cruise. Little trembled were the light-hearted hog-eaters by the tales of horror magnified by fear with which friends and acquaintances had essayed to daunt their courage and deter them from their daring enterprise. It seemed, indeed, even to those whose practical experience enabled them to discount the more improbable narrations, a hazardous if not foolhardy project—that of exploring the coast, propitiating the people, and ascertaining the resources of a far distant land inhabited by ‘a bloodthirsty race,’ whose gigantic stature ferocious courage, and cannibal proclivities had been the theme of every navigator since De Gonnerville. But the courageous band cared as little for the warnings of the friends they left behind as for the croakings of their forsaken froggies. Love of foreign exploration, scientific discovery perilous adventure, hunger for new sights, new sounds, new conditions, the liking for change, or that lust for gold—whatever the impulse, it urged them onward. No fateful shadow sobered their joyous levity; no premonition whispered of a dreadful doom. On and on, Skimming the billows like bold sea birds, the good ships sped over the trackless ocean, and all went merry as a marriage bell.

The utmost care had been taken to secure the right kind persons for an undertaking of such importance, and the Commandant, himself a man of generous temper, impressed upon his subordinates the paramount importance of just dealing and kindly forbearance in their intercourse with the native tribes they were so soon to meet. It was subject for constant gratulation that the expedition had the benefit of the experience of Jean and Jacques two seamen who had belonged to the crew of the St. Jean Baptiste, which vessel, under Captain de Surville, had visited New Zealand some three years previously. Petit was the former's sobriquet on account of his small stature, and both he and his mate seemed to have made fair use of their eyes during their short stay in the country. The crew never wearied of the details of their life ashore, and the and dress and customs of the New Zealanders, their size, appearance, taste, habits, etc. formed a never failing theme of conversation and enquiry whenever Jack Tar—loup de mer sea wolf the French call him—had a moment's leisure, each individual Jack betraying by the nature of his queries his hopes and propensities, his crude conceptions, garbled information, or absolute ignorance.

‘Is it true, petit, that the natives are giants?’

‘Petit, do those barbarians there really eat all their infants?’

‘How do the islanders cook their food, Jacques?’

‘Do they go about quite naked?’

‘And the women, petit, what are they like?’

‘Saw you any gold, Jacques?’

‘Is it possible they eat their enemies alie[gap — reason: unclear]?’

‘What like are their weapons, Jacques?’

page 74

‘Is it true, petit, that feathers grow out of their heads?’

‘What made De Surville think the natives stole the boat?’

‘Think you the captive chief died of a broken heart, petit, or was it mal-de-mer?’

Such and such like were the questions poured incessantly into the ears of the two sailors, until, from feeling themselves something like heroes, they began heartily to wish at last that they had never seen the St. Jean Baptiste, nor set foot on the shores of New Zealand, and not infrequently treated the most pertinacious of the inquirers to maledictions instead of information. They, however, continued on excellent terms with Arnaud, the incomprehensible valet of Monsieur D'Estrelles, for according to promise, that gentleman, having decided to join the expedition, had brought his valet along with him, and the latter, as much apparently from inclination as in obedience to orders, applied his energies to acquiring from the two seamen whatever knowledge they possessed regarding the barbarous people presently to be encountered. He had acquired a surprising influence over both men, and with one or two others of mature age and staid manners—among whom was one Pierre, a taciturn Northman, nicknamed Rouge from his coarse red hair—employed every available moment in extracting all they knew about, and thus obtaining a real—though necessarily limited—acquaintance with the words and ways of the Maori people.

It would occupy too much space to record in detail the various incidents of that eventful voyage. Suffice it that in the early days of May, 1772, the expectant mariners knew from unmistakeable signs that they were approaching land of no inconsiderable extent. All around them extended the wide ocean, the level line of the distant horizon still unbroken, but the changing hue of the sea, the weeds floating on its bosom, the occasional flights of birds, all told one tale to the observant seafarers. Like a pair of huge waterfowl the ships kept on their lonely track, forging ever ahead, men at the mastheads keeping a good lookout, possibly for indications of human activity, for land was not likely to be sighted for some days.