he canoe. Thunder pealed and lightning flashed,
but those in the canoe paddled on. Then they landed; eight rose
to leave the canoe, but the thief sat still with his dog-skin mat and
the goblin's garment under his feet. His companions called him,
but he did not answer. One of them shook him and the thief fell
back into the hold of the canoe, and blood was seen on his clothing
and a hole in his back."

What followed was a capital example of the Maori doctrine of _utu_,
or compensation, the cause of so many wars and vendettas. The tribe
decided that as the thief had stolen the calico, his death ought not
to be avenged, but that as he had paid for it with his life _he_
should keep it. So it was buried with him.

The French were but a few months behind the English in the discovery
of New Zealand. The ship of their captain, De Surville, just
missed meeting Cook at the Bay of Islands. There the French made a
fortnight's stay, and were well treated by the chief, Kinui, who acted
with particular kindness to certain sick sailors put on shore to
recover. Unfortunately one of De Surville's boats was stolen, and in
return he not only burnt the nearest village and a number of canoes,
but kidnapped the innocent Kinui, who pined away on shipboard and died
off the South American coast a few days before De Surville himself was
drowned in the surf in trying to land at Callao.

For this rough-handed and unjust act certain of De Surville's
countrymen were destined to pay dearly. Between two and three years
afterwards, two French exploring vessels under the command of Marion
du Fresne entered the Bay of Islands. They were in want of masts and
spars, of wood and water, and had many men down with sickness.
The expedition was on the look-out for that dream of so many
geographers--the great south continent. Marion was a tried seaman, a
man of wealth and education, and of an adventurous spirit. It is to
Crozet, one of his officers, that we owe the story of his fate. Thanks
probably to the Abbe Rochon, who edited Crozet's papers, the narrative
is clear, pithy, and business-like: an agreeable contrast to the
Hawkesworth-Cook-Banks motley, so much more familiar to most of us.

For nearly five weeks after Marion's ships anchored in the bay all
went merry as a marriage bell, though the relations of the French tars
with the Maori _wahine_ were not in the strict sense matrimonial. The
Maoris, at first cautious, soon became the best of fr