nt tribal battle, put into the bay of the
very tribe which had been beaten in the fighting. When a number of
natives came on board to trade, he thought it a capital joke--after
business was over--to roll out on the deck a sackful of the heads of
their slain kinsfolk. Recognising the features, the insulted Maoris
sprang overboard with tears and cries of rage.

[Illustration: MAORI WAHINE

Photo by GENERAL ROBLEY.]

A third worthy, whilst trading in the Bay of Islands, missed some
articles on board his schooner. He at once had the chief Koro Koro,
who happened to be on board, seized and bound hand and foot in the
cabin. Koro Koro, who was noted both for strength and hot temper,P
Land. They were varied by tragedies on a larger scale. In 1809 the
_Boyd_, a ship of 500 tons--John Thompson, master--had discharged a
shipload of English convicts in Sydney. The captain decided to take in
a cargo of timber in New Zealand, and accordingly sailed to Whangaroa,
a romantic inlet to the north of the Bay of Islands. Amongst the crew
were several Maoris. One of these, known as George, was a young chief,
though serving before the mast. During the voyage he was twice flogged
for refusing to work on the plea of illness. The captain added insult
to the stripes by the words, "You are no chief!" The sting of this lay
in the sacredness attached by Maori custom to a chief's person, which
was _tapu_--_i.e._ a thing not to be touched. George--according to his
own account[1]--merely replied that when they reached New Zealand the
captain would see that he was a chief. But he vowed vengeance, and on
reaching Whangaroa showed his stripes to his kinsfolk, as Boadicea
hers to the Britons of old. The tribesmen, with the craft of which the
apparently frank and cheerful Maori has so ample a share, quietly laid
their plans. The captain was welcomed. To divide their foes, the Maori
beguiled him and a party of sailors into the forest, where they killed
them all. Then, dressing themselves in the clothes of the dead, the
slayers made off to the _Boyd_. Easily coming alongside in their
disguises, they leaped on the decks and massacred crew and passengers
without pity. George himself clubbed half a dozen, who threw
themselves at his feet begging for mercy. Yet even in his fury he
spared a ship's boy who had been kind to him, and who ran to him
for protection, and a woman and two girl-children. All four were
afterwards rescued by Mr. Berry, of Sydney, and took