battered by the sea, have something of a lugubrious though imposing appearance. It is also accompanied by some pointed rocks of singular shape, some of which are very slender on top. For this reason we gave to that part of Otea the name of Pointe des Aiguilles [still so called]. At the same time the soundings were 72 fathoms, hard yellow mud.

As soon as we had passed the Pointe des Aiguilles, we discovered successively the numerous islands dispersed at the entrance to the Bay of Shouraki [Hauraki], a view which produced a most picturesque and animated scene. Here the work of Cook was again found to be very unexact, and a new exploration became indispensable.

With the wind W.N.W. then prevailing I already flattered myself with the hope of doubling the north point of Otea, and of penetrating into the Bay of Shouraki by the channel which lies between that island and Shoutourou [Hauturu, Little Barrier]. A black squall, however, rose in the S.W., and prevented me, and therefore I kept away to starboard. At 1.30 the squall burst upon us with violence, but it did not last long. Presently the sky cleared, and the wind returned to the S.S.W. and obliged me to keep outside the islands, and soon after we sighted the Poule et les Poussins [Hen and Chickens Isles], just before night. At 12 p.m. a brilliant meteor showed in the east for some seconds.

21st February.—When daylight came we sighted all the land seen the previous evening, and at the same time found that the current had driven us eight or ten miles to the north. We also commenced to see the Tawiti Rahi (Poor Knights of Cook) [Tawhiti-rahi] and the broken summits of Tewara [Bream Heam], although distant one and the other nearly twenty-five miles.

At noon we passed, at six miles distant, to the north of the islets, apparently uninhabited, of Moko-hinau.[Moko-hinau]. The breeze having changed to the S.E. and even E.S.E., I steered the corvette under all sail towards the Harbour of Wangari [Whangarei], where I hoped to cast anchor before night. Unfortunately, at the moment when we arrived on the meridian of the east group of Moro-Tiri (and it was already 4.30), the breeze fell, and barely allowed us to move more than a knot an hour. It was then impossible to stand out to sea, and I decided, as well as I could, to gain the anchorage of Wangari, with the sounding-line in hand. We passed at less than half a league the narrow and loftly chain (sic) of Moro-Tiri. [The Moro-tiri, or Chicken Islands, however, are, comparatively speaking, quite low; probably D'Urville means the Hen Island.] On its desert shores nothing but the monotonous sound of the breakers and the fearful cry of the sea-birds was heard.

Up to midnight we had successively from 48 to 22 fathoms of water, sand, and shells. … At 4.30 in the morning of the 22nd I laid to; and at 6 a.m., having recognised the land at less than three miles off, I stood towards Cape Rodney. Soon the sky, up to that time clear, became overcast from the east, with a heavy sea, and it appeared as if bad weather was again setting in. I did not judge it prudent to expose ourselves to the fury of the wind on an open coast, and thought it better to find an anchorage in shelter.

In consequence, I steered towards the head of Wangari Bay, where I hoped to place the “Astrolabe” under the shelter of Cape Tewara. Unfortunately, we had already fallen too far to leeward, and a bank appeared in our route, which obliged us to anchor in the mouth of the bay in a place little sheltered against the wind prevailing.

Hardly had we anchored when the sky became entirely overcast, and the wind blew with force from the S.E., accompanied by much rain and a heavy sea. Nevertheless, it was not long before we distinguished a long warcanoe coming from the head of the bay, and approaching us, urged by all the vigour of those on board, for they managed their craft with extreme ability. It was not without interest to see that long and frail vessel mounting and disappearing alternately over the rough waves. These Natives were in the national costume of New Zealand—that is, mats of mouka (Phormium tenax) [muka], more or less thick, with the exception of one individual, who was properly dressed in English garments. I at first took him for some deserter established amongst the Natives, the more so as he accosted the corvette without hesitation, mounted on board, and asked for the rangatira rahi [principal chief], and advanced toward me with a deliberate air. It was not until I heard him speak, and examined his partly tattoed face nearer, that I discovered he was in reality a Native.

Soon, by aid of a language half English, half New-Zealand, often aided by singnificant gestures, I came to understand that my guest was named Rangui [Rangituke], son of Te Koki, principal chief of Paihia, Bay of Islands, Whom I had visited four years previously. He said, with pride, he was a companion of Pomare [killed by Waikato, on the Waipa River, in 1826], and, although he concealed part of the truth, I suspected very quickly that he was at this time engaged in some military expedition against the people of Shouraki Bay.

One of his lieutenants, named Natai [?Nga-tai], decorated with regular tattooage, attracted our attention. The facile of M. de Sainson has reproduced with fidelity the features and the moko [tattooing] of this New Zealand warrior (see pl. xliii). [Plate XL.]

Rangui gave me to understand that he had resided some time at Port Jackson, where he had acquired his semi-European manners. In order to convince me, he showed me with much gravity a torn sheet of paper, which I at first took for some certificate of a whaling captain. In effect it was a certificate, but under the name of two individuals of Sydney, attesting the fact that they had lodged Rangui for some days, adding that the latter had promised in return to send them some spears, shells, and other objects of the country. These two people, in consequence, invited all captains into whose hands the paper should fall to remind the bearer of that promise. That pleasant invitation amused me much, and I thought that those invited would think much more of securing such things for themselves, rather than for the two comrades of Port Jackson. For the rest, I returned to Rangui his paper, with a serious air, as if its contents had given me much information about him, and he appeared very well satisfied.

After having examined for a moment the weather, our ship, and our anchorage with as much aplomb as an experienced pilot, he declared that we were in a very bad place, that the weather was going to be worse, and that our ship would certainly perish if we did not change her position. At the same time he indicated the head of the bay, and assured me we should be in perfect safety there, and used all his eloquence to persuade me to remove thither. Without doubt he was right, which I knew well; and more than he I desired the power to conduct the corvette under the shelter of Tewara Peninsula, but the weather which prevailed did not permit me to attempt it. Te Rangui, who could not understand my reasons, exerted himself to demonstrate the necessity of leaving that anchorage, and added

the menace of an approaching shipwreck. Seeing that he could not prevail, he sent his canoe ashore and remained with me himself.

At my request he gave me, with intelligence and complaisance, the names, in the language of the country, of the adjacent lands and islands, which I have, as usual, substituted for those of Cook.

On these coasts, occupied by a people endowed with so much sagacity, and who have not left an islet, a rock, or a corner of the land without a name, it seems odd to a navigator to see none but English names, often applied without taste. It is much more interesting to use the Native names, which are certain to be understood by them, and to be able to indicate thereby the places to which he desires to direct his ship. Without doubt it is a sacred duty on the part of the navigator to respect the names given by the first discoverer of uninhabited places; but, everywhere else, I think that those of the indigenous people should prevail so soon as they are known. A time will come when these names will be the only vestiges of the language spoken by the primitive inhabitants.

Immediately after anchoring, I sent M. Pâris to sound all round the ship from the N.W. to the S.W., and determine the limit of the 5-fathom line. The result of his operations was that the deep water nearly touched the coast. As we were more than two miles distant, it assured me that in case of accident we should have plenty of room to drift.

The weather threatened more and more. At 12, I attempted to get under way to advance farther up the bay; but our capstan, always in bad order, slipped at each violent shock of the waves. I feared that the intended movement, in place of being advantageous to us, might become fatal, so I decided to remain as we were, the more so as the anchor held well, although we had at that time only 40 fathoms of chain out.

The weather being somewhat better at 3 p.m., I sent M. Lottin towards the head of the bay to make a survey of it. He returned at 5.30 p.m., after having found an excellent anchorage at the entrance of a fine channel, which is probably the mouth of the Wangari River.

Te Rangui had passed the day on board very happily, and decided to spend the night with us. But nothing would prevail on him to accompany us to the head of Shouraki Bay. The very idea of communicating with the inhabitants of that country seemed to cause him much terror. Neither prayers nor promises could conquer his repugnance, nor even the offer of a musket, a bait so powerful to a New-Zealander.^* He told me that Temarangai [Te Marangai], chief of this district, lived on the Wangari; and he added that he would go and inform him of our arrival, and invite him to bring some hogs, if we would only wait three or four days.

All night the sea was very heavy, the breeze fresh and uncertain, and the heavens overcast. The “Astrolabe” rolled heavily, but without too much strain on her.

23rd February.—At 5 a.m., seeing that the wind and the sea would not permit me to make sail, I wished to profit by the delay to visit the bay at the entry of the river, and the encampment of Te Rangui. Followed by MM. Quoy, Lottin, Lauvergne, and Te Rangui, I directed the whaleboat towards the point of sand situated N.N.W. of our anchorage.

On our way thither we met the three canoes of Rangui, which were coming off.^* The largest was ornamented both fore and aft with plumes and tufts of hair, and the whole length of its top-sides sculptured in basrelief, painted in red, often enriched with shell, the whole executed in the best New Zealand taste. Rangui addressed some words to his warriors, and then insisted on accompanying me in my excursion, though I offered to leave him in his canoe. A considerable bank of sand which extends nearly a mile out from the coast reduces the entry to Wangari so much as not to leave more than half a mile of clear space. The interior offers an excellent anchorage, where one would be sheltered in all parts; and the south wind, which alone could enter, would not cause much sea, on account of the configuration of the adjacent lands. Along the high land towards the north 10 and 12 fathoms are found close to the shore.

The entrance of the river itself has half a mile of width, and expands into a vast basin of from two to three miles in width, where ships like ours could doubtless enter. We debarked near the north point, and M. Lottin and I climbed up to the summit of a ridge which dominated both the exterior and interior basins. From that point the eye wandered at will over the sombre summits of Tewara, surmounted by sharp peaks often disposed like the fingers of the hand, and over the low and sandy flats which bordered the opposite side of the channel at my feet [Township of Marsden; landing-place for Waipu], and, above all, over the vast and peaceful basin of the waters of Wangari, surrounded on all sides by shores covered with a robust vegetation. Pleasant isles elevated themselves on its surface, whilst the course of the river disappeared in the mountains situated towards the sunset.

Probably, like all those which have been found up to date in these islands, this river, in spite of its imposing aspect at its mouth, is but a large creek of salt water, ending soon in a torrent more or less voluminous, which in summer and at low water often offers but a small stream of water. That disposition of the New Zealand rivers, so much in conformity in appearance with those of New Holland, arises, I think, from a different cause. In New Zealand I attribute it naturally to the extreme irregularity of the soil, to the height of the mountains, and, above all, to the little width of the islands of which that land is composed, which does not permit the water-courses to attain any considerable volume before pouring out into the sea. It is needless to prove that the same reason is not admissible for the Australian Continent.

Whilst admiring the beauty of the scene spread out before us, and the vigour of the vegetation, I was astonished at the silence which reigned on all sides, and the absence of all human creatures on a soil so fertile. But I recalled to mind the warlike habits of the New-Zealanders, and, above all, the wars of extermination which the people of the north declared each year against the unhappy tribes of Shouraki Bay. In fact, in rambling in the neighbourhood, I soon discovered in the scrub which covered the soil the scattered remains of numerous houses. A village had formerly occupied that eminence, and its inhabitants had been destroyed, or had fled to the interior to escape the fury of the Bay of Island tribes, guided successively by Korokoro, Pomare, Shongue [Hongi], &c.

[The Whangarei Natives—Parawhau and others tribes—were generally allies of Nga-Puhi of the bay, but not always, and frequent wars between