CHAPTER VII.
THE MUSKETS OF HONGI "He sang of battles, and the breath Of stormy war and violent death." Marsden's notes help us to picture his first night in New Zealand.

The son of the Yorkshire blacksmith, the voyager in convict-ships, the chaplain of New South Wales in the days of rum and chain-gangs, was not the man to be troubled by nerves.

But even Marsden was wakeful on that night.

Thinking of many things--thoughts not to be expressed--the missionary paced up and down on the sea beach by which a tribe was encamped.

The air was pleasant, the stars shone brightly, in front of him the sea spread smoothly, peacefully folded among the wooded hills.
At the head of the harbour the ripple tapped lightly upon the charred timbers of the _Boyd_.