About 1.30 or 2 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, October 7, the cry of land was shouted from the masthead. Banks was on deck when pandemonium broke out. The land could scarcely be seen even from the masthead, "yet few were there who did not plainly see it from the deck" until they were made to understand they were looking in the wrong direction.13 Only after the excitement subsided did the sailors think to look up to see who had won the prize. The happy discoverer was a twelve year-old boy named Nicholas Young who would get the gallon of rum and have the coast named after him.


The land came up slowly, and at sunset about 6 o'clock it was still only barely visible from on deck. For two days Endeavour ghosted along before light airs as the coast rose and extended out on either beam. She was fetching into a broad, horseshoe-shaped bay, lined by rather steep, chalk cliffs facing the sea with forested hills rising inland. A kind of stockade could be seen on a hilltop off to the right, several huts were near the shore, and smoke rose here and there in the distance. Not altogether fruitful, thought Banks. "But all hands seem to agree that this is certainly the Continent we are in search of."

They had sailed 1,262 miles since September 19, and a total of 3,820 miles on the fifty-nine day passage from Raiatea. On Monday afternoon, October 9, the ship was close enough for the sailors to see six or seven canoes making for shore, and for a time a group of people, sitting on the beach near a small river, watched them before disappearing into the bush.14 At 4 p.m. the sails of Endeavour were deftly furled and the way went off her as she dropped anchor about a mile and a half from shore. At 38º57'S, Cook had brought her right in on the Admiralty target. With fresh water and food in short supply, the pinnace and yawl were immediately put over the side. The first landing party hurried off in high spirits.

The late afternoon shadows were already lengthening across the tranquil scene as the boats made their approach, proceeding toward the river to avoid the surf. While the pinnace lay near the mouth of the river, Cook, accompanied by Banks, Solander, and Monkhouse crossed to the far bank in the yawl, leaving four young sailors in charge of the yawl at the water's edge; he wanted to meet several natives he had seen near a few huts two or three hundred yards beyond. But when the natives saw the pale-faced strangers coming their way, they fled, leaving the landing party to disperse along the river. Cook and his companions began wandering about the deserted settlement. The walls of the huts were made of reeds and were thatched over with grasses and rushes. Crawling through a low opening, they examined a fish net and someone's dress, both made of grass. Outside on a stump they found a stone image of a human figure carved into a grotesque shape. "Our first suggestions led us to consider this little object with a religious eye," wrote Monkhouse. He was correct; it was an amulet, called a heitiki. "Of course it was replaced with great care and ornamented with some beads and nails." Nearby they came upon some fish pots made of reeds, a mound of limpet and lobster shells, and an oven in the ground "Otaheite Style." Suddenly their reverie was shattered by the sound of musket shots.

The four boys in the yawl had in the meantime re-crossed the river and were wandering off; after fifty-nine days at sea they also wanted to enjoy themselves on dry land as they could see their captain was doing. Just then four dark-skinned natives stepped out of an ambush. They were heavily tattooed, half-naked, carried wicked-looking lances, and glared fiercely as they stalked forward. The boys took to their heels. But one member of the landing party was alert: this was Samuel Evans, coxswain of the pinnace, who had his guns ready. Fearing that his mates might not escape, he fired a musket over the heads of the natives, and when they did not seem to notice, he reached for his musquetoon (a handgun) and fired over their heads again. When they still did not disperse but kept on brandishing their lances, he levelled another musket at the leader, and shot him. The man's eyes glazed over with sudden incomprehension, and as he brushed his hand in a distracted way at the red spot spreading over his side, he sank to the ground with the indifference of the dying. For a moment all was still. His companions stared, for they, too, did not understand, then dragged him to higher ground, leaving a trail of blood, and finding that he was dead, walked quietly away into the bush whence they had come.

The musket shots brought Cook on the run to hear the agitated coxswain blurt out what had happened. Shocked and alarmed, Cook and his companions stumbled along the red trail to gaze in disbelief at the fallen warrior. The 2-ounce musket ball had entered his left side at the sixth rib and exited through the right shoulder blade. According to Maori tradition his name was Te Maro. He was stoutly-built, about 5'3", with carefully etched spiral tattoos on his nose and right cheek; the singular warp of his garment reminded Banks of a picture of a New Zealander in Dalrymple's book. Cook placed some beads and nails on the body as a symbol of respect, and withdrew. The thoroughly shaken party rowed back to the ship. It was about 6 o'clock. So ended the first landing on the continent.

That sinister bay where Tasman had anchored suddenly seemed very near. Witnessing a sudden, violent death was a new experience for the sailors, especially as this time the blood was on their hands. Cook might have reflected on the somber parallels between the two receptions. Moreover, if the ambush had occurred at the huts, lying as they were just out of musket range, the landing likely would have had a different ending. Still needing fresh water and food, he made a new plan.

During the night a clamor of voices was heard above the rising surf. The next morning about 8 o'clock Cook ordered out the boats with his thirteen armed marines carrying a Union Jack. The yawl followed by the long boat and pinnace proceeded again to the landing at the river mouth. On the far side of the river about one hundred fifty to two hundred natives were gathering--and there they stayed. "A sign of fear," said Banks. As Cook walked along the river bank with Banks and Solander he called across to them in a few words of Tahitian, which they seemed to understand. At once he took notice. But Banks's hope was premature, for no sooner did Cook call out than they began flourishing their lances and clubs, and arrayed themselves for a war dance. Gore described the scene.15

Then with a Regular Jump from Left to Right and the Reverse, They brandish'd their Weapons, distort'd their Mouths, Lolling out their Tongues and Turn'd up the Whites of their Eyes Accompanied with a strong hoarse song, Calculated in my opinion to Chear Each Oher and Intimidate their Enemies.

A musket shot striking the water quieted the performance. Cook withdrew for a few minutes while the marines marched into position; he would do some intimidating of his own.

A dramatic tableau was unfolding. On the far side of the stream stood the pre-literate Maoris who were already singling out Cook as the leader of those pale-faced strangers; on the other, the sophisticated English mariners who were not less attentive in watching to see how their Captain would conduct himself. The journals do not say, but likely he was done up to the nines--from his high-buckled shoes, waist coast with long flaps and lace, to his three-cornered hat; and behind him the marines resplendent in their red coats and high hats, lined up with the flag flying and their muskets at the ready. Almost certainly Cook would have sensed that what happened in the next few minutes would be crucial for the remainder of the voyage, but he was yet to learn that the natives would not be easily intimidated by his colorful show of force.

Cook walked back to the river bank, this time bringing along Tupaia, for he wanted him to test the language; Banks, of course, was at his side, and joining the groups were Charles Green and the ship's surgeon William Monkhouse. Sydney Parkinson watching through his glass from Endeavour thought Cook was only going through the ritual of taking possession for King George. To everyone's surprise no sooner did Tupaia call out than the natives did answer him in his own language. A tolerable conversation ensued, with inquiries from across the river as to why the strangers had come, protests about the killing, and doubts about friendship professed. We have come only for food and water, Tupaia called out in Tahitian. Be on guard for they are not our friends, he warned his companions in broken English.

By fits and starts a meeting at length took place when Tupaia prevailed on one of the natives to put away his lance and come over. That particular meeting became a kind of set-piece that was re-enacted in one form or another across the Pacific during the next ten years. The native came empty-handed, but only as far as a rock in mid-stream. Seeing that the man would come no further than the rock, Cook put down his musket, and displaying his empty hands waded across to meet him. The man at first lost his courage and fled, then ventured forward again, whereupon Cook and the Maori saluted each other by touching noses. A few trinkets put the new friend in a proper frame of mind. Two more natives plunged across, but they both carried their clubs. Once again Cook had allowed himself to be out-maneuvered. He emptied his pockets of trinkets, and sensing the danger, coolly withdrew, the three men engrossed in their new treasures and not resisting.

But the ice was broken. In a trice about twenty of the natives, all of them carrying their weapons, splashed across to mingle excitedly with Cook and his four companions on the river bank. During the hubbub those on the far side gave an encore. "We were treated to another war-dance," observed Monkhouse, "so that we were now led to consider this ceremony as equally the effect of opposite passions." He was right again; it was what is called a posture dance. The natives on the bank jumped about and slapped their thighs in glee at whatever trinket was handed them, but offered nothing save feathers in return--with one notable exception. They were only too glad to trade their wooden lances for those long, shiny ones "which they made several attempts to snatch from us," wrote Banks.

The teasing and gesticulating on the river bank seemed good-natured enough and increased in tempo and noise--until a native grabbed Green's sword and ran off waving his prize in triumph. At once the poignant encounter, set in motion by Cook's daring and humanity, collapsed in confusion and grief. Such insolence should be punished at once, exclaimed Banks, and Cook agreed. Banks fired his musket, which was loaded with small shot, but the sword-snatcher did not mind the shoulder wound. Cook then ordered Monkhouse, who had loaded with ball, to shoot him; the man fell, writhing with a mortal wound. When several other natives ran for the sword Green squeezed off a round with his pistol; so did Cook, both rounds causing wounds, and even Tupaia was carrying a musket which he fired, wounding two more natives in the legs. Cook hastily called a halt. The crowd of natives, crying out in piteous bewilderment, fled into the bush dragging their wounded after them, leaving their companion sprawled in agony on the river bank. The second Maori to fall was named Te Rakau. He was left unattended.

Taking Hostages

Despite the tragic mistakes in tactics Cook was above all determined to establish peace, even while he continued his search for water. Departing the river, which was brackish, in order to attempt a landing elsewhere along the shore, he was resolved "if possible to surprise some of the natives and to take them on board and by good treatment and presents endeavour to gain their friendship." The taking of hostages became the immediate objective, so that they could be put ashore again with the story of his good deeds. But the boats could come nowhere near the surf. When a sail canoe followed by a paddle canoe approached from the sea, however, the sailors saw their chance. Some fancy work with oars and sails put the three boats in the path of the speeding sail canoe, whose seven occupants could not escape the trap. Cook ordered a musket fired wide. The fishermen did strike their sail, but they began hurling stones into the nearby boats. On Cook's order the marines fired point-blank, killing four, two dying in a bloody heap, the others falling overboard, clinging to the gunnel during the melee before drowning. Two of the wretched survivors kept on stepping over the bodies of their dying companions to hurl sticks, paddles, and even a bundle of fish, until the sailors, getting a closer look, were able to grab two terror-stricken boys, aged about ten and fifteen. The third survivor jumped free to give the yawl a merry chase after him with first-class swimming and diving until he, too, was hauled out fighting and yelling. The other canoe, availing herself of these proceedings, paddled briskly toward shore and through the surf to safety.

Hauled squirming aboard ship, Cook's prizes were smothered with kindness by the sailors. Anklets, bracelets, strings of beads, and bright pieces of cloth at last convinced them that they were not to be killed after all. Soon the youngsters "put on chearfull and lively countenances and askd and answered questions with a great deal of curiosity," said Banks. Their names were Marukautii and Ikrangi, and the oldest, the swimming champion, about age eighteen, was named Te Hourangi. At dinner they relished the wine and salt pork and gulped down enormous quantities of bread, vermin and all. One piece of information they imparted was certainly new--their neighbors ate people.

"Black be the Mark for it"

The Maoris that day had found out that this leader suddenly in their midst would not be lost in a crowd. But the leader himself ended his day with troubled thoughts:

I am aware that most humane men who have not experienced things of this nature will censure my conduct in fireing upon the people in this boat nor do I my self think that the reason I had for seizing upon her will att all justify me, and had I thought that they would have made the least resistance I would not have come near them, but as they did I was not to stand still and suffer either my self or those that were with me to be knocked on the head.16

Cook had reason for melancholy. He had with him a list of "Hints" given him by the Royal Society on how to deal with the natives. Written by the Secretary, James Douglas, who was the Earl of Morton, these hints were rather outspoken.17 "To check the petulance of the Sailors," was more than a hint. "And to restrain the wanton use of Fire Arms"--Cook would have to see to that, since a total of six natives cut down by his firearms was not a light burden.

To have it still in view that sheding [sic] the blood of those people is a crime of the highest nature:--They are human creatures, the work of the same omnipotent Author, equally under his care with the most polished European; perhaps being less offensive, more entitled to his favor.

The humane Morton's eloquence could only have been a reproach, especially as he wrote as though he had the New Zealanders in mind.

They may naturally and justly attempt to repell intruders, whom they may apprehend are come to disturb them in the quiet possession of their country, whether that apprehension be well or ill founded.

The sixty-seven year-old Morton did not withhold his fatherly advice.

Therefore should they in a hostile manner oppose a landing, and kill some men in the attempt, even this would hardly justify firing among them, 'till every other gentle method had been tried.

But these sage hints were more easily written in London than carried out in New Zealand. What was Cook to do?

The first two days had found Cook unprepared for meeting the Maoris and for contending with what to him could only have appeared as unwarranted obstinacy. He could have had no knowledge of local customs; even the word Maori was unknown. Although he knew that the natives would have had no knowledge of firearms, he had no experience in dealing with people who had not learned to fear them. How would he pacify behavior, or if need be prevent an attack, without first having instilled fear, and that without having taken lives? Tahiti had been different, because prior to his arrival the natives already had learned from Wallis and Bougainville what firearms could do; even the Fuegians had known their use. Nor could he have foreseen how quickly the New Zealanders would react in their own ways to this sudden invasion by strangers. But the Tahiti experience did leave him with the conviction that his own success would be utterly impossible unless he exhibited even-handed and humane treatment. He would never fill a water cask or land a single astronomical instrument if the native chose not to let him.

Cook responded quickly. The events that followed showed a consistency of behavior among the sailors, officers, and gentlemen alike, as though he had laid down a set of rules. During the next eight weeks on the east coast he developed the techniques for dealing with islanders that he would display with such consummate brilliance on the second voyage, and the neglect of which would lead to his undoing on the third. Some elements of his technique--with respect to the use of firearms, the taking of hostages, the presentation of symbolic gifts--were evident even during his rather careless ad hoc performance of the first two days, which in retrospect stands out as a turning point in the development of the Cook personality. Yet another of Lord Morton's hints--"Upon the whole, there can be no doubt that the most savage and brutal Nations are more easily gained by mild, than by rough treatment"--became indeed the hallmark of his years in the Pacific and the essence of the humane Cook.

As for Banks, at the end of the second day he had learned something about himself. "Thus ended the most disagreeable day My life has yet seen, black be the mark for it and heaven send that such may never return to embitter future reflections."

The next morning Cook's hostages were ornamented and petted and the boats hoisted out again, for he was anxious to get on with his experiment of having them spread the good tidings on shore. But at the landing the boys refused to depart for fear of being eaten, and they chose to stay with their captors. Banks and Solander wanted to collect more plants on the "continent," Cook was still after fresh water, and everyone wanted to shoot ducks. As though nothing had been learned during the first two days, the party proceeded to trudge along the river for about a mile until a breathless marine guard rushed up with the news that the New Zealand troops were on the march.

Cook thought fit to withdraw to the water front and await events on the far side of the river. The body of Te Maro still lay where it had been dragged two days before, the beads and nails untouched. When the advance contingent arrived on the far bank, Cook was able to watch contentedly as the boys took over to strut about in their finery and report on their various transactions. Te Hourangi draped his new coat over the body of Te Rakau, also lying not far away, who had died during the night. The boys praised Tupaia, who began to parlay. He is one of us, exclaimed one of the Maoris. The name of Tupaia echoed. Before long messengers were dispatched for the other warriors to make haste. An old man crossed the river, tearfully embraced Marukautti, who turned out to be his nephew, and gave a green branch to Tupaia, possibly as a ratification of peace. It was clear that Tupaia was acquiring a reputation. While the old man sat on the sand listening to the boys chattering, Cook complimented him with beads, ribbons, and nails. The moment to withdraw was at hand, he decided, before another quarrel broke out. As the boats pulled away, carrying the boys, the old man was seen placing a green branch on the body of Te Rakau. After dinner that evening Cook asked the boys if they had any further objection to going home. This time they agreed to go, and two midshipmen rowed them back to the familiar landing place. Banks, watching through his glass, saw them scamper nimbly toward their countrymen, no doubt to tell more about their adventures on the great floating island. Just before night fell, they ran down to the beach and waved at the ship.

As Endeavour put to sea the next morning, Cook finally had time to keep his promise: the southern promontory jutting out became known as "Young Nicks head after the Boy who first saw the land." Of course, young Nick, from about thirty miles out, had seen, not this promontory, but high land rising in the interior. We are not told what he did with his gallon of rum. We are told, however, what midshipman John Bootie thought of him: "NYoung is a son of a bitch."

Frustrated at not finding fresh water and food and disappointed in his dealings with the natives, Cook named his first anchorage "Poverty Bay because it afforded us no one thing we wanted."18 Banks, looking over his paltry collection of forty plants, thought the choice of a name was just right. Today, the thriving city of Gisborne marks the landing where Cook, during his visit of sixty-two hours, met the Maoris for the first time. The inhabitants take pride in the name that represents a treasured part of New Zealand history.

Among the Canoes

Endeavour sailed south, because Cook, following his instructions, wanted to skirt the coast at least as far as the 40th parallel before returning north. During the next ten days, as he turned in earnest to the work in which he excelled, the taking of a running survey from a moving deck, an accurate map of the New Zealand coastline began to take shape. From morning to night the officers and midshipmen, assisted by astronomer Charles Green, made angular measurements with compass, telescope, and sextant of prominent landmarks on the passing coast. Canoes began at once to come out from shore to investigate; Monkhouse counted thirty-two of them in the first five days alone.

Cook's success with his hostages was obvious the first afternoon when a determined Poverty Bay canoe, looking neither right nor left, caught up with Endeavour and four men clambered aboard without hesitation. Soon six other canoes with fifty people took courage and tied up alongside, one of the canoes forty feet long and carved from a single tree. Twenty natives climbed up and milled about on deck. Presents were hurriedly passed out to the newcomers who gladly sold the clothes off their backs, and even the paddles of their canoes. Banks bought a handsome stone club, called a "pattoo pattoo"--well-suited for skull-splitting--of the sort that Cook had seen too closely for comfort on the river. A call went out for the famous Tupaia, who enhanced his standing by displaying the Tahitian tattoo on his hips.

The Maoris made a striking appearance: faces well-carved with those extraordinary spiral tattoos, and embellished with the red paint that Monkhouse recognized as a "mixture of burnt red oaker and oil"; feathers and decorative combs in their knotted hair; earrings of human teeth; and clothes, woven of flax and grass, which hung like petticoats or were tied about the loins. Some of the garments had a close weave of flaxen or silky texture with multi-colored borders; others were a sort of cloak, made from sedge that was rather like a floor matt, the wearer reminding Monkhouse of "an old goat with over grown shag." Several wore about their necks egg-sized bags of a fragrant grass that were soaked in oil, "not ungrateful to the smell," as a nosegay or sachet; another wore a neck pendant made of nephrite, called "green talk" aboard ship. It was a memorable gathering: British sea dogs and nervous Maoris mingling and regarding each other with wary curiosity. Possibly it was one of these Poverty Bay visitors who sat for the elegant portrait by Parkinson. Among the first four to come aboard was indeed none other than a member of the trio that met Cook on the rock in mid-river. Banks asked him about "our poor boys." They were fine, the man replied, and "the reason for his coming on board the ship with so little fear was the account they had given him of the usage they had met with among us."19

In due course Endeavour sailed beyond the influence of even the talkative hostages, and it became a question whether mariners or Maoris found the customs of the others the more peculiar. Placid cultivated fields drifted by and on a hillside another of those curious stockades, when a canoe appeared with a paddler waving a green branch. William Monkhouse noticed that this paddler, finding that the sailors did not respond to his salutations, "very civilly turned up his breach and made the usual sign of contempt among the Billingsgate ladies." A large crowd stood watching from a cliff, and ahead a broad bay was opening up.

Suddenly four more canoes came chasing out, their paddlers thundering imprecations as they drew up under the stern. One of the warriors glared up at Monkhouse, who glared back. The hero brandished his spear; Monkhouse shook a telescope at him. The good doctor then turned himself around at the railing and presented his compliments in the manner he had just observed. Reduced to a fury, the hero hurled his spear, which fell short. A musket fired wide only encouraged fresh threats. The sailors' laughter stung the canoes. At last, Cook, becoming uneasy at these goings-on, order a four-pounder run out to scatter grape on the sea, which induced a conference among the canoes and withdrawal from the field.20

For two months on the east coast, Endeavour was almost constantly in the company of canoes. To the Maoris, Endeavour was like no canoe they had ever seen. Was it a floating island? Whenever they ventured close, it spoke with fire and thunder and belched smoke, and stones would whistle past their ears and splash the sea in a worrisome way. And those goblins paddled their canoes backwards, as though they could see through the back of their heads. As Endeavour proceeded south, the escorts continued their investigations as best they could during the two-day crossing of

"Hawke's Bay," which Cook named for Sir Edward Hawke, at that time the First Lord of the Admiralty. Banks stared in wonder at the way they handled their canoes.21

I have seen 15 paddles of a side in one of their Canoes move with immensely quick strokes and at the same time as much Justness as if the movers were animated by one Soul: not the fraction of a second could be observed between the dipping and raising any two of them, the Canoe all the While moving with incredible swiftness.

Another of Parkinson's splendid paintings shows a magnificent Maori canoe. Some of them held as many as one hundred fifty warriors; because these were all armed with hardwood lances and stone "pattoo pattoes," they had to be taken seriously because of the risk of broken windows, and were given frequent salutes of muskets and grape fired wide. While approaching the south side of Hawke's Bay, Tupaia did succeed in pacifying a flotilla of seven armed canoes by telling the paddlers that his friends really would not eat them and by asking for a performance. Monkhouse, who could be perceptive when he set his mind to it, described what he saw:22

They treated us with a kind of Heiva or war dance performed by striking their paddles upon the gunwell, laid across for that Purpose, beating time in exact regularity to the parts of a Song which they chanted in a very martial tone. A Man in the headmost Canoe at the same time, standing erect, Shouldered, poized, & brandished his paddle with the true spirit of a Veteran. In some of his gesticulations great savageness was expressed--in bending forward, he exhibited a figure very like that expressed in the heads of their Canoes.

At the south end of Hawke's Bay, a canoe came boldly alongside with twenty-two armed men who offered to trade for their clothes. Cook, taking a fancy to a jacket made of brown fur in order to discover "what sort of Animal the first owner was" (a dog), offered in exchange a piece of red Tahitian tapa cloth. Little Taiata, Tupaia's boy, was perched halfway down the ship's ladder in charge of passing the various articles of trade back and forth. A bargain was struck, and Cook sent down his red cloth. But the man would not send up his jacket. Monkhouse continued: "Having thus gained his point he sat down, and looking gravely in the servants face he held up a paddle and asked him if that was what he wanted." While Cook sputtered with indignation, Monkhouse and the sailors schemed to teach the Maoris a lesson. They were about to snag the bow of the canoe with a fishing line when the Maoris grabbed little Taiata and paddled away. Cook ordered the marines to fire. The fusillade killed several Maoris, and a well-aimed shot wounded the man holding little Taiata, who jumped into the sea. The sailors fished him out half-dead with fright. When the boy had calmed down, he told Tupaia he wanted to throw a fish into the sea as an offering to his "Etua," or god, which he did, in gratitude for his escape. Cook named the cliff "Cape Kidnappers" to perpetuate the memory of this exploit.23

At noon on October 16, Endeavour was abreast a bluff point of land, one hundred twelve miles south of Poverty Bay, when Cook decided that sailing further south would be only a waste of time. Because it was there that he tacked about and returned northward, he named the headland "Cape Turnagain." He was intent on finding Cape Maria van Diemen as soon as possible.

Hawke's Bay was astern and the present Mahia Peninsula off the port beam when a canoe with five men tied up alongside. They surprised Cook when they climbed up the ladder to announce pleasantly that they had come to spend the night and had no intention of going ashore. Banks wrote: "The countenance of one of these men was the most open I have ever seen, I was prejudiced much in their favour and surely such confidence could not be found in the breasts of designing people."24 All the same, to prevent any tricks Cook had the canoe hoisted aboard for the night. At about noon on the 19th the ship passed Poverty Bay as the sailors gazed toward their old landing place. The next morning several canoes paddled out rather decorously to invite the ship into a bay just ahead.


Eighteen weeks after leaving Raiatea Cook finally found a little fresh water, although the casks had to be towed laboriously through the surf to the waiting boats. Cook picked up the word "Tegadoo" for the bay--the present Anaura Bay. Seventeen canoes clustered about the ship. "We were received with great freindship" (sic), said Banks. Cook explained why: "We were under very little apprehension as they had heard of what happened in Poverty Bay." Two old men coming aboard were each given four yards of linen, which at first they admired, and a handsome spike nail, which they ignored. Both men had those splendid spiral tattoos on their faces and arms; they obviously had dressed for the occasion: jackets of intertwined plant fibers, the one decorated by rows of white dog fur, the other by red parrot feathers. Cook decided they must be local chiefs. One of those venerable characters, informed that someone was brandishing his paddle at the ship, leaned out a window and berated the delinquent for such ill behavior. Pieces of white English cloth sold well, but its value plummeted when the natives learned that the ship had large supplies of Tahitian Tapa. This time sailors and Maoris met without anyone taking offense, and Banks and Solander collected and observed all around the bay. The mariners were back in hostage country.

It was all pleasant and surprising. About one hundred fifty acres of cultivated fields were divided by reed fences into patches that were planted in neat rows and hillocks of sweet potatoes, which were the kumara (Ipomaca batatas); "cocos," or yams (Dioscora esculents); and "one of the cucumber kind," meaning Taro (Colosasia antiquorum). Banks had not seen better tillage even in the English gardens of "curious people" who were anxious to please, although the staple foods were fish and roots of the bracken fern.

Flowering gourds decorated many of the huts. A Maori family extended a welcome. The wife proudly brought out the flax she was making into cloth. This was made from the hemp-like plant (Phormium tenax Forst.), seen growing in many places on the east coast, and was the main source of apparel. The husband displayed his tools for digging the soil; Monkhouse examined a batch of "red Oaker which he said they burnt for use." Ochre was widely used in body art; the Maoris had learned to heat the yellowish ferrous oxide earth to obtain the red ferric oxide pigment. Later, Monkhouse invited himself to a dinner of roast lobster and fern roots served by a couple of old gents to whom he gave some beads and a swig from his hip flask.

Banks had the happiness to notice the local facilities; every three or four huts was served by a "regular necessary house" to which the Maoris might repair when comfort nature required. So unlike Tahiti, he said. The womenfolk, he also noticed, were "as great coquets as any European could be and the young ones as skittish as unbroken fillies." But they made themselves even more plain than they were "by painting their faces with red ocre and soil," which were easily transferred to anyone kissing them, "as the noses of several of our people evidently shewd." At least the Maori women did not go in for tattooing as did their menfolk, he explained, except to blacken their lips. Nor did Banks omit to notice that many of the ladies wore about their waists tufts of sweet-smelling leaves "which like the fig leaf of our first mother servd as the ultimate guard of their modesty." Cook had no time to notice such matters; he was worrying about collecting fresh water and a little celery for the sailors.

Endeavour tarried at Anaura Bay for only forty-two hours, as the surf was too much for the waterers. Banks and Solander, ecstatic with the treasure of continental plants and confident they could manage a canoe as well as any Maori, promptly overturned in the surf. Whereupon the "very well sousd" botanists were glad for local help "to carry off such Clumsy fellows." Most of the plants were lost.25


When a vexatious north wind prevented Cook from securing an offing, stalling him just offshore for twenty-seven hours, several obliging canoes came to the rescue. Once again Endeavour followed the Maori lead, and at midday on October 24, only six miles south, Cook found an even more useful anchorage--a snug inlet with plenty of fresh water, a tranquil beach, and scenery to please. With no risk of harassment, Cook and Green immediately brought ashore their valuable astronomical instruments. Calculating longitude on the land--180º48'W--was especially important because they wanted to check the positions of the various coastal formations they had plotted at sea. The armourer's forge to repair the tiller was set up near the watering place, and work parties were assigned.

"A kind of second Paradise," exclaimed Parkinson. The "beautiful flowering shrubs" were a delight and the friendly inhabitants caught his fancy because they had "faces like Europeans"; some of his finest work, done at this landing, held promise of a bright career after the voyage. "Most magnificent surprise," added Banks when he came upon a natural bridge formation. Slum-bred artist and well-connected, landed gentleman were expressing the eighteenth century love of exotic scenery, but they did not have to fill water casks and chop wood. Cook wondered what the natives called this attractive bay. He thought he heard "Tolaga," although they probably said "Uawa," which is the local name; or "turanga," for watering or landing place; or perhaps "eraki" for northwest wind. At any rate, it remains Tolaga Bay.26

On the third day the high priest from Raiatea could be found uttering lofty sentiments on Polynesian theology to the awed Maoris. He asked if they really ate people. Yes, but it was to be understood that they ate only enemies killed in war. He was rather a success in Tolaga Bay; a visitor in 1835 met several old men who were named Tupaia.27 On October 27 Cook celebrated his forty-first birthday by supervising the work parties. In the afternoon Solander purchased a toy said to be the oldest known; it was a top, Banks wrote, "shap'd like what boys play with in England which they made signs was to be whipped in the same manner." The next day the fresh water aboard ship was topped off at seventy tons. A certain officer, who suffered himself to remain unidentified, was gratified by the local hospitality: "crayfish, potatoes, and the ministrations of a beautiful young girl." Cook, on the other hand, was satisfied that the womenfolk were quite modest. One day he and several companions happened upon a bevy of stark naked wenches gathering lobsters and shellfish. "As soon as they saw us some of them hid themselves among the rocks and the rest remain'd in the Sea until they had made themselves aprons of Sea weed."

For the first time Banks and Solander were able to bring aboard a substantial number of botanical specimens. Twenty different kinds of trees were found on the hills; a maple-like tree found its way into the galley, and flounder and shellfish into the ship's mess; the only quadrupeds seen were a few dogs and some rats. When Cook found what he had been looking for all week--wild celery (Apium prostratum and A. filiform) and scurvy grass (Lepidium oleraceum)--he promptly ordered the sailors to cut a boat-full. "I have caused it to be boiled with Portable Soup and Oatmeal every morning for the Peoples breakfast, because I look upon it to be a very wholesome and a great Antiscorbutick."

On the fifth and last day the largest canoe yet seen came ashore--68 1/2 feet long by five wide, with gunnels of one piece 61'2" long. Spöring's drawing shows the exquisitely carved bow piece. It was a canoe society that the mariners were visiting on the east coast. Canoes were highly valued as possessions, a means of livelihood, a focus of aesthetic expression and inherited traditions, and they were the result of cooperative efforts both in construction and operation. At 6 A.M. on October 19 Endeavour weighed and made sail north.28

Bay of Plenty

A flotilla of five armed canoes was fast approaching. The largest had sixteen paddlers on each side and at least sixty angry warriors crowded along the middle from stem to stern. "We had now our work to begin over again," sighed Banks. The Maoris, as they often did along the coast, were protesting this incursion into their territorial waters. Endeavour had sailed beyond the range of Cook's hostages. She had rounded "East Cape," named by Cook because he surmised, correctly, that it was the easternmost point of New Zealand, and after passing "Hick's Bay," named for his thirty-year-old second lieutenant, she was running west close along a well-cultivated coast with a broad bay opening ahead. By that time Cook had tired of irascible warriors, sticking out their tongues in high dudgeon and carrying on in those fast canoes. Too busy with his paper work to come topside, he merely ordered the usual grape to be fired wide and a round shot over their heads. Whereupon the Maoris made for shore "with more haste than I ever saw," Banks noticed with satisfaction, "without so much as stopping for breath." Cook named the nearby headland "Cape Runaway" to commemorate such un-Maori-like behavior. Hundreds of canoes drawn up on the wide beaches could only mean prosperity, said Banks. Perched on hilltops and cliffs were more of those groups of huts enclosed in palings and stockades. Places of worship, offered Tupaia. No, said Cook correctly, they were "places of retreat or Stronghold." For a couple of days cultivated fields and wooded slopes formed a serene backdrop. "Bay of Plenty," Cook wrote on his chart.

A double canoe approached one evening to throw stones and sing defiance and was still under sail nearby the next morning. A rather disconcerting invitation began to be shouted. Cook thoughtfully copied the words, "Harmai harenta a patoo age," which meant, "come ashore and we will kill you with our patoo patoos."29 Another time a fleet of forty-five canoes surrounded the ship, some to sell lobsters, others to hurl stones and threats. Warning shots were not always effective, for it transpired that certain of the Maoris had learned to distinguish between one kind of shot and another and the effect and range of each. One day a bit of laundry hanging in the sea was picked up by a canoe, which without ceremony dropped astern to laugh. This time Cook applied the muskets himself for some close work; first a ball through the canoe, then small shot, neither of which was minded; followed by small shot directly at the delinquent, who merely cringed. From the canoe echoed hilarious guffaws, as it slipped beyond musket range. A four-pounder bouncing over the waves finally sent the paddlers scurrying to safety, the linen still aboard.

Who governed these vigorous people? Since Tahiti seemed to have chiefs and commoners, it was easy to think that New Zealand society was similarly organized. Perhaps various princes dwelt along the Bay of Plenty, suggested Banks; Cook recalled that one great chief had been rumored ever since their visit in Poverty Bay. Banks even heard the name of this unseen potentate--"Teratu, for himself he is always said to live far inland."30 But possibly the Maoris, wishing the accommodate the inquisitive strangers who gestured toward the land, may have uttered the words "te ra to," meaning either the setting sun or to the west.


Banks's continent took on a barren and rocky appearance as Endeavour skirted north along the present Coromandel Peninsula. When several rocky islets reminded Cook of various London politicians, the "Mayor" and "Court of Aldermen" became his attempts at whimsy. The mood aboard ship, if not entirely jovial, was certainly less wary and far more relaxed. Having snatched the voyage from near disaster at Poverty Bay and having obtained abundant fresh water and greens at Tolaga Bay, he was proceeding without any untoward incidents, his crew was healthy, and he saw the coming weeks unfolding according to his plan. The Tolaga Bay calculations had advanced his cartographic project of charting the coastline, inasmuch as astronomical observations on land were subject to less error than those at sea. An even more useful opportunity was fast approaching. A transit of Mercury across the face of the Sun was predicted for November 10. "If we should be so fortunate as to Obtain this Observation the Longitude of this place and Country will thereby be very accurately determined." He intended to put into the first suitable anchorable. At 7 P.M. on November 5 he dropped anchor at "Mercury Bay," and placidly watched several canoes parading about. "They were so generous as to tell us they would come and attack us in the morning."

The dozen rather unprepossessing canoes with about one hundred fifty or so armed men did seem to be bent on an attack, although they could not agree on where to begin. "We all got up to see the event," wrote Banks. As usual the marines performed Book's ritual. A musket ball to puncture a canoe, a small shot to draw a little blood, and as a "finishing stroke" a round shot sailing overhead sufficed to discourage the boarding party. Before long Banks was writing about "our friends the Indians," and he gave an old man named "Torava" a tour of the ship. The natives sold mackerel and lobster, and early on Cook found all the wild celery he wanted. On the fourth day a brief entry in his journal--"AM heel'd and scrubed both sides of the Ship"--shows the wisdom of the Admiralty in having chosen Endeavour for the voyage; with her shallow draft and flat bottom she could be dragged into shallow water and tipped toward either side for barnacle removal. Rarely were the sailors free from hard labor.

Notwithstanding the barren countryside, Banks and Solander botanized successfully, mostly among the mangroves flanking the rivers. Mounds of shells, crude-looking canoes, and the absence of cultivation testified to the unsettled life of the wretched inhabitants, who slept on the bare ground in circles with their weapons within reach. Birds, fish, lobsters, and shellfish were skewered over an open fire at mealtime, or baked with hot stones in the ground. A woman obviously in mourning presented an affecting and shocking spectacle: muttering dolefully, with tears streaming, she sat cutting her face, arms, and breasts with a shell until she was covered with blood; none of her companions took notice. Banks wrote: "They do not acknowledge any superior king which all we have before seen have done, so possibly these are a set of outlaws from Teratu's kingdom." Cook did not know quite what to make of this "Teeratu," this mysterious and invisible ruler. But without any visible evidence he was perfectly willing to credit the stories of a local custom that was becoming the talk of the ship. "They confirm the custom of eating their enimies so that this is a thing no longer to be doubted."31

November 9 dawned clear and sunny, but after all the planning it would appear that Cook and Green arrived too late to watch the ingress of Mercury. "At 8 Mr Green and I went on shore with our Instruments to Observe the Transit of Mercury which came on at 7h20'58" Apparent time and was Observed by Mr Green only." But both astronomers did determine the times of egress, shortly after 12 noon: that is, they recorded the exact time when Mercury made internal contact with the disc of the Sun, and the instant of external contact just before moving away. The figures of Cook and Green for these two measurements were only a dozen second apart. From these results they calculated a longitude of 184º4'W for Mercury Bay.

Meanwhile, thirty-nine year-old third lieutenant John Gore was the officer on duty aboard ship, and several canoes alongside were engaging in trade. A native, offering to exchange his woven cloak for a piece of cloth held by Gore, refused to send up his part of the bargain. Gore lost his temper and shot the man dead, whereupon the natives scattered in terror. As a privileged officer, Gore had scarcely set a good example; for almost four weeks the marines and sailors had been firing warning shots almost constantly without ever using the Maoris for target practice.

Cook was surprisingly calm about the tragedy.32

I must own that it did not meet with my approbation because I thought the punishment a little too severe for the Crime, and we had now been long enough acquainted with these People to know how to chastise trifling faults like this without taking away their lives.

According to Banks, the reaction of the Maoris was also mild, for they returned to say that the "dead man deservd his punishment." Such petty annoyances carried grave risks, Banks realized, not because the natives might succeed in killing someone, but on the contrary because "we should be reduced to the nescessity of killing a number of them which must be the case should they ever in reality attack us."

Time remained to examine two elevated fortifications nearby. These were the stockaded villages that everyone had wondered about ever since arriving in Poverty Bay; this structure, the "pa," was a characteristic feature of Maori life along the coast. The smaller fort was built on an arched rock. Banks was enchanted: "The most beautifuly romantic thing I ever saw." A crowd of friendly natives proudly showed the way through the larger pa that crowned a promontory. Enclosed by a stockade ten feet high, it had about twenty palisaded subdivisions, each with up to a dozen huts and piles of dried fish; and a moat twenty feet deep on the land side. Cook was impressed, but he noticed the lack of fresh water. The Maoris had a variety of clubs or truncheons made of stone, bone, and wood for bloody hand-to-hand combat; they also had axes; and several kinds of spears. Constant fighting must be their lot, he thought; but he wondered why they did not have sling shots and the ordinary bow and arrow, "so easily invented."33

The sailors had no fresh fruit of any kind, but they had plenty of oysters that in Banks's opinion were as good "as ever came from Colchester." Fish were salted away in casks. Cook was happy with his celery, and the birds--shag, oyster-catchers, and ducks--offered a fine choice for the galley coppers. Such fare, served with sauerkraut, kept everyone well fed and free of scurvy; the surgeon Monkhouse was underemployed. Morale remained high; punishment was meted out only once since leaving Raiatea--twelve lashes to poor seaman Sam Jones for refusing to come on deck when he was told.

One task remained: six weeks had gone by and Cook had not yet obeyed the Admiralty order to take possession of the land. Just before leaving, he hoisted the English colors "in the name of His Majesty," although he neglected the part about the "Consent of the Natives." Cook was anxious to be gone, for Tasman's final landfall was still beckoning. At 7 A.M. on November 16, after a two-week stay--the longest of the six landings on the coast--Endeavour weighed and hauled the wind north.

Among the visitors aboard Endeavour at Mercury Bay was a lad named Te Moreta. Years later he gave an affectionate recollection of Cook:34

There was one supreme man in that ship. We knew that he was the lord of the whole by his perfectly gentlemanly and noble demeanor. He was a very good man, and came to us--the children--and patted our cheeks, and gently touched our heads. His language was a hissing sound, and the words he spoke were not understood by us in the least. This is the leader of the ship, which is proved by his kindness to us; and also he is so very fond of children. A noble man he was--a rangitira--cannot be lost in the crowd.


After rounding a bold headland, Endeavour sailed south to enter a deep bay. A few canoes came out with the usual invitation to "come ashore and we will kill you all." Banks was surprised to hear the line of argument that Tupaia undertook with the welcoming committee. "Well, but while we are at sea you have no manner of Business with us, the Sea is our property as much as yours." A musket ball through the bottom of the canoe, however, proved to be more persuasive than Tupaia's logic about the freedom of the seas. Aside from this mild exchange the Maoris were entirely friendly; they professed to know Banks's old man Torava, and frequently asked for the celebrated Tupaia; for a few days the muskets fell silent.

Anchoring early on November 20 in a broad, shallow estuary, Cook decided to proceed up a river that opened at the bottom of the bay, in order "to see a little of the Interior parts of the Country and its produce." Soon the mud flats and the strength of the tidal flow prompted the name "Thames" for the river. Going up stream with the flood tide, the long boat and pinnace swept past mangrove swamps to enter a vast stand of pines, among them the kauri (Agathis australis) and Kahikatea (Podocarpus dacrydioides) trees, now almost all gone. At that time the finest timber clothed the banks where ships could tie up as safely as in London harbor.

About a dozen miles inland, where the tide seemed to run as strongly as at London bridge, Cook and his companions stepped ashore for a tramp through the forest. They measured a magnificent pine nineteen feet in circumference, with its first branch at a height of eighty-nine feet. Banks was convinced this river was the "properest place" yet seen for a colony. Others would agree; in less than a century the magnificent forest would be no more. Returning on the ebb, the party boarded ship the next morning. Cook had been away for a night; nothing untoward had happened.

Endeavour weighed at 3 A.M. on the 22nd. When the wind failed, Cook thought he might take advantage of the good behavior of his Maori passengers, albeit milling about on deck, to slip away with Solander and take a look at the nearby western shore. In his absence a boy tried to make off with a half-hour glass from the bittacle (the compartment holding the compass near the helm). Catching him in the act, Zachary Hicks, the officer on duty, took it into his head to give him a flogging British navy style. Howls of protest went up at the sight of the boy being tied to the shrouds and the long cords of the cat-o'-nine-tails being snapped in readiness. Once again Tupaia stepped forward, assuring the Maoris that the boy was not to be killed, only whipped. After the flogging, the youngster was released, only to be grabbed by an old man, possibly his father, who proceeded to give him a thrashing. Cook returned to find the ship strangely quiet, the Maoris having taken their departure.35

By alternately weighing and anchoring with the tides for a few days, Endeavour gradually worked north out of the present Firth of Thames. On November 25 Cook sketched four islands to the west of his track. "It appear'd very probable that these form'd some good harbours."36 Indeed he was right, for just beyond the islands lay the location of the present Auckland harbor. The land improved in appearance, the canoes once again well-carved and sturdy, and the musket and round shot routine commenced. In order to be rid of several troublesome canoes Cook was put to the expense of two or three musket rounds. No harm done, "unless they happened to over heat themselves in pulling a shore." On the 27th, a midshipman took matters into his own hands by trolling a culprit with his fishing line; the line broke, leaving the hook embedded in the Maori backside. "No very agreeable legacy," wrote Banks. This prank occurred off "Cape Brett," which Cook named for Sir Percy Brett, one of the Lords of the Admiralty who had signed his orders. About a mile beyond, the ship passed a small island on which stood a rock with a hole in it; "Pierce" seemed a fit name for the chart.


Contrary winds forestalled any more such examples of Cook's version of drollery, and induced him on November 29 to drop anchor near "one of the many Islands" that appeared to be scattered across a large bay west of Cape Brett. Several dozen canoes crowded alongside. Some of the Maoris who came aboard had already heard about gunfire, judging from their decorum in the presence of the muskets; others in the canoes, trying to make off with the ship's anchor buoy, clearly had not. Muskets crackled. A cannon ball was thrown ashore, bringing several Maoris running across the beach to retrieve the prize.

The amenities satisfied, Cook, Banks, and Solander put off for shore with an armed escort. Not a canoe stirred; a good sign, thought Banks. But no sooner had they landed on the nearby island, which was Motu Arohia, when the canoes paddled after them and natives came bounding over the hills. The shore party was suddenly surrounded by two or three hundred Maoris wielding their "Pattoo patoes." Once again the voyage was on the brink of disaster. A single miscue on Cook's part and Endeavour might have limped back to England with the tale of a massacre on a far-off shore, Cook himself to become a forgotten footnote in history. But he could distinguish curiosity from menace. Intently watching from on deck, the alert Hicks was already swinging Endeavour around to bring the gunports into position. Cook and Banks quietly walked toward the noisy crowd and drew a line in the sand as a symbolic barrier. The Maoris were curious and friendly, but all the same they did not take kindly to this sudden invasion of land they deemed as their own. Some of them stepped across the line to the cries of their war song, while others grabbed at the boats. The muskets, all loaded with small shot, crackled point-blank, Hicks fired five four-pounders over head to crash among the trees, and the crowd scrambled for cover. "Left us our cove quite to ourselves," said Banks. The marines and sailors were put to collecting celery.

From the top of a hill, the entire bay could be seen to be covered with islands forming as many landlocked harbors, all smooth as millponds. Many cultivated patches of sweet potatoes and yams were visible, and native villages with an abundance of nets made of grass. The chief business was fishing--especially sharks, sting-rays, millet, bream, and mackerel. This region was the most populated of the six landings on the east coast, and the inhabitants themselves, said Cook, were "as meek as lambs." One old man came along respectfully to ask whether his brother, grazed by musket fire in the buoy incident, was going to die. He was assured, no, and shown the difference between a musket ball and small shot.

Meanwhile, it happened that the minute Cook's back was turned on the hilltop, three sailors, having quickly grown fatigued with celery collecting, helped themselves to a nearby potato patch. The next day Matthew Cox, Henry Steven, and Manuel Paroya found that Cook's justice, while blessing the Maoris with forbearance, fell with swiftness on themselves--in the form of three dozen lashes each; and Cox, still insisting he had done nothing amiss, was confined to quarters to think things over. Justice served, Cook made another landing with Banks and Solander, this time "upon the Main," although Banks was convinced they were "upon the Continent." Returning, Cook ordered that Cox be served another half dozen for good measure, and let him go. Four other sailors were slow learners; that night they were caught making merry in the gunner's cabin with a dozen gallons of rum; each received a dozen lashes. After the voyage, Cox tried to bring an action against Cook, but the Admiralty lawyers ignored him.

Banks was also convinced about one particular feature of Maori life--"their custom of eating human flesh." Now, no one had seen any Maori engaged in the eating, nor had any bones been found, but he had it on the authority of the Poverty Bay boys, who had explained that, of course, "the tribe to which they belonged did not use" this custom "but that another very near did." Moreover, at every landing he always asked, and, yes, the custom was defended, with the exemplary caveat that "they eat none but the bodies of those of their enemies who are killd in war."

Another landing "on the Continent" to botanize netted Banks and Solander only a few plants, but they were shown the local tattooing instruments, which were exactly like those used on Tahiti. On a visit with Cook to a larger island, named Moturua, they saw further evidence of the Tahitian influence. While the sailors filled the water casks and cut grass for sheep, the Maoris brought out a rarity--about a half dozen so-called cloth plants from which they made bits of fabric just like the Tahitian tapa, and they used the same name, "Aout." Banks identified the plant as "Morus papyrifera Linn., and he thought this was the same plant used in China to make paper. At their warmer latitude in the north, the Maoris could grow enough to make small pieces of fabric to be worn as ear ornaments; even a sheet of plain paper had a higher value than did so much English cloth. Banks's old man brought his brother aboard to show that, just as Banks had predicted, the wound was crusting over nicely with "natures plaister."

Cook named his sixth and last anchorage on the east coast the "Bay of Islands." To his practiced eye they provided a choice of safe and commodious harbors to future seafarers. Far too many islands--that was his excuse for not attempting to chart the bay. He was in a hurry to be gone, contenting himself with affirming that the bay would supply "every kind of refreshment for Shipping."37

The next European to find shelter in the Bay of Islands was the brave French navigator, Marion Du Fresne, who was unaware of Cook's visit. In May to July of 1772 his two ships lay at anchor, quite possibly off Moturua Island where Cook's sailors had filled their water casks; Dufresne and ten of his sailors were slain on the mainland by Maoris.

The publication of Cook's journals in 1773 identified this relatively remote region as a convenient port-of-entry into New Zealand. First to come, in the 1790s, were the whalers, bringing liquor, muskets, and turbulence, followed in 1814 by the missionary-explorer Samuel Marsden, who led the way for the settlers. When Charles Darwin visited in 1835, during the voyage of Beagle, he found between two and three hundred English residents; he was called upon to adjudicate disputes between the three British and American whalers lying at anchor. But he was favorably impressed by the missionaries; he and his shipmates contributed money to build a chapel at the mission station. Later, he wrote in tribute to their work: "The lesson of the missionary is the enchanter's wand."38

As Cook departed, he had a felicitous thought for the Maori inhabitants, who "seemed to live in friendship one with another altho it does not att all appear that they are united under one hand." Endeavour weighed in the afternoon of December 5, but in light airs making sail was not easy. When the current threatened to run her ashore, the sailors scrambled to put a boat over the side in order to pull her to safety. But the boat caught on a protruding cannon that Hicks had used. Much arguing followed until someone thought to pull the cannon inside. The Maoris laughed and enjoyed themselves all the while, but with the sailors pulling from the boat, Endeavour escaped, only to strike a hidden rock. She lay becalmed until late evening when a faint breeze arrived. Banks was just going to bed, happy with his breeze, when she bumped twice more, gathering way at last with the breeze and more towing.

No comments

Unsolicited e-mail warning

It has come to our attention that spam mailers (senders of bulk unsolicited e-mail) have been forging their mail with this domain as the point of origin. As a matter of policy, we do not send out e-mail from our domain name. If you have received an email that appears to be from "@CaptainCookSociety.com" it was forged and sent without our consent, knowledge, or the use of our servers.