I 
TWO TRAGEDIES 
179 
Not a ripple on the water, and the rapidly-changing 
panorama of cliff and island was beautiful beyond 
description. We anchored at the little town of Whan- 
garoa for an hour. On our right lay a small town 
where a ship was being built. Inland was the curious- 
shaped mountain called Taratara, where on the top the 
Maoris bury their dead in caves. The bay below is 
memorable for its gruesome association. The Boyd, a 
six-gun brig, was taken by the natives, who murdered 
and ate all the crew and passengers except one woman 
and her two children, of whom the chief took possession, 
but three years later they were rescued by whalers. As 
for the Boyd , it had a tragical ending itself. A number 
of natives went on board, and discovering some powder, 
put a lighted pipe amongst it, with the natural result 
that they and the brig were blown to pieces. As we 
passed a native village a boat -load of whalers came 
alongside us with the interesting intelligence that they 
had speared ten whales, having had a lively encounter 
with one, which they described as being “ great fun.” 
Two curious conical-shaped rocks on either side of the 
Pass presently arrested our attention ; they call them 
St. Peter and St. Paul. A herd of Angora goats in the 
distance presented a picturesque appearance, running 
wild as they were. The missionaries brought them 
here originally. As we approached the remains of 
another old pah, they told us a pathetic story of a tribe 
of Maoris being starved out by a more powerful one 
than themselves. They killed and ate their own 
children before they would submit, but eventually they 
were conquered, and their enemies, binding them hand 
and foot, put them on this small island and left them to 
perish. The bones of some eighty of them are still 
bleaching there and on the mainland. Each bay has 
some story attached to it. 
