During his stay at Parramatta he had thrown himself into
Marsden's work among the convicts of the other sex. There was sweetness
as well as strength in the straight glance of the well-opened eye, and
in the fine lines of the compressed lips.

In one respect Williams differed both from Marsden, who preceded, and
from Selwyn, who followed him. He was not an idealist; he dreamed no
dreams and he saw no visions. He fixed his attention upon the work
immediately in front, and to it he gave his undivided energy. The old
naval instinct of unquestioning obedience was strong in him to the last.
Writing to the C.M.S. before his departure from England, he assured them
that he should always regard their orders as rigidly as he ever did
those of his senior officer in His Majesty's service. Like the centurion
in the Gospels, he regarded himself as a man under authority, and he
expected a like obedience from those who were under him.

Marsden himself brought Henry Williams to New Zealand, and decided upon
the place of his abode. The chiefs were all anxious for the presence of
a missionary because of the commercial advantages which it brought.
Marsden was loth to refuse the request of some disconsolate relatives of
the slaughtered Hinaki, but he thought it wiser to bestow the favour
upon one who had been with him at Parramatta, even though the chief
himself was at the moment on the warpath with Hongi. Accordingly, the
new missionary was placed at Paihia, a village whose open beach lay
opposite to Kororareka, the great resort of European ships, from whose
crews the Maoris were acquiring vices and diseases more hideous than
their own. Its central situation gave to Paihia great advantages, and it
soon became the real focus of the mission.

That the work of the past eight years had not been altogether in vain
was proved by the altered demeanour of the Maoris. When the bell rang on
Sundays at Paihia, they came along the beach, dressed in European
clothes and carrying their books with the utmost propriety. It was only
a fashion, but it meant something. At the two older stations some of
them could repeat prayers and sing hymns. At Marsden's departure his
ship struck on the rocks while working out of the Bay, but the natives
of the island of Moturoa treated the shipwrecked passengers with
kindness, and forebore to plunder their goods.

This was not much, but it carried hope for the future. The real hope,
however, lay in the change of worker