Midway between summit and base cloud-wreaths decked the range of
hills, which in the sun's rays seemed struggling with one another for
precedence. We skirted the mainland for hours, encountering numerous
islands, now and again opening dark mountain gorges which came down to
the very shore, enabling one to look deep into the mysterious heart of
the hills and discover new peaks extending far inland. Clouds of
sea-martins wheeled about the ship, saluting us with strange cries, some
alighting upon our very topmasts, where they paused for a moment and
then launched into the air again. This sea-bird, in size between the
common gull and the Cape-pigeon, is peculiar to this coast; we had never
seen a live specimen before. As they settle upon the water or rise from
it, their red legs become conspicuous, and are in singular contrast to
their soft white bodies and light slate-colored wings. They are a tame
and fearless bird, flying about the ship almost within arm's reach. One
was secured by a foremast hand and brought aft, seeming to care no more
for his temporary captivity than a domestic fowl would have done. Their
feathery covering is exquisitely soft and glossy, the under part of the
wings and the body having a covering as delicate as the downy plumage of
young goslings. Our feathery captive when released joined his
companions, and was saluted by loud cries of welcome.

The west and southwest coasts of New Zealand, which we were skirting,
are indented with deep fjords almost precisely like the coast of Norway
from Bergen to Hammerfest; and singular to say, these arms of the sea,
like those of the far north, are much deeper than the contiguous
ocean,--a practical evidence of their being of similar original
formation. While we were remarking upon these peculiarities, the captain
of the "Mararoa" recalled the fact that it is always the west coast of
any land which is indented in this remarkable manner, let the cause be
what it may.

Just as the sun set like a blazing fire-ball in the sea upon the western
horizon, the ship rounded the bold promontory known as "the Bluff," and
winding up the narrow channel into the harbor was soon moored to the one
pier of the place. This was none too promptly done, for no sooner was
the ship made fast than the darkness of night enshrouded both land and
water.

A woman who had anticipated the arrival of the "Mararoa" had set up a
temporary oyster-stand on the pier, by placing a couple of boards