‘“Sorry to hear it,” says I; “excuse me leaving you, but I want a little fresh air.”
‘Now, Cap, I’m not going to bunk in with your native Injins, don’t you believe it. That’s straight, isn’t it?’ said he, appealing to the company.
Whether it was straight or not, the Maoris retained the cabin; and our Yank, I am sorry to say, had to camp on a sofa in the saloon. These little facts may be of value to future travellers by the monopolist line of steamers.
At the next port our American friend saw some sheep coming on board, and at once asked the ‘Cap’ whether they also were to have berths in the saloon.
‘I guess everything counts here,’ he remarked.
This was at Napier. Napier is situated on a peninsula, at the end of which there are high whitish-grey bluffs.
Many of our passengers went ashore in a little steamer called the Boojum, and of course landed on the opposite side of the peninsula to where the town is built.
The passengers now became thicker and thicker. In every cabin there were at least four, and all of them, at least those in my cabin, through their habits, were disgusting. For some days I was unable to open a portmanteau, and had to continue without a change of clothes.
The next port was Gisborne, where we again anchored several miles from the shore. Here I was told there were a great number of Maoris, the remainder of the population being chiefly composed of lawyers, who get considerable practice by advocating the rights of their tattooed-faced clients.
I was told that Gisborne boasted of forty full-fledged practitioners, and a number of fledgelings; and from one or two specimens who came on board our vessel, they must be exceedingly good talkers.