Mooetara is a man of great property and high rank, and is considered a very proud chief by the natives; yet he is to be seen every day working as hard as any slave in assisting in the erection of houses for the accommodation of his new settlers. He has actually removed from his old village of Parkunugh (a strong and beautiful place), and is erecting huts for his tribe near the spot chosen by his new friends; so that, in a very short time, a barren point of land, hitherto without a vestige of a human habitation, will become a thriving and populous village, for it is incredible how quickly the orders of these chiefs are carried into effect. I was frequently a witness to the short space of time they took to erect their houses; and, though small, they are tight, weather-proof, and warm: their storehouses are put together in the most substantial and workmanlike manner. It is very difficult to make the New Zealanders explain the nature of their religious belief. One superstition seems general with all the tribes respecting the formation of the world, or, rather, of their own island, for that is the place of the first importance in their estimation. They say a man, or a god, or some great spirit, was fishing in his war-canoe, and pulled up a large fish, which instantly turned into an island; and a lizard came upon that, and brought up a man out of the water by his long hair; and he was the father of all the New Zealanders. Almost all their grotesque carvings are illustrations of this idea in some way or other. The favourite theme on which (I observed) the missionaries discoursed to them were "the torments of hell." This has become a subject of ridicule to most of the natives; they do not deny that there may be such a place, but they add, it is not for them, for if Atua had intended it so he would have sent them word about it long before he sent the white men into their country; and they conclude by stating that they know perfectly well the situation of the island where they are to go to after this life. CHAPTER LV. MASSACRE OF A SCHOONER'S CREW. While remaining here wind-bound, in imaginary security, and amusing ourselves with noticing the curious customs and peculiarities of these islanders, a dreadful tragedy was taking place only a few miles' distance from us, and to which I before alluded, when I mentioned crossing the bar on our first arrival from Port Jackson. The Enterprise schooner, a very fine vessel, which was built at the settlement on this river, had been sent to Sydney, and while we were lying there we were in hourly expectation of her return. She did return. The unfavourable weather which detained us so long proved fatal to her, and she was wrecked a few miles to the northward of the river's mouth, and every soul on board perished.