An abominable traffic in which the baser sort of white men engaged was that in human heads. The marvellous preservation of the heads of dead Maori had excited great interest among scientists, and European museums clamoured for specimens. But the loss of the head of one of its male members brought a peculiar grief and shame to a Maori family, for it meant also the loss of _mana_, or reputation. Consequently, the demand for heads greatly exceeded the supply. But if there were base men among the Pakeha, so were there among the Maori, and such fellows made nothing of filching the heads of other persons' ancestors or defunct relatives, and selling them to the sailors frequenting the coast. This was bad enough; but, since theft could not accomplish enough, murder stalked upon its heels, and many a wretched slave was slain in order that his head might grin from the shelf of a museum, or "grace" the library of some curio-hunter. Efforts were made to stop the disgusting traffic with its lurid accompaniments; but the offenders were not easily reached and, had New Zealand remained uncolonised, the Maori race might by this time have become extirpated by a gradual process of decapitation. Fortunately, as the white population grew more respectable and responsible, their own sense of what was due to themselves choked off the practice. Such a shocking story reached the ears of Governor Darling in Sydney, that he issued a proclamation, threatening those engaged in the trade with heavy fines and exposure in the public prints. Theft and murder accounted for a certain number of heads; but the conquerors in battle presently began to offer them in exchange for--as always--guns and ammunition. In the year 1830 a tribe living on the shores of the Bay of Plenty defeated certain Nga-Puhi, and sold such heads as were in proper condition to the master of the next vessel which touched at Tauranga. The brig proceeded to the Bay of Islands--whence had come the original owners of the heads--and was boarded by some of the natives there. The skipper, who seems to have been drunk, appeared on deck, carrying a large sack, and the Maori shrank back, growling and muttering, as the besotted Pakeha tumbled out of the bag a dozen human heads. Worse was to come. Some of the Maori present were related to those who had gone out to fight and had never returned, and a cry of bitter lamentation arose as these recognised the faces of their dead--one a father, another a brother, a third a son. Others, too, knew their friends, and amid a scene of the utmost horror, the outraged Maori, wailing, weeping, howling, rushed over the side of the ship and paddled swiftly towards their bewildered comrades who lined the shore, marvelling at the commotion. Drunk or sober, the brutal shipmaster knew that he had gone too far, for he slipped his cable and fled for his life.