[Footnote 1:  Ancient History of the Maori, vol. v., p. 128.]

The people at Mercury Bay knew at once, says Taniwha, that the English were goblins, because a boat’s crew pulled ashore, rowing with their backs to the land.  Only goblins have eyes in the backs of their heads.  When these creatures stepped on to the beach all the natives retreated and the children ran into the bush.  But seeing that the wondrous beings walked peaceably about picking up stones and grasses and finally eating oysters, they said to each other, “Perhaps these goblins are not like our Maori goblins,” and, taking courage, offered them sweet potatoes, and even lit a fire and roasted cockles for them.  When one of the strangers pointed a walking-staff he had in his hand at a cormorant sitting on a dead tree, and there was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, followed by the cormorant’s fall there was another stampede into the bush.  But the goblins laughed so good-humouredly that the children took heart to return and look at the fallen bird.  Yes, it was dead; but what had killed it? and still the wonder grew!

The Endeavour lay in the bay for some time, and a brisk trade grew up between ship and shore.  On one great, never-to-be-forgotten day little Taniwha and some of his play-fellows were taken out in a canoe and went on board the magic ship.  Wrapped in their flax cloaks they sat close together on the deck, not daring to move about for fear they might be bewitched in some dark corner, and so might never be able to go away and get home again.  But their sharp brown eyes noted everything.  They easily made out the leader of the goblins.  He was a tino tangata (a very man—­emphatically a man).  Grave and dignified, he walked about saying few words, while the other goblins chatted freely.  Presently the goblin-captain came up to the boys and, after patting their heads and stroking their cloaks, produced a large nail and held it up before them temptingly.  The other youngsters sat motionless, awe-struck.  But the bolder Taniwha laughed cheerfully and was at once presented with the prize.  The children forthwith agreed amongst themselves that Cook was not only a tino tangata, but a tino rangatira—­a combination of a great chief and a perfect gentleman.  How otherwise could he be so kind to them, and so fond of children, argued these youthful sages?

Then they saw the captain draw black marks on the quarter-deck and make a speech to the natives, pointing towards the coast.  “The goblins want to know the shape of the country,” said a quick-witted old chief, and, rising up, he drew with charcoal a map of The Fish of Maui, from the Glittering Lake at the extreme south to Land’s End in the far north.  Then, seeing that the goblins did not understand that the Land’s End was the spot from which the spirits of the dead slid down to the shades below, the old chief laid himself down stiffly on the deck and closed his eyes.  But still the goblins did