The seamen swore most solemnly that they did not intend to do him the least harm, and at last the mate opened his door.  While in his cabin, he had been spending what he believed to be the last minutes of his life in preparing for death; he did his best to make peace with heaven, and tried to pray.  But his mouth was dry with fear, his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, his memory of sacred things failed him, and he could not pray for want of practice.  He could remember only one short prayer, and he was unable to utter even that audibly.  And how could a prayer ever reach heaven in time to be of any use to him, when he could not make it heard outside the deck-house?  In his desperate straits he took a piece of chalk and began to write it; so when at last he opened the door of his cabin, the four seamen observed that he had nearly covered the boards with writing.  It looked like a litany, but it was a litany of only three words—­“Lord, have mercy”—­which were repeated in lines one above the other.

That litany was never erased or touched by any man who subsequently sailed on board the ‘Industry’.  She was the first vessel that was piloted up the channel to Port Albert in Gippsland, to take in a cargo of fat cattle, and when she arrived there on August 3rd, 1842, the litany of the mate was still distinctly legible.

Nothing exalts a man so quickly in the estimation of his fellow creatures as killing them.  Emperors and kings court the alliance of the conquering hero returning from fields of slaughter.  Ladies in Melbourne forgot for a time the demands of fashion in their struggles to obtain an ecstatic glimpse of our modern Bluebeard, Deeming; and no one was prouder than the belle of the ball when she danced down the middle with the man who shot Sandy M’Gee.

And the reverence of the mate for his murdering crew was unfathomable.  Their lightest word was a law to him.  He wrote up the log in their presence, stating that Captain Blogg had been washed into the sea in a sudden squall on a dark night; vessel hove to, boat lowered, searched for captain all night, could see nothing of him; mate took charge, and bore away for Hokianga next morning.  When these untruthful particulars had been entered and read over to the four seamen, they were satisfied for the present.  They would settle among the Maoris, and lead a free and happy life.  They could do what they liked with the schooner and her cargo, having disposed of the master and owner; and as for the mate, they would dispose of him, too, if he made himself in any way troublesome.  What a wonderful piece of good luck it was that they were going to a new country in which there was no government!

The ‘Industry’ arrived off the bar at Hokianga on November 30th, 1835, and was boarded by a Captain Young, who had settled seven miles up the estuary, at One Tree Point, and acted as pilot of the nascent port.  He inquired how much water the schooner drew, noted the state of the tide, and said he would remain on board all night, and go over the bar next morning with the first flood.