DECEMBER 21, 1835.
Early in the morning we entered the Bay of Islands, and being
becalmed for some hours near the mouth, we did not reach the
anchorage till the middle of the day. The country is hilly, with a
smooth outline, and is deeply intersected by numerous arms of the
sea extending from the bay. The surface appears from a distance as
if clothed with coarse pasture, but this in truth is nothing but
fern. On the more distant hills, as well as in parts of the
valleys, there is a good deal of woodland. The general tint of the
landscape is not a bright green; and it resembles the country a
short distance to the south of Concepcion in Chile. In several
parts of the bay little villages of square tidy-looking houses are
scattered close down to the water's edge. Three whaling-ships were
lying at anchor, and a canoe every now and then crossed from shore
to shore; with these exceptions, an air of extreme quietness
reigned over the whole district. Only a single canoe came
alongside. This, and the aspect of the whole scene, afforded a
remarkable, and not very pleasing contrast, with our joyful and
boisterous welcome at Tahiti.
In the afternoon we went on shore to one of the larger groups of
houses, which yet hardly deserves the title of a village.
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