several promontories which, with as many or more ishands, distinguish the inlet from others to the northward. In the words of the school-geographies, this headland “derives its name” from a square aperture fronting the sea—the doorway to the home of some amphibious mountain giant, or to the boudoir of naked naiads, just according to the direction of one’s imagination.
We fondly anticipated that some human form divine, rather than mountain or marine divinity, would present itself upon the beach, but the whistle of the steamer produced nothing but empty echoes until a look-out in the rigging distinguished the “Lapwing” cutter, moored by ropes to the shore, in a quiet cove, in the shelter of Steep-to Island; and even then humanity, in the persons of the mate and a man on board the cutter, partook of the pacific disposition of the elements on that particular evening. It was only when a boat went alongside that they emanated from their refuge from the sandflies, and looked upon the face of six anxious inquirers, who desired to know something about coal, Coates, Hutcheson, and Cuttle Cove—our anchorage for the night. The corner in which the cutter lay is safe enough, and a usual resort with Maori boats, as it once was with the boats of whalers, but it is comparatively exposed, and scarcely capable of accommodating more than one craft. Ashore there is a little patch of what was once a clearing, but what is now a cheerful shrubbery—the spot whereon the whalers had erected their try-pots, and revelled in rum and blubber. We received the information that Mr Coates and party were at Daggs Sound, prospecting, and that the coal-workers had bored through seams of various thickness. Returning to the steamer we steamed across to Cuttle Cove, the second anchorage on the northern side, and another resort of the whaler in “ancient times.” In this crescent bay, distinguishable by a small circular island on the margin of the anchorage, the steamer dropped anchor in seven fathoms of water; but she might have gone closer in, for the whalers were in the habit of lying so near that you might adopt that nautical means of mensuration—“toss a biscuit on shore.” It was the first impulse to proceed at once up the Inlet, and to camp out for the night; but superior judgment, and a rapidly-vanishing twilight, had their influence; and “eager for the fray” as everybody was, the alternative of being on foot and in his place in the boat at two o’clock in the morning was accepted.
What remained of daylight was largely employed in fishing, and blue-cod, trumpeter, and crayfish came up from the depths, and in over the side, with an ease and rapidity which almost signified that they rather liked it. Some who went ashore found, back among the woods, where was once the beach, or ground cleared by the whalers, tons of iron-hoops and débris of a whaling station; and at very short distance from the shore were seen specimens of the timber of the country which might well make one wish that there were enterprise and trade to encourage hither, as the successor of the whaler and his harpoon, the woodman and his axe.
There was incidentally gleaned much that was of practical value with regard to the coal, timber, and cultivable character of cleared ground in this neighbourhood. Next day was Sunday, and it was considered that the early hours of the day might be worse spent
