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.
The mate had a secret and wanted to get rid of it. While looking
round at the shore, and apparently talking about indifferent
subjects, he said to the pilot: "Don't look at the men, and don't
take any notice of them. They threw Blogg, the master, overboard,
when he was flogging the cook, and they would murder me, too, if they
knew I told you; so you must pretend not to take any notice of them.
What their plans may be, I don't know; but you may be sure they won't
go back to the Tamar, if they can help it."
If the pilot felt any surprise, he did not show it. After a short
pause he said: "You go about your business, and don't speak to me
again, except when the men can hear you. I will think about what is
best to be done."
During the night Captain Young thought about it to some purpose.
Being a master mariner himself he could imagine no circumstances
which would justify a crew in throwing a master mariner overboard.
It was the one crime which could not be pardoned either afloat or
ashore. Next day he took the vessel up the estuary, and anchored her
within two hundred yards of the shore, opposite the residence of
Captain McDonnell.
It is true there was no government at that time at Hokianga, nor
anywhere else in New Zealand; there were no judges, no magistrates,
no courts, and no police.
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