Narrative of a Voyage to New Zealand

Of all the various islands in the Pacific Ocean, there is none with which Europeans in general are so little acquainted as New Zealand; and none, perhaps, which more deserves their particular attention. Ever since the time of Captain Cook, whose enterprising spirit could only be equalled by his indefatigable perseverance, this island has been almost entirely neglected, and the partial visits made to it, have in no instance been favourable to a permanent intercourse. The persons who at distant intervals resorted thither, were men, as will presently be seen, of callous hearts, who were as little disposed to conciliate the friendship of the rude inhabitants, as they were to pay a due regard to their own character; and, in addition to this, the odium thrown on the natives themselves, by being viewed as ferocious cannibals, served, as it were, to interdict any cordial communication with them. Dreaded by the good, and assailed by the worthless, their real dispositions were not ascertained; the former dared not venture to civilize them, the latter only added to their ferocity.

Too long had they continued in this state of obnoxious barbarism, when a man, whose benevolence is so closely connected with the subject of this narrative, that I must necessarily advert to it, came forward, in the genuine spirit of philanthropy, to rescue their persons from insult, and their minds from ignorance.