“Port Nicholson,
July 28th, 1842.
“Dearest Annie,
“After leaving the Cape we had a good voyage until nearing New Zealand. The captain diverted from the right course, and we were nearly wrecked; and should have run on some reefs but for the timely warning of a stranger who put off in a boat and was just in time to intercept us while within a few hundred yards of the sunken reef. The right track was discovered and we at length reached the harbour in safety.
“On getting on shore, we found what a wretched place we had come to.
“The building intended for our occupation had been appropriated by a ship load of emigrants who had the good fortune to arrive before us. The result was that we were crammed into a large empty storeroom, just like an old barn, filthy beyond description, and overrun with rats.
“Here a space was chalked out for each family on the rough flooring, and here our little property, together with rations for a fortnight were conveyed, and we were finally left for good and all to shift for ourselves.
“There were heart-breaking scenes. The most sanguine lost heart, and many women wept and wrung their hands.
“I could have done the same, but my husband wore such a dismal face that I forebore.
“We arranged our things as well as we could and curtained our corner off. Then went into the bush close by, cut some small twigs, made a broom, and swept the floor and walls. Our example was followed by others, and we found ourselves better off than on board ship as we could get in and out as we chose. We were banished to this outlandish place at the end of the earth and thought we would never stay here. We found the natives a fine lot of people: dark brown skin, and most of them tattooed in fanciful patterns, which suffices for clothes for some of them. Some are dressed in loin cloth and tattoe.”