In this way, his countrymen frequently enter on board the colonial whaling vessels.
There was a man among us who had sailed with the Mowree on his first voyage, and he told me that he had not changed a particle since then.
Some queer things this fellow told me.

The following is one of his stories.

I give it for what it is worth; premising, however, that from what I know of Bembo, and the foolhardy, dare-devil feats sometimes performed in the sperm-whale fishery, I believe in its substantial truth.
As may be believed, Bembo was a wild one after a fish; indeed, all New Zealanders engaged in this business are; it seems to harmonize sweetly with their blood-thirsty propensities.

At sea, the best English they speak is the South Seaman's slogan in lowering away, "A dead whale, or a stove boat!" Game to the marrow, these fellows are generally selected for harpooners; a post in which a nervous, timid man would be rather out of his element.
In darting, the harpooner, of course, stands erect in the head of the boat, one knee braced against a support.

But Bembo disdained this; and was always pulled up to his fish, balancing himself right on the gunwale.
But to my story.