BEACH COMBERS. 



During our cruise around the Navigator 

 Islands, and while we were sailing along the coast 

 of Upolu, hugging the shore — country-whaling, 

 as they say — a canoe came off with several 

 natives and a white man as interpreter. They 

 were anxious to trade, offering fowl and fruit in 

 exchange for cotton cloth. 



While the traders were on board, the man at 

 the masthead sang out, " There she blows!" and 

 sure enough there was a school of sperm whales, 

 cows and calves, going to the leeward. We kept 

 off for them, and, in doing so, passed another 

 canoe, steered by a white man, who had put off 

 from another village to trade. Under the 

 circumstances, the old man thought best not to 

 heave to for them — whales won't wait, and 

 traders will — so they went away for the land, 

 the white man cursing and swearing and 

 threatening to seize and hold our boats if we 

 attempted to land at their village. 



We came up with the whales, lowered our 

 boats, and were soon fastened to three. In a short 

 time we had them turned up and dead. We left 

 them with a "waif" — that is, a small flag — 



