New Zealand

Port sub-call! Far at the world then, strange fascinating lands beckoneth, fittest rebel and their exotic spanners.

Come with us as we head for Port sub-call! The southern cross jewels the sky like four clustered diamonds. Curving sea-lane stretch eastward, Pales of adventure for the square riggers, Breggs and Bakantines of an age long past.

The soft-lilted the sea, grooms its sirens off, and draws us to the South Pacific, two islands of emerald and sapphire, rimmed by blue ocean. New Zealand is the name given to our magic islands by the Amsterdam map-makers. New Zealand, long bright land in the sea.

The harbor at Auckland, Mecca for tramp steamers, salt-crusted freighters, white-burnished liners from San Francisco. As we round the north-head, the Queen City of Auckland gleams before us, a teeming metropolis who suburb stretch for miles along the tooth-like waterfront.

We dock at Queen's Wharf and leave the bustling harbor to travel southward. On our way we pass through a wild country haunted by native Maori legend. The ghosts of gods and warriors live almost forgotten in the shaded glens and shadowy mountains.

But of all the gods that were once worshipped by the primitive Maori, the most popular was that amiable culprit Maui. It was Maui who accidentally created the islands of New Zealand, when one day he approached his two sleeping brothers.

Brothers. Brothers. What is it Maui? Yes, can't you see we're sleeping? Raise your bones from the mat. There we go, fishing. Oh, what's up with? We fish every day. That'll be sweet. Ah, pop! Before I cut your brains out.

All right, all right. Carry the canoe. Today we paddle far into the sea. I'm sick and tired of fishing in shallow water. We'll search for deep water today, but you caught a great shark only two days ago.