We bowled along at
a fine rate, towing our prize, that plunged and rolled by our
side in eccentric style, almost as if still alive. Along about
midnight we reached Saddle Point, where there was some shelter
from the sea which rolled up the wide open strait, and there we
anchored.
Leaving me and a couple of Kanakas on watch, the captain, and all
hands besides, went below for a little sleep. My instructions
were to call the captain if the weather got at all ugly-looking,
so that we might run in to Port William at once, but he did not
wish to do so if our present position proved sufficiently
sheltered. He had not been below an hour before there was a
change for the worse. That greasy, filmy haze was again drawn
over the clear blue of the sky, and the light scud began to fly
overhead at an alarmingly rapid rate. So at four bells I called
him again. He came on deck at once, and after one look round
ordered the hands up to man the windlass. By eight bells (four
a.m.) we were rounding the frowning rocks at the entrance of Port
William, and threading our way between the closely-set, kelp-
hidden dangers as if it were broadest, dearest daylight. At 4.30
we let go the anchor again, and all hands, except the regular
"anchor-watch," bolted below to their bunks again like so many
rabbits.
Pages:
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472