But our "old man" was hard to beat, and he reckoned
that, if we could only get out of the "pond," he would work her
across to the Bluff somehow or other. So we ran out a kedge with
a couple of lines to it, and warped her out of the weather side
of the harbour, finding, when at last we got her clear, that she
would lay her course across the Straits to clear Ruapuke--nearly;
but the current had to be reckoned with. Before we reached that
obstructing island we were down at the eastern end of it, and
obliged to anchor promptly to save ourselves from being swept
down the coast many miles to leeward of our port.
But the skipper was quite equal to the occasion. Ordering his
boat, he sped away into Bluff harbour, only a matter of six or
seven miles, returning soon with a tug, who for a pound or two
placed us, without further trouble, alongside the wharf, amongst
some magnificent clipper ships of Messrs. Henderson's and the New
Zealand Shipping Co.'s, who seemed to turn up their splendid
noses at the squat, dumpy, antiquated old serving-mallet that
dared to mingle with so august a crowd. There had been a time,
not so very far back, when I should have shared their apparent
contempt for our homely old tub; but my voyage had taught me,
among other things, that, as far as true comfort went at sea, not
a "three-skysail-yarder" among them could compare with the
CACHALOT.
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