As we anticipated, every whale was lost that had been caught that day.  The disappointment was in nowise lessened by the knowledge that, with his usual good fortune Captain Gilroy had not only escaped all the bad weather, but while we were being threshed within an inch of our lives down in the bitter south, he was calmly trying-out his whale (which we had seen him with on our outward journey) in the sheltered haven of Port William.  Many and deep were the curses bestowed upon him by the infuriated crews of those two ships, although he had certainly done them no harm.  But the sight of other people’s good fortune is gall and wormwood to a vast number of people, who seem to take it as a personal injury done to themselves.

Only two days elapsed, however, before we again saw an immense school of sperm whales, and each ship succeeded in securing one.  We made no attempt to get more this time, nor do I think either of the others did; at any rate, one each was the result of the day’s work.  They were, as usual, of huge size and apparently very fat.  At the time we secured our fish alongside, a fresh north-westerly wind was blowing, the weather being clear and beautiful as heart could wish.  But instead of commencing at once to cut-in, Captain Count gave orders to pile on all sail and keep her away up the Straits.  He was evidently determined to take no more chances, but, whenever opportunity offered, to follow the example set by the wily old skipper of the chance.  The other ships both started to cut-in at once, tempted, doubtless, by the settled appearance of the weather, and also perhaps from their hardly concealed dislike of going into port.  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.