The first likely place we came to we hauled to and shifted Red Dick's cargo to the _Svend Foyn_. By this time, with the ambergris back and five thousand extra sealskins below, all hands were willing to take a moderate chance on almost anything. We swung away for the straits, but not making great headway. The little old _Svend Foyn_ was never any wonder for steaming. At her best she could do perhaps ten miles an hour. Now, with all her battle-ship topgear and with the wind ahead, she was doing perhaps six. It began to breeze up, but nothing for us to worry over until we saw a steamer's smoke coming up astern. We were then clear of the coast islands and into the straits, with wind and sea fighting each other. I had another good look at the steamer coming up astern, and took my prize crew off Red Dick's whaler and turned her adrift. I hated to. Not alone the prize money, but to see a good ship go to loss any time is bad. I did it in hopes that the cargo steamer coming upon us would stop to get her, and while they were getting her--what with the gale and the dark coming--we would be able to slip away. But they didn't stop. Perhaps the little whaler was too close in to the cliffs for the big steamer to have a chance in the tide that was running. They let her pile up against the cliffs, and came on and ranged up abreast of us. Red Dick was on her bridge. She came so close to us that I could almost have jumped aboard. It was blowing pretty hard at the time, but she was making easy weather of it--a good sea-boat. We weren't. The williwaws, which are what they call the hard squalls off the high hills down there, were having a great time with out battle-ship topsides. She was something of a roller on her own account at any time, the _Svend Foyn_, but now she rolled her wooden turrets under and every once in a while her bridge. Red Dick leaned over the bridge rail and laughed. He looked the _Svend Foyn's_ top gear over and laughed again. "Blank shells and wooden guns!" he called out. "Fine! Any more left?" "Oh," I said, "not all blanks and not all wooden, and a few left--yes." "So?" he says, and gives an order. A man pulls a tarpaulin off a long needle-gun amidships. "Got anything like that in your battery?" he calls out. I looked it over as if I was interested. At the same time I made a sign to my mate behind me. I'd long before this loaded my two whaling bomb-lance guns, but this time I put in them the lances, which were of steel, weighed eighty pounds, and were four and a half feet long--not a bad little projectile at all. "What's it for?" I called out, pointing to his needle-gun. "What's it for?" he mimics. "What d'y' think it's for?" I shake my head. "I could never guess." "Well, you will soon. You know me?" "I do. And you know me?" "I know you, and I'll take no chances with you. I'm going to heave you a line and take you in tow." "I don't remember flying any signals for a tow."