140 THE WHALE HUNTERS 



Meribah^s dolphin striker was dipping again to the swell of 

 the open sea and the brave winds of the Roaring Forties 

 were driving her with a bone in her teeth across the Great 

 Australian Bight. Within a week she was passing through 

 the Bass Straits into the Tasman Sea. 



Between Tasmania and New Zealand the watchful 

 eyes aloft espied the prey once more and the boats were 

 lowered to give chase. With two more black silhouettes 

 of sperm whales in the margin of her logbook to mark 

 the kill for the day the ship put her head again towards 

 Cape Reingo on the northern tip of New Zealand. 



In the beautiful tree-fringed Bay of Islands, famed as a 

 port of call for whaleships, she anchored again and took on 

 fresh fruit, vegetables, hogs and wood for her cooking and 

 trying-out fires. The men were granted a day's liberty to 

 enjoy themselves ashore at the inn where mine host was the 

 typical bluff Englishman. 



Thomas and Hamm were entertained by an English 

 farmer and his family and late that night as they found 

 their way back to the landing stage they overtook a 

 strange procession of men from the Meribah. They had 

 all supped too well of the local vintages and those who had 

 completely succumbed to its potency were being wheeled 

 along in borrowed wheelbarrows. The merry mariners 

 pushing the barrows were not finding it very easy to keep 

 to the rough roadway and two of them were only too 

 ready to hand over their duties to the two officers. 



'She's all yours, Mr. Oakley,' sang out one of the men, 

 'course nor'-east by east and watch 'er, sir, 'cos she's 

 rolling like a barrel.' 



'Aye aye, cap'n,' laughed Thomas and pushed the 

 barrow towards a narrow bridge where in the moonlight 

 he could see that one of the noisy procession was finding 

 some difficulty in m.aking the crossing. Suddenly the 

 man's barrow crashed through the rickety wooden rails 

 and a moment later its occupant, roused from his slumbers 



