What chance had we boys in our clinker-built
against the thews and sinews of trained whalemen? It was no wonder
that we slapped our thighs at the prospect of a more open race.
Still, even with the Yankee gone, there were others in the running.
There was the _Rhondda_ that held the Cup for the year, having won when
we were somewhere off the Horn; then the _Hedwig Rickmers_--a Bremen
four-master--which had not before competed, but whose green-painted gig
was out for practice morning and night. We felt easy about the
_Rhondda_ (for had we not, time and again, shown them our stern on the
long pull from Green St. to the outer anchorage?), but the Germans were
different. Try as we might, we could never pull off a spurt with them.
No one knew for certain what they could do, only old Schenke, their
skipper, and he held his tongue wisely.
The _James Flint_ came around the bend, and our eager eyes followed her
as she steered after the tug. She was making for the outer anchorage,
where the laden ships lie in readiness for a good start off.
"Th' wind's 'bout west outside," said Jones. "A 'dead muzzler'!
She'll not put t' sea tonight, even if she has all her 'crowd' aboard.
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