'I don't care a rap about that. I'm not such an ass as to thirst for re-
venge and all that, like some chap in a shilling shocker. But it makes me
wild to think of that fellow masquerading as a German, and up to who
knows what mischief— mischief enough to make him want to get rid
of any one. I'm keen about the sea, and I think they're apt to be a bit slack
at home,'he continued inconsequently.'Those Admiralty chaps want
waking up. Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, it's quite natural that I
should look him up again.'
'Quite,'I agreed;'you parted friends, and they may be delighted to see
you. You'll have plenty to talk about.'
'I— I'm,'said Davies, withered into silence by the'they'.'Hullo! I say,
do you know it's three o'clock? How the time has gone! And, by Jove! I
believe the fog's lifting.'
I returned, with a shock, to the present, to the weeping walls, the dis-
coloured deal table, the ghastly breakfast litter— all the visible symbols
of the life I had pledged myself to. Disillusionment was making rapid
headway when Davies returned, and said, with energy:
'What do you say to starting for Kiel at once? The fog's going, and
there's a breeze from the sou'-west.'
'Now?'I protested.'Why, it'll mean sailing all night, won't it?'
'Oh, no,'said Davies.'Not with luck.'
'Why, it's dark at seven!'
'Yes, but it's only twenty-five miles. I know it's not exactly a fair wind,
but we shall lie closehauled most of the way. The glass is falling, and we
ought to take this chance.'
To argue about winds with Davies was hopeless, D&G Belt and the upshot was
that we started lunchless. A pale sun was flickering out of masses of ra-
cing vapour, and through delicate vistas between them the fair land of
Schleswig now revealed and now withdrew her pretty face, as though
smiling adieux to her faithless courtiers.
The clank of our chain brought up Bartels to the deck of the Johannes,
rubbing his eyes and pulling round his throat a grey shawl, which gave
him a comical likeness to a lodging-house landlady receiving the milk in
morning déshabillé.
'We're off, Bartels,'said Davies, without looking up from his work.
'See you at Kiel, I hope.'
'You are always in a hurry, captain,'bleated the old man, shaking his
head.'You should wait till to-morrow. The sky is not good, and it will be
dark before you are off Eckenförde.'
Davies laughed, and very soon his mentor's sad little figure was lost in
haze.
That was a curious evening. Dusk soon fell, and the devil made a de-
termined effort to unman me; first, with the scrambled tea which was the
tardy substitute for an orderly lunch, then with the new and nauseous
duty of filling the side-lights, which meant squatting in the fo'c'sle to in-
hale paraffin and dabble in lamp-black; lastly, with an all-round attack
on my nerves as the night fell on our frail little vessel, pitching on her
precarious way through driving mist. In a sense I think I went through
the same sort of mental crisis as when I sat upon my portmanteau at
Flensburg. The main issue was not seriously in question, for I had signed
on in the Dulcibella for good or ill; but in doing so I had outrun myself,
and still wanted an outlook, a mood suited to the enterprise, proof
against petty discouragements. Not for the first time a sense of the
ludicrous came to my assistance, as I saw myself fretting in London un-
der my burden of self-imposed woes, nicely weighing that insidious in-
vitation, and stepping finally into the snare with the dignity due to my
importance; kidnapped as neatly as ever a peaceful clerk was kidnapped
by a lawless press-gang, and, in the end, finding as the arch-conspirator
a guileless and warm-hearted friend, who called me clever, lodged me in
a cell, and blandly invited me to talk German to the purpose, as he was
aiming at a little secret service on the high seas. Close in the train of Hu-
mour came Romance, veiling her face, but I knew it was the rustle of her
robes that I heard in the foam beneath me; I knew that it was she who
handed me the cup of sparkling wine and bade me drink and be merry.
Strange to me though it was, I knew the taste when it touched my lips. It
was not that bastard concoction I had tasted in the pseudo-Bohemias of
Soho; it was not the showy but insipid beverage I should have drunk my
fill of at Morven Lodge; it was the purest of her pure vintages, instilling
the ancient inspiration which, under many guises, quickens thousands of
better brains than mine, but whose essence is always the same; the gay
pursuit of a perilous quest. Then and there I tried to clinch the matter
and keep that mood. In the main I think I succeeded, though I had many
lapses.
