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'The swell's nothing,' said Davies; 'it's only a stray drain from outside. As for breakwaters, you've got them all round you, only they're hidden. Ahead and to starboard is the West Hohenhörn, curling round to the sou'-west for all the world like a stone pier. You can hear the surf battering on its outside over to the north. That's where I was nearly wrecked that day, and the little channel I stumbled into must be quite near us somewhere. Half a mile away--to port there--is the East Hohenhörn, where I brought up, after dashing across this lake we're in. Another mile astern is the main body of the sands, the top prong of your fork. So you see we're shut in--practically. Surely you remember the chart? Why, it's--'

'Oh, confound the chart!' I broke out, finding this flow of plausible comfort too dismally suggestive for my nerves. '_Look_ at it, man! Supposing anything happens--supposing it blows a gale! But it's no good shivering here and staring at the view. I'm going below.'

There was a _mauvais quart d'heure_ below, during which, I am ashamed to say, I forgot the quest.

'Which soup do you feel inclined for?' said Davies, timidly, after a black silence of some minutes.

That simple remark, more eloquent of security than a thousand technical arguments, saved the situation.

'I say, Davies,' I said, 'I'm a white-livered cur at the best, and you mustn't spare me. But you're not like any yachtsman I ever met before, or any sailor of any sort. You're so casual and quiet in the extraordinary things you do. I believe I should like you better if you let fly a volley of deep-sea oaths sometimes, or threatened to put me in irons.'

Davies opened wide eyes, and said it was all his fault for forgetting that I was not as used to such anchorages as he was. 'And, by the way,' he added, 'as to its blowing a gale, I shouldn't wonder if it did; the glass is falling hard; but it can't hurt us. You see, even at high water the drift of the sea--'

'Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't begin again. You'll prove soon that we're safer here than in an hotel. Let's have dinner, and a thundering good one!'

Dinner ran a smooth course, but just as coffee was being brewed the hull, from pitching regularly, began to roll.

'I knew she would,' said Davies. 'I was going to warn you, only--the ebb has set in _against_ the wind. It's quite safe--'

'I thought you said it would get calmer when the tide fell?'

'So it will, but it may _seem_ rougher. Tides are queer things,' he added, as though in defence of some not very respectable acquaintances.

He busied himself with his logbook, swaying easily to the motion of the boat; and I for my part tried to write up my diary, but I could not fix my attention. Every loose article in the boat became audibly restless. Cans clinked, cupboards rattled, lockers uttered hollow groans. Small things sidled out of dark hiding-places, and danced grotesque drunken figures on the floor, like goblins in a haunted glade. The mast whined dolorously at every heel, and the centre-board hiccoughed and choked. Overhead another horde of demons seemed to have been let loose. The deck and mast were conductors which magnified every sound and made the tap-tap of every rope's end resemble the blows of a hammer, and the slapping of the halyards against the mast the rattle of a Maxim gun. The whole tumult beat time to a rhythmical chorus which became maddening.

'We might turn in now,' said Davies; 'it's half-past ten.'

'What, sleep through this?' I exclaimed. 'I can't stand this, I must _do_ something. Can't we go for another walk?'

I spoke in bitter, half-delirious jest.

'Of course we can,' said Davies, 'if you don't mind a bit of a tumble in the dinghy.'

I reconsidered my rash suggestion, but it was too late now to turn back, and some desperate expedient was necessary. I found myself on deck, gripping a backstay and looking giddily down and then up at the dinghy, as it bobbed like a cork in the trough of the sea alongside, while Davies settled the sculls and rowlocks.

'Jump!' he shouted, and before I could gather