The sea took on the most delicate purple tints, and the pallor of the architecture of Belgian hotels became ethereal. While we were yet a mile and a half from the harbor-mouth, flies with stings wandered out from the city to meet us.
We passed between the pierheads at Ostend at 6:10 p. m., and the skipper was free to speak again. When he had done manouvering in the basin, he leaned over the engine-hatch and said to me:
“I ‘ve had a bit o’ luck this week.”
“With the engine?” I suggested, for the engine had been behaving itself lately.
“No, sir. My wife presented me with a little boy last Tuesday. I had the letter last night. I’ve been expecting it.” But he had said nothing to me before. He blushed, adding, “I should like you to do me a very great favor, sir—give me two days off soon, so that I can go to the baptism.” Strange, somehow, that a man should have to ask a favor to be present at the baptism of his own son! The skipper now has two sons. Both, I was immediately given to understand, are destined for the sea. He has six brothers-in-law, and they all follow the sea. On a voyage he will never willingly leave the wheel, even if he is not steering. He will rush down to the forecastle for his dinner, swallow it in two minutes and a half, and rush back. I said to him once:
“I believe you must be fond of this wheel.”
“I am, sir,” he said, and grinned.