"Adventures! I could fill a whole book with them; some of them so strange that they would appear to most people more like falsehoods than solid fact."
"But, you know, Alec, it is only a hair line that frequently separates the sublime from the ridiculous, and perhaps the line that divides your true tales of the marvellous from story book fiction is so thin, that ordinary persons cannot quite detect it; but never mind, let's have something mild, and I'll undertake to swallow everything you tell me, even if I have to bite it in two first."
"There, now, you're laughing at me before I begin, and you shall not have a strand of a yarn, so you may go to sleep again at once."
Then I had to coax him, and he soon came round. He could not bear to be doubted, much less laughed at.
"Tell me about bringing that little cockle-shell of a yacht from London to Guernsey, that you were speaking about the other day."
"Oh! the 'Dewdrop.' Why, that's no yarn at all."
Then, thought I to myself, here's something really true: and so I afterwards proved it to be.
"The 'Dewdrop' was one of the smallest yachts that ever ventured across the Channel in the month of March. I left London with a fair wind from the west, and got along the London river well enough; but once past the Nore I found it quite lumpy enough to make things very wet and uncomfortable, and after leaving Dover behind I had serious thoughts of putting into Folkestone, or one of the south coast ports, but as I am not one to take a task in hand and then give it up, I shaped my course for Guernsey, making up my mind to give Cape La Hogue a wide berth. There was a high west wind blowing, and a choppy sea rolling the white horses along at a great pace, so that it required some amount of attention to handle a light built twenty-foot yacht. Everything stood as we bowled along, but having no one to help me I felt dreadfully tired and hungry, for I could not leave the tiller to get a proper meal. Two or three hours more and the wind backed a little to the south south-west and blew harder than ever, while, in proportion as the wind rose, so did the sea, so that the poor little 'Dewdrop,' with nearly a head wind, was labouring heavily. How I got through the night I cannot tell, for with cold and hunger I was nearly dead, and what was more, I was lost. When I say lost, I could not tell within a score miles where I was. I looked for the Casquet Light, but could not see it. Then I strained my eyes ahead, trying to penetrate the darkness and discern Alderney Light, but in vain. Turning my head to the left I looked out for the lights of Cape La Hogue, but again was disappointed. Where was I? I could not tell, but I fancied I knew where I should be in a very short time, for the seas were such as to make it a marvel how such a cockle-shell could float in such a turmoil of black seething water. It was a terrible night, for death rode near me on every crested wave, any one of which breaking aboard would have formed my winding sheet. To make matters worse, towards morning a dense sea fog set in, and I so far gave myself up as to say my prayers at least half a dozen times in as many half hours.
"Although apparently very reluctant to do so, the sun did rise at last, and behold, as the fog melted away, not two miles off, on my starboard beam, was Alderney. I never felt such a thrill of joy in my life as when I saw the breakwaters at the entrance to Braye Harbour, extending their arms as if to receive me into their snug embrace. I was glad to get into smooth water once again, and inside a harbour to boot, for I had never expected to set foot on dry land again. The old hands could scarcely believe that I had crossed the Channel in such a gale; but there I was, and there was the 'Dewdrop' to prove my assertion, therefore they could not doubt it. I pumped her out, and repaired the little craft as well as I could, and on the third day of being in port had eaten everything eatable aboard, and as there was no chance of resuming the voyage yet I had to get some food on 'tick.' This was all very well for a day or two, but after I had been a week in Braye, with no prospect of getting away, the landlord of the tavern from which I obtained my food, told me that as I was a perfect stranger to him he could not afford, to keep me any longer on credit. What security could I give him for further food? This was a poser, but the end of it was that I left my whole kit in pawn with him, including even my watch. At length, on the twelfth morning after my arrival the sea became calm enough for me to proceed, and with a west wind I was in Guernsey Harbour four hours after leaving Braye. I think this was the most adventurous voyage I ever made, as it took me sixteen days to make two hundred and fifty miles. I think if the pay was a guinea an hour I should not care about again crossing the Channel during an equinoxial gale, especially to be skipper and crew of such a midge as the 'Dewdrop.'"
"That's what I call a decent little yarn, Alec,—multum in parvo—one that might be drawn out into quite a long story, and if it were in the hands of some men they would so spin it out, that the telling would occupy almost as many hours as you were days on the voyage. Nothing like condensing the agony and expanding the joy in a yarn, it makes the listeners in a better mode, and more sociable with each other."