“Davies,” I said, when we were settled in our bunks, “it’s only a day’s sail to Norderney, isn’t it?”
“With a fair wind, less, if we go outside the islands direct.”
“Well, it’s settled that we do that to-morrow?”
“I suppose so. We’ve got to get the anchor first. Good-night.”
CHAPTER XIX.
The Rubicon
It was a cold, vaporous dawn, the glass rising, and the wind fallen to a light air still from the north-east. Our creased and sodden sails scarcely answered to it as we crept across the oily swell to Langeoog. “Fogs and calms,” Davies prophesied. The Blitz was astir when we passed her, and soon after steamed out to sea. Once over the bar, she turned westward and was lost to view in the haze. I should be sorry to have to explain how we found that tiny anchor-buoy, on the expressionless waste of grey. I only know that I hove the lead incessantly while Davies conned, till at last he was grabbing overside with the boathook, and there was the buoy on deck. The cable was soon following it, and finally the rusty monster himself, more loathsome than usual, after his long sojourn in the slime.
“That’s all right,” said Davies. “Now we can go anywhere.”
“Well, it’s Norderney, isn’t it? We’ve settled that.”
“Yes, I suppose we have. I was wondering whether it wouldn’t be shortest to go inside Langeoog after all.”
“Surely not,” I urged. “The tide’s ebbing now, and the light’s bad; it’s new ground, with a ‘watershed’ to cross, and we’re safe to get aground.”