“The worst of these currents is that you can’t reckon on them like the tide. They’re wind-driven, or caused by heat, I suppose, but when you’re ashore don’t you go bathing on this coast without you know where you are. There’s often a four-knot current inshore that would sweep any man away, and often does. But if we get a breeze to-night, we ought to land you to-morrow.”
As he spoke the last limb of the sun sank below the horizon, lighting it for a moment with the mysterious green flash that is sometimes seen in these waters, and is said to be due to its rays shining through and illuminating the water at the edge of the sea.
At the same time the sea, which had looked like a bath of mercury, suddenly blackened to northward of us, and the Astarte’s booms swung out to starboard with the cheery rattle of sheets running through the blocks. The ship leaned over with a little thrill as of a happy awakening, the ripple began to play again at her bow, and we were under way once more.
“That’s better,” said Captain Welfare, rising from his chair. “Would you like to see just where we are on the chart?”
I thanked him, and we all three went below to his cabin.
A section of an Admiralty chart was pinned out as usual, with the Astarte’s position from day to day marked on it in pencil.
Captain Welfare put a broad forefinger close to the last mark.
“That’s where we are now,” he said, “as near as we can tell from soundings. As you see yourself, there’s no land-marks anyone could pick up hereabouts. Those figures show you it’s all shoal water between us and the land, until we get here.”
He indicated a place a little farther east along the coast, where there was a small bay or indentation.
“Here you see there’s water enough for the Astarte up to within a few yards of the beach, and there’s some tall sandhills and a bit of an old ruined sheikh’s tomb that we can pick up even at night with this moon.”