Once out of the Scheldt, and trouble was likely to begin any minute, particularly for any craft considered unfriendly by the British fleet.
A narrow lane had been slashed—as a woodsman would say—through the sea. Outside of it there was danger everywhere.
Such was the situation when Hans introduced Captain Eberhardt to the restless four in the house of rest.
The captain was a man of few words, and had a firecracker way of delivering them.
He said he owned a “scow with a funnel in it,” and he was one of the pilots who were trusted to take boats through. The shoals in the shallow and muddy water of the North Sea had been well marked in times of peace, but now only here and there to be seen by the men at the wheel, for guides, were big red “war buoys.”
Henri had taken from the belts sufficient gold for even extraordinary passage money for himself and comrades, and jingled the coins on the deal table at which the party were sitting.
“We want to get out of here at daybreak, if you can swing it, captain,” he said.
The captain looked at the coins and then at his watch, a massive silver timepiece, hitched to his broad vest-front by twisted links of steel.
“Bring ’em down”—the captain addressing Hans in Dutch.
Hans nodded assent, and kept the captain company to the door, where they apparently completed arrangements.