A hundred hands waved us a fond farewell.
The stately trees that shut in the baronial hall swayed solemnly. I was glad when we rolled out of the court yard for I needed rest and quiet.
My nerves had been on such a stretch for the past month that a change of scene brought me balm and relaxation.
My journey to the North Sea was quiet and uneventful.
I found my ship safely anchored in Port No Man’s Port, and the elder baron there in charge of her. He introduced me to the sailing-master, pressed me in his own loving arms, and with a gracious smile and stately wave of the hand, seated himself in the family coach. His only adieu was:
“My son, thy wisdom comes to thee by inheritance. Thou couldst not have acquired it. Therefore, make a noble use of so noble a gift. Farewell!”
I bent my head in silence. The carriage rolled away. I stood alone. Nay, a true and loving friend was there. He looked up with his large, lustrous eyes, as if to say:
“Don’t be sad, little master. No matter who goes, I’ll stay by thee forever!”
Turning to my sailing-master, I ordered the ship’s launch to be manned, and began at once a survey of the mysterious port in which my ship lay anchored.
I found it to be a roomy basin, shut in by a rock-bound shore. In places the waters slept beneath black and glassy surfaces; in others, all was movement and commotion. Its waves came boiling and bubbling against the launch with swirling masses of white sand, shifting hither and thither, as if condemned to perpetual unrest.