“By your leave,” said he, “you be none too early, comrade. Your fellow ’prentice,”—here he gave me a knowing look—“hath been here this hour, and is in his berth.”
So I went below, and there lay Ludar sound asleep in a hammock, in the very cabin where he and I had lain once before.
About midnight I could hear the grinding of the anchor chain at the bows, which was music to my ears, as was the heavy trampling on deck, and the shouting, and the dabbling of the water at the ports. Amidst it all, I too fell asleep; and when I woke and stood next day on deck, I could see on our right the sullen forts on the Medway, and, behind, the long, low, green line of the Essex mud banks.
Ludar was there before me, pacing restlessly with troubled brow. The joy of his freedom had vanished before the sad memories which crowded the ship.
“Humphrey,” said he, presently, “when and where is all this to end? How does it bring us nearer to our heart’s desires?”
“Indeed,” said I, with a sigh, “’tis a long way round. Yet, patience; the farther East the nearer West.”
He looked at me, as much as to say he knew I was not such a fool as my words showed me.
“And after Rochelle,” said he, “what then?”
“Time enough when we are there,” said I.
Time enough, indeed!