Thus summoned, the Count, getting out of the bunk, accompanied the Baron on deck. Then taking out his note-book he wrote: “Green fields, green trees, windmills pretty numerous, cows white and black still more so, sky and sea as usual, with here and there a vessel or other craft on the calm surface of the latter.”
“I see nothing more to describe,” he said, as he closed the book and returned it to his pocket.
Still the galiot glided on.
“It strikes me that there is some monotony in this kind of scenery,” observed the Count to the Baron; “but it’s pleasing, charming, and soothing to one’s troubled soul.”
At last the wind dropped, and the galiot lay becalmed.
“What are we going to do now?” asked the Count, finding that the vessel no longer moved through the water.
“Drop our anchor and wait till the ebb makes again, unless we wish to be driven up by the flood all the way we have come,” observed the skipper.
“What, and run the risk of meeting Johanna Klack!” exclaimed the Count, in a voice of alarm. “By all means do come to an anchor, my dear Captain.”
“That’s what I intend to do,” he answered; and he ordered the anchor to be let go.
Other vessels were in the same condition as themselves, so they had no reason to complain. The scenery was not particularly enlivening, though there were a few trees on the shore; but they were generally stunted in their growth, and bent by the winds. Here and there a small boat appeared, the occupants being engaged either in fishing, or in rowing across the river. One or two people were enjoying the luxury of bathing, and a man