came down to fill a jar with salt water, probably to bathe the limbs of one of his children.
“How long are we likely to remain here, Captain Jan Dunck?” inquired the Count.
“As I said before, and say it again, till the tide turns or the breeze springs up,” answered the skipper. “What a hurry you appear to be in. The mariners in these seas have to learn patience—a valuable quality under all circumstances. If we grumbled every time we had a calm, or a foul wind, or stuck on a mud-bank, we should never cease grumbling.”
“Suppose, Captain, as we have nothing else to do, you or one of your crew would be good enough to spin us a yarn,” said the Count.
“One-eyed Pieter will spin you a yarn which will last into the middle of next week,” said the skipper.
“Then I think that he had better not begin,” observed the Count; “for I hope before that time we shall be indulging in fresh milk and eggs on shore.”
“You do, do you, noble sir?” said the one-eyed mariner, winking at the mate, or rather intending to do so, for he winked in an opposite direction, as was his custom, though he was unconscious of it. “We’re not out of the Scheldt yet, and if we don’t get a fair wind, it will be a pretty long time before we reach the Texel and get into the Zuyder Zee.”
“Ja, ja; one-eyed Pieter speaks but the truth. You must be prepared, when navigating the changeful ocean, to meet with foul winds as well as fair ones,” said the Captain. “Remember that I undertook only to convey you to your destination wind and weather permitting. No skipper ever takes passengers on any other terms.”
“I am prepared for whatever Fate wills,” said the Count, folding his hands.