“I suppose it is a nautical expression describing the rapid way a ship moves through the water,” observed the Baron. “But we will inquire of the worthy skipper when we get on deck.”
“Yes, and I will enter the expression in my note-book,” observed the Count.
The travellers were soon on deck. The galiot was gliding rapidly though smoothly through the somewhat yellow waters of the Scheldt. Land could be seen on both sides, but at a considerable distance, for it was here very broad, with villages, towers, curiously-formed landmarks, and here and there a few trees scattered about, just rising above the surface.
“We shall soon come off Vlissingen on our right, which the English call Flushing. It is the last place where, should you be tired of voyaging, I can land you,” said the skipper. “You must make up your mind therefore at once, as I shall not touch at another till we come off Brill, at the mouth of the Maas.”
“No, no; the Count and I are determined to continue our voyage,” answered the Baron; who, having discovered that Captain Jan Dunck had a store of good things on board, had no intention of leaving the vessel, and therefore did his best to dissuade his friend from setting foot on shore even
when the galiot dropped her anchor off one of the quays of Flushing. Not far off was a landing-place, and people were hurrying up and down, and some even came off and endeavoured to persuade the travellers to come on shore and take up their abode at one of the hotels, where they were assured every comfort and luxury could be obtained at the most moderate prices. The Baron, however, declined for himself and his friend, being somewhat suspicious that, should they leave the galiot, Captain Jan Dunck might become oblivious of their existence and sail without them. In a short time the skipper himself returned, bringing off a quarter of mutton, a round of beef, several baskets of vegetables, half-a-dozen round, cannon-ball-like cheeses of ruddy complexion, bread, and other articles capable of supplying the wants of the inner man. The Baron’s eyes glistened, and the Count gazed with satisfaction at the supply of food handed up on deck.
“Why, Captain, you seemed anxious just now to induce us to quit your vessel, and now you bring this magnificent supply of good things,” said the Baron, patting his back.
“I was anxious to be rid of you,” answered the skipper, frankly. “Judging by the appetite you exhibited at breakfast this morning, you would have very soon eaten up all the provisions intended for the voyage; and one of two things I had to do—either to get rid of you and your companion, or to obtain sufficient food for your nourishment. I tried the first without success—go you would not, and I have now therefore been compelled to adopt the other alternative; hence this stock of provisions. Ja, ja, you understand. But here comes the breeze, we must not lose it. Up anchor, Pieter!”
Pieter, the mate, and small ship’s boy, went to the windlass, while the skipper stood at the helm. The galiot was soon got under weigh, and off she glided, not very fast at first, with her head towards the North Sea.