“From previous experience I must own that I would rather escape that satisfaction,” observed the Count, making a long face. “Couldn’t we manage to make our way through some of the numerous canals which I have heard intersect Holland in all directions?”
“We should have been a week or two, or even a month about it, if we had made the attempt,” answered the skipper. “We cannot tack in the canals as we can in the open sea. Now we can stretch away from the land as far as we like and then go about again, till we can head up again for the Helder.”
“Oh dear, oh dear, I suppose we must submit to our fate,” groaned the Count. “Baron, you have much to answer for, dragging me away from my castle and home comforts and the watchful care of that estimable person Johanna Klack.”
“Why, you were in a great hurry to escape from her not long ago,” answered the Baron, “and now you find fault with me because the sea happens to be a little rough.”
“When I wanted to escape from Johanna Klack we were in smooth water, and I would rather endure the clatter of her tongue than the roaring waves and the howling of the winds.”
“It is too late to complain now, Count; regrets are vain things at the best,” said the Baron. “Let us be content with the present; see, we’re getting close to the lighthouse.”
“So we are, I can distinguish it clearly,” said the Count. “And, hilloa, look up there at those gnats or moths, or what are they, fluttering about the light?”
“Ha, ha, ha! moths or gnats,” laughed the skipper; “why those are birds, sea-birds and land birds of all descriptions, who come there for the charitable purpose of being turned into pies and puddings and stews by the light-keepers. All the keepers have to do is to go out and catch them by their legs as they alight on the rails and wring their necks. Our friends up there need have no fear of starving; when the wind blows from the land they get land birds, and when from the ocean sea-birds, and as they are nowise particular—not objecting to the fishy flavour of the wild fowl—their pots and kettles are sure to be well supplied.”
“Under those circumstances I should not object to be a light-keeper,” observed the Baron. “The household expenses must be small, as they have no butcher’s bills to pay or taxes either.”
“It is a somewhat solitary life,” said the skipper. “Each man to his taste, I prefer sailing over the free ocean, with my stout galiot under my feet and plenty of sea room.”