The one-eyed mariner took the oars, and bending lustily to them, made the boat move along very much faster than she had done since the Count and the Baron had commenced their voyage.
“I was inclined, when we were rowing, to suppose that she was among the slowest that ever floated, or that there was something the matter with the oars,” observed the Count.
“People are very apt to find fault with the tools they employ, instead of laying the blame on themselves,” remarked the Baron, sententiously.
The one-eyed mariner cocked his one eye, as much as to say, “You are right, gentlemen;” but without speaking he rowed and rowed, now bending forward, now leaning back with all his might, every now and then looking over his shoulder to see that they were going in the right direction. It was getting darker and darker, and no friendly lights beamed forth from cottages or houses to indicate that they were approaching the inhabited part of the country.
“Shall we soon reach the shore,” asked the Baron, with a groan; “I am getting desperately hungry.”
“We shall not get there the sooner by talking about it,” answered the one-eyed mariner, who was beginning to lose his temper as he became more and more fatigued. “If you, Mynheers, had learned to row, you might have relieved me for a short time, till I had recovered my strength; but as we should never get there if I gave you up the oars, I must keep at it; only do not be continually asking me when we shall get there. I tell you we shall get there, wherever that may be, some time or other, if I keep rowing long enough.”
After this remark, the Count and the Baron thought it prudent to say nothing more to the one-eyed mariner. He rowed and he rowed. The land became more distinct, but no lights indicated the cheerful habitations of men. The Baron groaned, for he saw no prospect of obtaining a supper, yet it was better to be on dry land than in a small boat on the Zuyder Zee, with an individual of so uncertain a temper as the one-eyed mariner. At length they found themselves with banks on either side.
“I thought so,” said the one-eyed mariner, “we have reached the neighbourhood of Yollendam; this must be the Yoll—a better landfall than I expected. I do not know that provisions are to be obtained at the village, which is a mile or so off; but we will see.” And he rowed up the river, which had a more attractive appearance than might have been expected, for there was a small island covered with trees, and a mound several feet high on the opposite side, on which the eye could rest with pleasure. Before they had gone far the moon burst forth from behind some clouds, and shed along the waters of the stream its silvery light, which showed them a small vessel drawn up on the shore, and two or three people near her.
“Perhaps these persons have provisions on board,” exclaimed the Baron. “I could sup off a dry crust of bread and a piece of Dutch cheese with greatest willingness in the world. We will ask those strangers if they will kindly relieve our necessities. Brave sailor, good Pieter, old and worthy shipmate, have the goodness to pull in for the shore, and we will throw ourselves on the charity of those strangers.”