“But I must first get my luggage, my fowling-piece, my knapsack, and telescope,” said the Count.
“Well, be sharp about it,” answered the skipper. “Time and tide wait for no man.”
“But there is no tide in this lake, and you did not appear to be in a hurry when I came on board,” said the Count.
“For the best of reasons, we were fast asleep,” answered the skipper, as the Count went for his luggage, which neither the skipper, the mate, nor the crew offered to carry for him. He therefore brought it on board himself, for he had become wonderfully independent during his travels. He sat himself down on his knapsack, expecting that the skipper would at once get under weigh; but that individual, instead of doing so, dived again below, followed by his mate and his crew, to discuss some supper which they had stowed away in a locker.
While the Count sat awaiting the return of the skipper and his crew on deck, he observed another boat in the distance, in which was a single man. The person appeared to have been watching the barge, and now cautiously approached, using a paddle, so as to make as little noise as possible. He was apparently about to address the Count when the skipper popped up his head, with his mouth full of food, on which the stranger immediately began to row away in an opposite direction.
“Hilloa, you! have you anything to say to me? If not, keep your distance, or you will have to smart for it!” shouted the skipper.
The stranger made no reply, but rowed slowly away, and Captain Jan Dunck again dived into the cabin. The stranger then stopped, and made a sign to the Count. Soon afterwards the mate and the crew, returning on deck, cast off the rope which secured the barge to the bank, and taking up some long spars, began to pole out into the lake, while the skipper sat at the helm smoking his pipe. He smoked and smoked as he used to do on board the Golden Hog, but did not invite the Count to join him. After some time the water became too deep for poling, and the mate and the crew took to their oars. The water was calm, and there appeared to be no possibility of danger; but yet the Count did not feel altogether comfortable.
“And so you say that one-eyed Pieter threatened to bring me to justice?” growled Captain Jan Dunck.
“I said nothing of the sort,” answered the Count; “I told you that the Baron and I took one-eyed Pieter on board our boat. Had he been drowned, you would have been guilty of his death; and you ought to be thankful to me for saving you from committing so great a crime.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper, and his mate and crew laughed in chorus. After the crew had rowed for some time, an island appeared in view, with dunes, or sandhills, rising over a considerable portion. It was a barren-looking spot, as far as the Count could judge in the fast increasing gloom of night.