VII. The Missing Page
I WOKE (on the 1st of October) with that dispiriting sensation that a hitchhas occurred in a settled plan. It was explained when I went on deck,and I found the _Dulcibella_ wrapped in a fog, silent, clammy, nothingvisible from her decks but the ghostly hull of a galliot at anchornear us. She must have brought up there in the night, for there hadbeen nothing so close the evening before; and I remembered that mysleep had been broken once by sounds of rumbling chain and gruffvoices.
'This looks pretty hopeless for to-day,' I said, with a shiver, toDavies, who was laying the breakfast.
'Well, we can't do anything till this fog lifts,' he answered, with agood deal of resignation. Breakfast was a cheerless meal. The damppenetrated to the very cabin, whose roof and walls wept a fine dew. Ihad dreaded a bathe, and yet missed it, and the ghastly light madethe tablecloth look dirtier than it naturally was, and all theaccessories more sordid. Something had gone wrong with the bacon, andthe lack of egg-cups was not in the least humorous.
Davies was just beginning, in his summary way, to tumble the thingstogether for washing up, when there was a sound of a step on deck,two sea-boots appeared on the ladder, and, before we could wonder whothe visitor was, a little man in oilskins and a sou'-wester wasstooping towards us in the cabin door, smiling affectionately atDavies out of a round grizzled beard.
'Well met, captain,' he said, quietly, in German. 'Where are youbound to this time?'
'Bartels!' exclaimed Davies, jumping up. The two stooping figures,young and old, beamed at one another like father and son.
'Where have you come from? Have some coffee. How's the 'Johannes'? Wasthat you that came in last night? I'm delighted to see you!' (I sparethe reader his uncouth lingo.) The little man was dragged in andseated on the opposite sofa to me.
'I took my apples to Kappeln,' he said, sedately, 'and now I sail toKiel, and so to Hamburg, where my wife and children are. It is mylast voyage of the year. You are no longer alone, captain, I see.' Hehad taken off his dripping sou'-wester and was bowing ceremoniouslytowards me.
'Oh, I quite forgot!' said Davies, who had been kneeling on one kneein the low doorway, absorbed in his visitor. 'This is "_meinerFreund_," Herr Carruthers. Carruthers, this is my friend, SchifferBartels, of the galliot 'Johannes'.'
Was I never to be at an end of the puzzles which Davies presented tome? All the impulsive heartiness died out of his voice and manner ashe uttered the last few words, and there he was, nervously glancingfrom the visitor to me, like one who, against his will or fromtactlessness, has introduced two persons who he knows will disagree.
There was a pause while he fumbled with the cups, poured some coldcoffee out and pondered over it as though it were a chemicalexperiment. Then he muttered something about boiling some more water,and took refuge in the forecastle. I was ill at ease at this periodwith seafaring men, but this mild little person was easy ground for abeginner. Besides, when he took off his oilskin coat he reminded meless of a sailor than of a homely draper of some country town, withhis clean turned-down collar and neatly fitting frieze jacket. Weexchanged some polite platitudes about the fog and his voyage lastnight from Kappeln, which appeared to be a town some fifteen miles upthe fiord.
Davies joined in from the forecastle with an excess of warmth whichalmost took the words out of my mouth. We exhausted the subject verysoon, and then my _vis-?-vis_ smiled paternally at me, as he had doneat Davies, and said, confidentially:
'It is good that the captain is no more alone. He is a fine youngman--Heaven, what a fine young man! I love him as my son--but he istoo brave, too reckless. It is good for him to have a friend.'
I nodded and laughed, though in reality I was very far from beingamused.
'Where was it you met?' I asked.
'In an ugly place, and in ugly weather,' he answered, gravely, butwith a twinkle of fun in his eye. 'But has he not told you?' headded, with ponderous slyness. 'I came just in time. No! what am Isaying? He is brave as a lion and quick as a cat. I think he cannotdrown; but still it was an ugly place and ugly----'
'What are you talking about, Bartels?' interrupted Davies, emergingnoisily with a boiling kettle.
I answered the question. 'I was just asking your friend how it wasyou made his acquaintance.'
'Oh, he helped me out of a bit of a mess in the North Sea, didn'tyou, Bartels?' he said.
'It was nothing,' said Bartels. 'But the North Sea is no place foryour little boat, captain. So I have told you many times. How did youlike Flensburg? A fine town, is it not? Did you find Herr Krank, thecarpenter? I see you have placed a little mizzen-mast. The rudder wasnothing much, but it was well that it held to the Eider. But she isstrong and good, your little ship, and--Heaven!--she had need be so.'He chuckled, and shook his head at Davies as at a wayward child.
This is all the conversation that I need record. For my part I merelywaited for its end, determined on my course, which was to know thetruth once and for all, and make an end of these distractingmystifications. Davies plied his friend with coffee, and kept up thetalk gallantly; but affectionate as he was, his manner plainly showedthat he wanted to be alone with me.
The gist of the little skipper's talk was a parental warning that,though we were well enough here in the 'Ost-See', it was time forlittle boats to be looking for winter quarters. That he himself wasgoing by the Kiel Canal to Hamburg to spend a cosy winter as a decentcitizen at his warm fireside, and that we should follow his example.He ended with an invitation to us to visit him on the 'Johannes', andwith suave farewells disappeared into the fog. Davies saw him intohis boat, returned without wasting a moment, and sat down on the sofaopposite me.
'What did he mean?' I asked.
'I'll tell you,' said Davies, 'I'll tell you the whole thing. As faras you're concerned it's partly a confession. Last night I had madeup my mind to say nothing, but when Bartels turned up I knew it mustall come out. It's been fearfully on my mind, and perhaps you'll beable to help me. But it's for you to decide.'
'Fire away!' I said.
'You know what I was saying about the Frisian Islands the other day?A thing happened there which I never told you, when you were askingabout my cruise.'
'It began near Norderney,' I put in.
'How did you guess that?' he asked.
'You're a bad hand at duplicity,' I replied. 'Go on.'
'Well, you're quite right, it was there, on September 9. I told youthe sort of thing I was doing at that time, but I don't think I saidthat I made inquiries from one or two people about duck-shooting, andhad been told by some fishermen at Borkum that there was a bigsailing-yacht in those waters, whose owner, a German of the name ofDollmann, shot a good deal, and might give me some tips. Well, Ifound this yacht one evening, knowing it must be her from thedescription I had. She was what is called a "barge-yacht", of fiftyor sixty tons, built for shallow water on the lines of a Dutchgalliot, with lee-boards and those queer round bows and square stern.She's something like those galliots anchored near us now. Yousometimes see the same sort of yacht in English waters, only therethey copy the Thames barges. She looked a clipper of her sort, andvery smart; varnished all over and shining like gold. I came on herabout sunset, after a long day of exploring round the Ems estuary.She was lying in---'
'Wait a bit, let's have the chart,' I interrupted.
Davies found it and spread it on the table between us, first pushingback the cloth and the breakfast things to one end, where they lay ina slovenly litter. This was one of the only two occasions on which Iever saw him postpone the rite of washing up, and it spoke volumesfor the urgency of the matter in hand.
'Here it is,' said Davies _[See Map A]_ and I looked with a new andstrange interest at the long string of slender islands, the parallelline of coast, and the confusion of shoals, banks, and channels whichlay between. 'Here's Norderney, you see. By the way, there's aharbour there at the west end of the island, the only real harbour onthe whole line of islands, Dutch or German, except at Terschelling.There's q
uite a big town there, too, a watering place, where Germansgo for sea-bathing in the summer. Well, the 'Medusa', that was hername, was lying in the Riff Gat roadstead, flying the German ensign,and I anchored for the night pretty near her. I meant to visit herowner later on, but I very nearly changed my mind, as I always feelrather a fool on smart yachts, and my German isn't very good.However, I thought I might as well; so, after dinner, when it wasdark, I sculled over in the dinghy, hailed a sailor on deck, said whoI was, and asked if I could see the owner. The sailor was a surlysort of chap, and there was a good long delay while I waited on deck,feeling more and more uncomfortable. Presently a steward came up andshowed me down the companion and into the saloon, which, after_this_, looked--well, horribly gorgeous--you know what I mean, plushlounges, silk cushions, and that sort of thing. Dinner seemed to bejust over, and wine and fruit were on the table. Herr Dollmann wasthere at his coffee. I introduced myself somehow----'
'Stop a moment,' I said; 'what was he like?'
'Oh, a tall, thin chap, in evening dress; about fifty I suppose, withgreyish hair and a short beard. I'm not good at describing people. Hehad a high, bulging forehead, and there was something about him--butI think I'd better tell you the bare facts first. I can't say heseemed pleased to see me, and he couldn't speak English, and, infact, I felt infernally awkward. Still, I had an object in coming,and as I was there I thought I might as well gain it.'
The notion of Davies in his Norfolk jacket and rusty flannelsharanguing a frigid German in evening dress in a 'gorgeous' saloontickled my fancy greatly.
'He seemed very much astonished to see me; had evidently seen the_Dulcibella_ arrive, and had wondered what she was. I began as soon asI could about the ducks, but he shut me up at once, said I could donothing hereabouts. I put it down to sportsman's jealousy--you knowwhat that is. But I saw I had come to the wrong shop, and was justgoing to back out and end this unpleasant interview, when he thawed abit, offered me some wine, and began talking in quite a friendly way,taking a great interest in my cruise and my plans for the future. Inthe end we sat up quite late, though I never felt really at my ease.He seemed to be taking stock of me all the time, as though I weresome new animal.' (How I sympathized with that German!) 'We partedcivilly enough, and I rowed back and turned in, meaning to potter oneastwards early next day.
'But I was knocked up at dawn by a sailor with a message fromDollmann asking if he could come to breakfast with me. I was ratherflabbergasted, but didn't like to be rude, so I said, "Yes." Well, hecame, and I returned the call--and--well, the end of it was that Istayed at anchor there for three days.' This was rather abrupt.
'How did you spend the time?' I asked. Stopping three days anywherewas an unusual event for him, as I knew from his log.
'Oh, I lunched or dined with him once or twice--with _them_, I oughtto say,' he added, hurriedly. 'His daughter was with him. She didn'tappear the evening I first called.'
'And what was she like?' I asked, promptly, before he could hurry on.
'Oh, she seemed a very nice girl,' was the guarded reply, deliveredwith particular unconcern, 'and--the end of it was that I and the'Medusa' sailed away in company. I must tell you how it came about,just in a few words for the present.
'It was his suggestion. He said he had to sail to Hamburg, andproposed that I should go with him in the _Dulcibella_ as far as theElbe, and then, if I liked, I could take the ship canal atBrunsb?ttel through to Kiel and the Baltic. I had no very fixed plansof my own, though I had meant to go on exploring eastwards betweenthe islands and the coast, and so reach the Elbe in a much slowerway. He dissuaded me from this, sticking to it that I should have nochance of ducks, and urging other reasons. Anyway, we settled to sailin company direct to Cuxhaven, in the Elbe. With a fair wind and anearly start it should be only one day's sail of about sixty miles.
'The plan only came to a head on the evening of the third day, on the 12th ofSeptember.
'I told you, I think, that the weather had broken after a long spellof heat. That very day it had been blowing pretty hard from the west,and the glass was falling still. I said, of course, that I couldn'tgo with him if the weather was too bad, but he prophesied a good day,said it was an easy sail, and altogether put me on my mettle. You canguess how it was. Perhaps I had talked about single-handed cruisingas though it were easier than it was, though I never meant it in aboasting way, for I hate that sort of thing, and besides there _is_no danger if you're careful----'
'Oh, go on,' I said.
'Anyway, we went next morning at six. It was a dirty-looking day,wind W.N.W., but his sails were going up and mine followed. I tooktwo reefs in, and we sailed out into the open and steered E.N.E.along the coast for the Outer Elbe Lightship about fifty knots off.Here it all is, you see.' (He showed me the course on the chart.)'The trip was nothing for his boat, of course, a safe, powerful oldtub, forging through the sea as steady as a house. I kept up with hereasily at first. My hands were pretty full, for there was a hard windon my quarter and a troublesome sea; but as long as nothing worsecame I knew I should be all right, though I also knew that I was afool to have come.
Chart A to Illustrate the Stranding of the _Dulcibella,_ etc.]
'All went well till we were off Wangeroog, the last of theislands--_here_--and then it began to blow really hard. I had half amind to chuck it and cut into the Jade River, _down there_,' but Ihadn't the face to, so I hove to and took in my last reef.' (Simplewords, simply uttered; but I had seen the operation in calm water andshuddered at the present picture.) 'We had been about level tillthen, but with my shortened canvas I fell behind. Not that thatmattered in the least. I knew my course, had read up my tides, and,thick as the weather was, I had no doubt of being able to pick up thelightship. No change of plan was possible now. The Weser estuary wason my starboard hand, but the whole place was a lee-shore and a massof unknown banks--just look at them. I ran on, the _Dulcibella_ doingher level best, but we had some narrow shaves of being pooped. I wasabout _here_, say six miles south-west of the lightship, _[See ChartA]_ when I suddenly saw that the 'Medusa' had hove to right ahead, asthough waiting till I came up. She wore round again on the course asI drew level, and we were alongside for a bit. Dollmann lashed thewheel, leaned over her quarter, and shouted, very slowly anddistinctly so that I could understand; "Follow me--sea too bad foryou outside--short cut through sands--save six miles."
'It was taking me all my time to manage the tiller, but I knew whathe meant at once, for I had been over the chart carefully the nightbefore. _[See Map A]_ You see, the whole bay between Wangeroog andthe Elbe is encumbered with sand. A great jagged chunk of it runs outfrom Cuxhaven in a north-westerly direction for fifteen miles or so,ending in a pointed spit, called the _Scharhorn_. To reach the Elbefrom the west you have to go right outside this, round the lightship,which is off the Scharhorn, and double back. Of course, that's whatall big vessels do. But, as you see, these sands are intersected hereand there by channels, very shallow and winding, exactly like thosebehind the Frisian Islands. Now look at this one, which cuts rightthrough the big chunk of sand and comes out near Cuxhaven. The_Telte_ _[See Chart A]_ it's called. It's miles wide, you see, at theentrance, but later on it is split into two by the Hohenh?rn bank:then it gets shallow and very complicated, and ends in a mere tidaldriblet with another name. It's just the sort of channel I shouldlike to worry into on a fine day or with an off-shore wind. Alone, inthick weather and a heavy sea, it would have been folly to attemptit, except as a desperate resource. But, as I said I knew at oncethat Dollmann was proposing to run for it and guide me in.
'I didn't like the idea, because I like doing things for myself, and,silly as it sounds, I believe I resented being told the sea was toobad for me, which it certainly was. Yet the short cut did saveseveral miles and a devil of a tumble off the Scharhorn, where twotides meet. I had complete faith in Dollmann, and I suppose I decidedthat I should be a fool not to take a good chance. I hesitated. Iknow; but in the end I nodded, and held up my arm as she forged aheadaga
in. Soon after, she shifted her course and I followed. You askedme once if I ever took a pilot. That was the only time.'
He spoke with bitter gravity, flung himself back, and felt his pocketfor his pipe. It was not meant for a dramatic pause, but it certainlywas one. I had just a glimpse of still another Davies--a Davies fiveyears older throbbing with deep emotions, scorn, passion, and stubbornpurpose; a being above my plane, of sterner stuff, wider scope. Intenseas my interest had become, I waited almost timidly while he mechanicallyrammed tobacco into his pipe and struck ineffectual matches. I felt thatwhatever the riddle to be solved, it was no mean one. He repressedhimself with an effort, half rose, and made his circular glance at theclock, barometer, and skylight, and then resumed.
'We soon came to what I knew must be the beginning of the Teltechannel. All round you could hear the breakers on the sands, thoughit was too thick to see them yet. As the water shoaled, the sea, ofcourse, got shorter and steeper. There was more wind--a whole gale Ishould say.
'I kept dead in the wake of the 'Medusa', but to my disgust I found shewas gaining on me very fast. Of course I had taken for granted, whenhe said he would lead me in, that he would slow down and keep closeto me. He could easily have done so by getting his men up to checkhis sheets or drop his peak. Instead of that he was busting on forall he was worth. Once, in a rain-squall, I lost sight of himaltogether; got him faintly again, but had enough to do with my owntiller not to want to be peering through the scud after a runawaypilot. I was all right so far, but we were fast approaching the worstpart of the whole passage, where the Hohenh?rn bank blocks the road,and the channel divides. I don't know what it looks like to you onthe chart--perhaps fairly simple, because you can follow the twistsof the channels, as on a ground-plan; but a stranger coming to aplace like that (where there are no buoys, mind you) can tell nothingcertain by the eye--unless perhaps at dead low water, when the banksare high and dry, and in very clear weather--he must trust to thelead and the compass, and feel his way step by step. I knew perfectlywell that what I should soon see would be a wall of surf stretchingright across and on both sides. To _feel_ one's way in that sort ofweather is impossible. You must _know_ your way, or else have apilot. I had one, but he was playing his own game.
'With a second hand on board to steer while I conned I should havefelt less of an ass. As it was, I knew I ought to be facing the musicin the offing, and cursed myself for having broken my rule and goneblundering into this confounded short cut. It was giving myself away,doing just the very thing that you can't do in single-handed sailing.
'By the time I realized the danger it was far too late to turn andhammer out to the open. I was deep in the bottle-neck bight of thesands, jammed on a lee shore, and a strong flood tide sweeping me on.That tide, by the way, gave just the ghost of a chance. I had thehours in my head, and knew it was about two-thirds flood, with twohours more of rising water. That meant the banks would be allcovering when I reached them, and harder than ever to locate; but italso meant that I _might_ float right over the worst of them if I hitoff a lucky place.' Davies thumped the table in disgust. 'Pah! Itmakes me sick to think of having to trust to an accident like that,like a lubberly cockney out for a boozy Bank Holiday sail. Well, justas I foresaw, the wall of surf appeared clean across the horizon, andcurling back to shut me in, booming like thunder. When I last saw the'Medusa' she seemed to be charging it like a horse at a fence, and Itook a rough bearing of her position by a hurried glance at thecompass. At that very moment I _thought_ she seemed to luff and showsome of her broadside; but a squall blotted her out and gave me hellwith the tiller. After that she was lost in the white mist that hungover the line of breakers. I kept on my bearing as well as I could,but I was already out of the channel. I knew that by the look of thewater, and as we neared the bank I saw it was all awash and withoutthe vestige of an opening. I wasn't going to chuck her on to itwithout an effort; so, more by instinct than with any particularhope, I put the helm down, meaning to work her along the edge on thechance of spotting a way over. She was buried at once by the beamsea, and the jib flew to blazes; but the reefed stays'l stood, sherecovered gamely, and I held on, though I knew it could only be for afew minutes, as the centre-plate was up, and she made frightfulleeway towards the bank.
'I was half-blinded by scud, but suddenly I noticed what looked likea gap, behind a spit which curled out right ahead. I luffed stillmore to clear this spit, but she couldn't weather it. Before youcould say knife she was driving across it, bumped heavily, buckedforward again, bumped again, and--ripped on in deeper water! I can'tdescribe the next few minutes. I was in some sort of channel, but avery narrow one, and the sea broke everywhere. I hadn't propercommand either; for the rudder had crocked up somehow at the lastbump. I was like a drunken man running for his life down a darkalley, barking himself at every corner. It couldn't last long, andfinally we went crash on to something and stopped there, grinding andbanging. So ended that little trip under a pilot.
'Well, it was like this--there was really no danger'--I opened myeyes at the characteristic phrase. 'I mean, that lucky stumble into achannel was my salvation. Since then I had struggled through a mileof sands, all of which lay behind me like a breakwater against thegale. They were covered, of course, and seething like soapsuds; butthe force of the sea was deadened. The 'Dulce' was bumping, but not tooheavily. It was nearing high tide, and at half ebb she would be highand dry.
'In the ordinary way I should have run out a kedge with the dinghy,and at the next high water sailed farther in and anchored where Icould lie afloat. The trouble was now that my hand was hurt and mydinghy stove in, not to mention the rudder business. It was the firstbump on the outer edge that did the damage. There was a heavy swellthere, and when we struck, the dinghy, which was towing astern, camehome on her painter and down with a crash on the yacht's weatherquarter. I stuck out one hand to ward it off and got it nipped on thegunwale. She was badly stove in and useless, so I couldn't run outthe kedge'--this was Greek to me, but I let him go on--'and for thepresent my hand was too painful even to stow the boom and sails,which were whipping and racketing about anyhow. There was therudder, too, to be mended; and we were several miles from the nearestland. Of course, if the wind fell, it was all easy enough; but if itheld or increased it was a poor look-out. There's a limit to strainof that sort--and other things might have happened.
'In fact, it was precious lucky that Bartels turned up. His galliotwas at anchor a mile away, up a branch of the channel. In a clearbetween squalls he saw us, and, like a brick, rowed his boat out--heand his boy, and a devil of a pull they must have had. I was gladenough to see them--no, that's not true; I was in such a fury ofdisgust and shame that I believe I should have been idiot enough tosay I didn't want help, if he hadn't just nipped on board and startedwork. He's a terror to work, that little mouse of a chap. In half anhour he had stowed the sails, unshackled the big anchor, run outfifty fathoms of warp, and hauled her off there and then into deepwater. Then they towed her up the channel--it was dead to leeward andan easy job--and berthed her near their own vessel. It was dark bythat time, so I gave them a drink, and said good-night. It blew ahowling gale that night, but the place was safe enough, with goodground-tackle.
'The whole affair was over; and after supper I thought hard about itall.'