and took delight in watching the high, old-
fashioned poop, as it rocked all day long in
that one spot. I likened it to a French roof
of the olden time, it was garnished with so
many little windows: and over all was the
great lantern, which might have served
conveniently for the vane or cupola seen upon
such structures. For all that, it was not
unpicturesque, and would have filled a corner
in a Vandervelde picture harmoniously
enough. She was to sail at three o’clock next
morning, and I was to be the solitary cabin
passenger.

As evening came on, it grew prematurely
dark and cloudy; while the waves acquired
that dull indigo tint so significant of ugly
weather. Raw gusts came sweeping in
towards the shore, searching me through and
through. I must own to a sinking of the
heart as I took note of these symptoms, for a
leaning towards ocean in any of its moods
had never been one of my failings; and it
augured but poorly for the state of the
elements next morning. “It will have spent
itself during the night,” I muttered,
doubtfully; and turned back to the inn to eat
dinner with what comfort I might.

That place of entertainment stood by itself
upon a bleak sandy hill. From its window I
could see, afar off, three lights rising and
falling together, just where the high poop
and lantern had been performing the same
ocean-dance in the daytime. I was sitting
by the fire, listening ruefully to the wind,
when news was brought to me that the
Captain, Van Steen, had come ashore, and
was waiting below to see me.

I found him walking up and down
outside—a short, thick-set man—as it were,
built upon the lines of his own vessel.

“Well captain, you wished to see me,” I
said.

“Look to this, my master,” he said,
bluntly. “There’s a gale brewing yonder,
and wild weather coming. So just see to
this. If we’re not round the Helder Head
by to-morrow night, we may have to beat
round the Bay for days and days. So look to it,
master, and come aboard while there is time.”

“I’m ready at any moment,” I said; “but
how do you expect to get round now? The
sea is high enough as it is.”

“No matter; the wind may be with us in
the morning. We must clear the Head before
to-morrow night. Why look you,” he added,
sinking his voice, mysteriously, “I wouldn’t
be off Helder to-morrow night—no, not for a
sack of guilders!”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, don’t you know? It’s Christmas
night—Jan Fagel’s night—Captain Jan’s!”

“Well?”

“He comes to Helder to-morrow night; he
is seen in the Bay. But we are losing time,
master,” said he, seizing my arm; “get your
things ready—these lads will carry them to
the boat.”

Three figures here advanced out of the
shadow, and entered with me. I hastily paid
the bill, and set forward with the captain for
the shore, where the boat was waiting. My
mails were got on board with all expedition,
and we were soon far out upon the waters,
making steadily for the three lights. It was
not blowing very hard as yet; neither had
the waves assumed the shape of what are
known as white horses; but there was a
heavy underground swell, and a peculiar
swooping motion quite as disagreeable.
Suddenly, I made out the great lantern just over
head, shining dimly, as it were through a fog.
We had glided under the shadow of a dark
mass, wherein there were many more dim
lights at long intervals—and all, together
seemed performing a wild dance to the
music of dismal creaking of timbers, and
rattling of chains. As we came under, a
voice hailed us out of the darkness—as it
seemed from the region of the lantern; and
presently invisible hands cast us ropes,
whereby, with infinite pains and labour, I
was got on deck. I was then guided
down steep ways into the cabin, the best
place for me under the circumstances. As
soon as the wind changed, the captain said,
we would put out to sea.

By the light of a dull oil-lamp overhead,
that never for a moment ceased swinging, I
tried to make out what my new abode was
like. It was of an ancient massive fashion,
with a dark oak panelling all round, rubbed
smooth in many places by wear of time and
friction. All round were queer little nobs
and projections, mounted in brass and silver,
just like the butt-ends of pistols; while here
and there were snug recesses that reminded
me of canons' stalls in a cathedral. The
swinging lamp gave but a faint yellow light,
that scarcely reached beyond the centre of
the room; so that the oak-work all round
cast little grotesque shadows, which had a
very gloomy and depressing effect. There
was a sort of oaken shelf at one end—
handsomely wrought, no doubt, but a failure as
to sleeping capabilities. Into this I introduced
myself without delay, and soon fell off
into a profound slumber, for I was weary
enough.

When I awoke again, I found there was
a figure standing over me, who said he was
Mr. Bode the mate, who wished to know,
could he serve me in any way? Had we
started yet? I asked. Yes, we had started—
above an hour now—but she was not making
much way. Would I get up—this was Christmas
day. So it was; I had forgotten that.
What a place to hold that inspiring festival
in! Mr. Bode, who was inclined to be
communicative, then added that it was blowing
great guns: whereof I had abundant
confirmation from my own physical sufferings,
then just commencing. No, I would not—
could not get up; and so, for the rest of that
day, dragged on a miserable existence, many