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.”

“Couldn’t we stop and get some of the birds?” asked the Baron, who from habit was constantly thinking of the best way to supply his larder. “They would be a welcome addition to our sea-stock of provisions.”

“The lighthouse-men would consider that we were poaching on their preserves,” said the skipper; “besides which, if we were to go nearer than we now are, we should run the galiot ashore. See, we are already leaving the lighthouse astern, and are now clear of the river.”

“So I perceive,” groaned the Count, as the vessel had heeled over and began to pitch and tumble.

“Never fear, Count,” said the skipper, in an encouraging tone; “we shall soon be going free, and the galiot will then only roll pleasantly from side to side, and assist to rock you to sleep when you turn in your bunk.”

“I’d rather not be rocked to sleep in that fashion,” said the Count. “Ever since I was a baby I have been able to sleep perfectly well in my bed or arm-chair after dinner without being rocked. Couldn’t you manage to keep the galiot quiet, just to please me?”

“I could not keep her quiet to please the King of the Netherlands, or the Burgomaster of Amsterdam or Rotterdam; no, not if you paid ten times the sum you have for your passage-money,” answered the skipper, in a gruff tone.

“Then I suppose that I must submit to my hard fate,” groaned the Count. “Though I do wish—I cannot help wishing—that I had not come to sea; and I here register the firm resolution I now form, that of my own free will I will never—when once I set foot on shore—venture again on the stormy ocean.”

“Then I must observe, my dear Count, that we shall never manage to get round the world, as you led me to suppose, when we started on our travels, it was your desire to do,” observed the Baron.

“Yes, but I did not take into consideration that we should have to encounter so rough, ill-mannered, and boisterous a sea, and such howling winds,” answered the Count. “I had bargained to find the water as smooth as the Scheldt, and I still should have no hesitation about going round the world, providing you can guarantee that the ocean will keep perfectly quiet till we come back again.”

“As to that, I will guarantee that as far as my influence extends it shall remain as calm as a mill-pond,” said the Baron, in a confident tone. “Will that satisfy you, Count? If so, notwithstanding your unjust complaints, we will continue our travels.”

“Perfectly, perfectly,” said the Count. “I always take your word for what it is worth.”

“Ho! ho!” laughed the skipper, who overheard the conversation. “Look out there, Pieter. Are you keeping your weather eye open?” he shouted to the one-eyed mariner who was forward.

“Ja, ja, Captain; there’s a fleet of fishing boats ahead, we must keep to the eastward of them. Port the helm a little.”

Presently the Count and the Baron heard the tinkling of bells, and as they looked over the side of the vessel the Count exclaimed, “What are those Will-o’-the-Wisps dancing away there?”

“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed the skipper. “Those are the lights from fishing boats. We shall see them more clearly presently.”

As the galiot sailed on, the Count and Baron observed that the lights proceeded from lanterns hung up in the rigging, and that some vessels had huge beams with black nets attached to them which they had just hoisted up out of the water, and that the crews were turning out the fish caught in the pockets of the nets. Others, under easy sail, were gliding on slowly with stout ropes towing astern.

“They are trawlers catching turbot, brill, plaice, and other flat fish,” observed the skipper. “Our country has numberless advantages; we make as much use of the sea as many other nations do of the land, though, as I before said, we are carrying on a constant warfare with it, trying to turn it away from its ancient boundaries, and doing our best to keep it from encroaching on the soil we have once gained. Holland would never have become what she is, unless Dutchmen had been imbued with a large quantity of those valuable qualities, patience and perseverance.”

“Ah, you Dutchmen are indeed a wonderful people,” exclaimed the Count. “I am very glad that we thought of visiting your country before proceeding to other parts of the world. At the same time, if we had gone by land we should certainly have seen more of it than we are likely to do now.”

“Wait till daylight,” said the skipper, “and then you shall see what you shall see. I would advise you to go below and obtain some sleep, as at present, I will allow, the landscape is somewhat limited.”

“You are right; the chief objects we can distinguish are the tip of your nose and Pieter’s one eye, which I see blinking away when the light of the binnacle lamp falls on it,” observed the Baron. “We will follow your advice,” and he descended the companion-ladder.

The Count also commenced his descent into the cabin, but just before his head disappeared, he said: “You will oblige me greatly, Captain, by keeping the vessel as steady as you can; I find it very inconvenient to be tumbled and tossed about in the way we have been since we left the Maas.”

“Ja, ja,” answered the skipper, with a broad grin on his countenance, which, being dark, the Count did not observe.