The Riddle of the Sands
a twinkle of fun in his eye. “But has he not told you?” he added, with
ponderous slyness. “I came just in time. No! what am I saying? He is
brave as a lion and quick as a cat. I think he cannot drown; but still
it was an ugly place and ugly——”
“What are you talking about, Bartels?” interrupted Davies, emerging
noisily with a boiling kettle.
I answered the question. “I was just asking your friend how it was you
made his acquaintance.”
“Oh, he helped me out of a bit of a mess in the North Sea, didn’t you,
Bartels?” he said.
“It was nothing,” said Bartels. “But the North Sea is no place for your
little boat, captain. So I have told you many times. How did you like
Flensburg? A fine town, is it not? Did you find Herr Krank, the
carpenter? I see you have placed a little mizzen-mast. The rudder was
nothing much, but it was well that it held to the Eider. But she is
strong 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 merely
waited for its end, determined on my course, which was to know the
truth once and for all, and make an end of these distracting
mystifications. Davies plied his friend with coffee, and kept up the
talk gallantly; but affectionate as he was, his manner plainly showed
that 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 for
little boats to be looking for winter quarters. That he himself was
going by the Kiel Canal to Hamburg to spend a cosy winter as a decent
citizen at his warm fireside, and that we should follow his example. He
ended with an invitation to us to visit him on the _Johannes_, and with
suave farewells disappeared into the fog. Davies saw him into his boat,
returned without wasting a moment, and sat down on the sofa opposite
me.
“What did he mean?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you,” said Davies, “I’ll tell you the whole thing. As far as
you’re concerned it’s partly a confession. Last night I had made up my
mind to say nothing, but when Bartels turned up I knew it must all come
out. It’s been fearfully on my mind, and perhaps you’ll be able 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 asking about
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 you the
sort of thing I was doing at that time, but I don’t think I said that I
made inquiries from one or two people about duck-shooting, and had been
told by some fishermen at Borkum that there was a big sailing-yacht in
those waters, whose owner, a German of the name of Dollmann, shot a
good deal, and might give me some tips. Well, I found this yacht one
evening, knowing it must be her from the description I had. She was
what is called a ‘barge-yacht’, of fifty or sixty tons, built for
shallow water on the lines of a Dutch galliot, with lee-boards and
those queer round bows and square stern. She’s something like those
galliots anchored near us now. You sometimes see the same sort of yacht
in English waters, only there they copy the Thames barges. She looked a
clipper of her sort, and very smart; varnished all over and shining
like gold. I came on her about 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 pushing
back the cloth and the breakfast things to one end, where they lay in a
slovenly litter. This was one of the only two occasions on which I ever
saw him postpone the rite of washing up, and it spoke volumes for the
urgency of the matter in hand.
“Here it is,” said Davies _[See Map A]_ and I looked with a new and
strange interest at the long string of slender islands, the parallel
line of coast, and the confusion of shoals, banks, and channels which
lay between. “Here’s Norderney, you see. By the way, there’s a harbour
there at the west end of the island, the only real harbour on the whole
line of islands, Dutch or German, except at Terschelling. There’s quite
a big town there, too, a watering place, where Germans go for
sea-bathing in the summer. Well, the _Medusa_, that was her name, was
lying in the Riff Gat roadstead, flying the German ensign, and I
anchored for the night pretty near her. I meant to visit her owner
later on, but I very nearly changed my mind, as I always feel rather a
fool on smart yachts, and my German isn’t very good. However, I thought
I might as well; so, after dinner, when it was dark, I sculled over in
the dinghy, hailed a sailor on deck, said who I was, and asked if I
could see the owner. The sailor was a surly sort of chap, and there was
a good long delay while I waited on deck, feeling more and more
uncomfortable. Presently a steward came up and showed me down the
companion and into the saloon, which, after _this_, looked—well,
horribly gorgeous—you know what I mean, plush lounges, silk cushions,
and that sort of thing. Dinner seemed to be just over, and wine and
fruit were on the table. Herr Dollmann was there 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, with
greyish hair and a short beard. I’m not good at describing people. He
had a high, bulging forehead, and there was something about him—but I
think I’d better tell you the bare facts first. I can’t say he seemed
pleased to see me, and he couldn’t speak English, and, in fact, 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 flannels
haranguing a frigid German in evening dress in a “gorgeous” saloon
tickled 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 as
I could about the ducks, but he shut me up at once, said I could do
nothing hereabouts. I put it down to sportsman’s jealousy—you know what
that is. But I saw I had come to the wrong shop, and was just going to
back out and end this unpleasant interview, when he thawed a bit,
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. In the 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 were some new
animal.” (How I sympathised with that German!) “We parted civilly
enough, and I rowed back and turned in, meaning to potter on eastwards
early next day.
“But I was knocked up at dawn by a sailor with a message from Dollmann
asking if he could come to breakfast with me. I was rather
flabbergasted, but didn’t like to be rude, so I said, ‘Yes.’ Well, he
came, and I returned the call—and—well, the end of it was that I stayed
at anchor there for three days.” This was rather abrupt.
“How did you spend the time?” I asked. Stopping three days anywhere was
an unusual event for him, as I knew from his log.
“Oh, I lunched or dined with him once or twice—with _them_, I ought to
say,” he added, hurriedly. “His daughter was with him. She didn’t
appear 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, delivered
with 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, and proposed
that I should go with him in the _Dulcibella_ as far as the Elbe, and
then, if I liked, I could take the ship canal at Brunsbüttel through to
Kiel and the Baltic. I had no very fixed plans of my own, though I had
meant to go on exploring eastwards between the islands and the coast,
and so reach the Elbe in a much slower way. He dissuaded me from this,
sticking to it that I should have no chance of ducks, and urging other
reasons. Anyway, we settled to sail in company direct to Cuxhaven, in
the Elbe. With a fair wind and an early 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 of September.
“I told you, I think, that the weather had broken after a long spell of
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’t go 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 can guess how
it was. Perhaps I had talked about single-handed cruising as though it
were easier than it was, though I never meant it in a boasting 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 took two 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 old tub, forging through the sea
as steady as a house. I kept up with her easily at first. My hands were
pretty full, for there was a hard wind on my quarter and a troublesome
sea; but as long as nothing worse came I knew I should be all right,
though I also knew that I was a fool to have come.
Illustration: Chart A to Illustrate the Stranding of the Dulcibella,
etc.
“All went well till we were off Wangeroog, the last of the
islands—_here_—and then it began to blow really hard. I had half a mind
to chuck it and cut into the Jade River, _down there_,” but I hadn’t
the face to, so I hove to and took in my last reef.” (Simple words,
simply uttered; but I had seen the operation in calm water and
shuddered at the present picture.) “We had been about level till then,
but with my shortened canvas I fell behind. Not that that mattered 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 the lightship. No
change of plan was possible now. The Weser estuary was on my starboard
hand, but the whole place was a lee-shore and a mass of unknown
banks—just look at them. I ran on, the _Dulcibella_ doing her level
best, but we had some narrow shaves of being pooped. I was about
_here_, say six miles south-west of the lightship, _[See Chart A]_ when
I suddenly saw that the _Medusa_ had hove to right ahead, as though
waiting till I came up. She wore round again on the course as I drew
level, and we were alongside for a bit. Dollmann lashed the wheel,
leaned over her quarter, and shouted, very slowly and distinctly so
that I could understand; ‘Follow me—sea too bad for you outside—short
cut through sands—save six miles.’
“It was taking me all my time to manage the tiller, but I knew what he
meant at once, for I had been over the chart carefully the night
before. _[See Map A]_ You see, the whole bay between Wangeroog and the
Elbe is encumbered with sand. A great jagged chunk of it runs out from
Cuxhaven in a north-westerly direction for fifteen miles or so, ending