XI. The Pathfinders
IN the late afternoon of the second day our flotilla reached the Elbeat Brunsb?ttel and ranged up in the inner basin, while a big liner,whimpering like a fretful baby, was tenderly nursed into the lock.During the delay Davies left me in charge, and bolted off with anoil-can and a milk-jug. An official in uniform was passing along thequay from vessel to vessel countersigning papers. I went up to meethim with our receipt for dues, which he signed carelessly. Then hepaused and muttered _'Dooltzhibella,'_ scratching his head, 'that wasthe name. English?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Little _lust-cutter_, that is so; there was an inquiry for you.'
'Whom from?'
'A friend of yours from a big barge-yacht.'
'Oh, I know; she went on to Hamburg, I suppose?'
'No such luck, captain; she was outward bound.'
What did the man mean? He seemed to be vastly amused by something.
'When was this--about three weeks ago?' I asked, indifferently.
'Three weeks? It was the day before yesterday. What a pity to misshim by so little!' He chuckled and winked.
'Did he leave any message?' I asked.
'It was a lady who inquired,' whispered the fellow, sniggering. 'Oh,really,' I said, beginning to feel highly absurd, but keenly curious.'And she inquired about the _Dulcibella_?'
'Herrgott! she was difficult to satisfy! Stood over me while Isearched the books. "A very little one," she kept saying, and "Areyou sure all the names are here?" I saw her into her kleine Boot, andshe rowed away in the rain. No, she left no message. It was dirtyweather for a young Fr?ulein to be out alone in. Ach! she was safeenough, though. To see her crossing the ebb in a chop of tide was atreat.'
'And the yacht went on down the river? Where was she bound to?'
'How do I know? Bremen, Wilhelmshaven, Emden--somewhere in the NorthSea; too far for you.'
'I don't know about that,' said I, bravely.
'Ach! you will not follow in _that_? Are not you bound to Hamburg?'
'We can change our plans. It seems a pity to have missed them.'
'Think twice, captain, there are plenty of pretty girls in Hamburg.But you English will do anything. Well, viel Gl?ck!'
He moved on, chuckling, to the next boat. Davies soon returned withhis cans and an armful of dark, rye loaves, just in time, for, theliner being through, the flotilla was already beginning to jostleinto the lock and Bartels was growing impatient.
'They'll last ten days,' he said, as we followed the throng, stillclinging like a barnacle to the side of the 'Johannes'. We spent thefew minutes while the lock was emptied in a farewell talk to Bartels.Karl had hitched their main halyards on to the windlass and wasgrinding at it in an _acharnement_ of industry, his shock headjerking and his grubby face perspiring. Then the lock-gates opened;and so, in a Babel of shouting, whining of blocks, and creaking ofspars, our whole company was split out into the dingy bosom of theElbe. The 'Johannes' gathered way under wind and tide and headed formidstream. A last shake of the hand, and Bartels reluctantly slippedthe head-rope and we drifted apart. 'Gute Reise! Gute Reise!' It wasno time for regretful gazing, for the flood-tide was sweeping us upand out, and it was not until we had set the foresail, edged into ashallow bight, and let go our anchor, that we had leisure to think ofhim again; but by that time his and the other craft were shades inthe murky east.
We swung close to a _glacis_ of smooth blue mud which sloped up to aweed-grown dyke; behind lay the same flat country, colourless, humid;and opposite us, two miles away, scarcely visible in the deepeningtwilight, ran the outline of a similar shore. Between rolled theturgid Elbe. 'The Styx flowing through Tartarus,' I thought tomyself, recalling some of our Baltic anchorages.
I told my news to Davies as soon as the anchor was down,instinctively leaving the sex of the inquirer to the last, as myinformant had done.
'The 'Medusa' called yesterday?' he interrupted. 'And outward bound?That's a rum thing. Why didn't he inquire when he was going _up_?'
'It was a lady,' and I drily retailed the official's story, very busywith a deck-broom the while. 'We're all square now, aren't we?' Iended. 'I'll go below and light the stove.'
Davies had been engaged in fixing up the riding-light. When I lastsaw him he was still so engaged, but motionless, the lantern underhis left arm and his right hand grasping the forestay and thehalf-knotted lanyard; his eyes staring fixedly down the river, astrange look in his face, half exultant, half perplexed. When hejoined me and spoke he seemed to be concluding a difficult argument.
'Anyway, it proves,' he said, 'that the 'Medusa' has gone back toNorderney. That's the main thing.'
'Probably,' I agreed, 'but let's sum up all we know. First, it'scertain that nobody we've met as yet has any suspicion of _us_----'
'I told you he did it off his own bat,' threw in Davies.
'Or, secondly, of _him._ If he's what you think it's not known here.'
'I can't help that.'
'Thirdly, he inquires for you on his way _back_ from Hamburg, threeweeks after the event. It doesn't look as if he thought he haddisposed of you--it doesn't look as if he had _meant_ to dispose ofyou. He sends his daughter, too: a curious proceeding under thecircumstances. Perhaps it's all a mistake.'
'It's not a mistake,' said Davies, half to himself. 'But _did_ hesend her? He'd have sent one of his men. He can't be on board atall.'
This was a new light.
'What do you mean?' I asked.
'He must have left the yacht when he got to Hamburg; some otherdevil's work, I suppose. She's being sailed back now, and passinghere----'
'Oh, I see! It's a private supplementary inquiry.'
'That's a long name to call it.'
'Would the girl sail back alone with the crew?'
'She's used to the sea--and perhaps she isn't alone. There was thatstepmother---- But it doesn't make a ha'porth of difference to ourplans; we'll start on the ebb to-morrow morning.'
We were busier than usual that night, reckoning stores, tidyinglockers, and securing movables. 'We must economize,' said Davies, forall the world as though we were castaways on a raft. 'It's a wretchedthing to have to land somewhere to buy oil,' was a favouriteobservation of his.
Before getting to sleep I was made to recognize a new factor in theconditions of navigation, now that the tideless Baltic was leftbehind us. A strong current was sluicing past our sides, and at theeleventh hour I was turned out, clad in pyjamas and oilskins (ahorrible combination), to assist in running out a kedge or spareanchor.
'What's kedging-off?' I asked, when we were tucked up again. 'Oh,it's when you run aground; you have to--but you'll soon learn allabout it.' I steeled my heart for the morrow.
So behold us, then, at eight o'clock on October 5, standing downthe river towards the field of our first labours. It is fifteen milesto the mouth; drab, dreary miles like the dullest reaches of thelower Thames; but scenery was of no concern to us, and asouth-westerly breeze blowing out of a grey sky kept us constantly onthe verge of reefing. The tide as it gathered strength swept us downwith a force attested by the speed with which buoys came in sight,nodded above us and passed, each boiling in its eddy of dirty foam. Iscarcely noticed at first--so calm was the water, and so regular werethe buoys, like milestones along a road--that the northern line ofcoast was rapidly receding and that the 'river' was coming to be buta belt of deep water skirting a vast estuary, three--seven--ten milesbroad, till it merged in open sea.
'Why, we're at sea!' I suddenly exclaimed, 'after an hour's sailing!'
'Just discovered that?' said Davies, laughing.
'You said it was fifteen miles,' I complained.
'So it is, till we reach this coast at Cuxhaven; but I suppose youmay say we're at sea; of course that's all sand over there tostarboard. Look! some of it's showing already.'
He pointed into the north. Looking more attentively I noticed thatoutside the line of buoys patches of the surface heaved and worked;in one or two places stre
aks and circles of white were forming; inthe midst of one such circle a sleek mauve hump had risen, like theback of a sleeping whale. I saw that an old spell was enthrallingDavies as his eye travelled away to the blank horizon. He scanned itall with a critical eagerness, too, as one who looks for a newmeaning in an old friend's face. Something of his zest wascommunicated to me, and stilled the shuddering thrill that had seizedme. The protecting land was still a comforting neighbour; but ourseverance with it came quickly. The tide whirled us down, and ourstraining canvas aiding it, we were soon off Cuxhaven, which crouchedso low behind its mighty dyke, that of some of its houses only thechimneys were visible. Then, a mile or so on, the shore sharpened toa point like a claw, where the innocent dyke became a long, low fort,with some great guns peeping over; then of a sudden it ceased,retreating into the far south in a dim perspective of groins anddunes.
We spun out into the open and leant heavily over to the nowunobstructed wind. The yacht rose and sank to a little swell, but myfirst impression was one of wonder at the calmness of the sea, forthe wind blew fresh and free from horizon to horizon.
'Why, it's all sand _there_ now, and we're under the lee of it,' saidDavies, with an enthusiastic sweep of his hand over the sea on ourleft or port hand. 'That's our hunting ground.'
'What are we going to do?' I inquired.
'Pick up Sticker's Gat,' was the reply. 'It ought to be near Buoy K.'
A red buoy with a huge K on it soon came into view. Davies peeredover to port.
'Just pull up the centreboard, will you?' he remarked abstractedly,adding, 'and hand me up the glasses as you are down there.'
'Never mind the glasses. I've got it now; come to the main-sheet,'was the next remark.
He put down the helm and headed the yacht straight for the troubledand discoloured expanse which covered the submerged sands. A'sleeping whale', with a light surf splashing on it, was right in ourpath.
'Stand by the lead, will you?' said Davies, politely. 'I'll managethe sheets, it's a dead beat in. Ready about!'
The wind was in our teeth now, and for a crowded half-hour we wormedourselves forward by ever-shortening tacks into the sinuous recessesof a channel which threaded the shallows westward. I knelt in atangle of line, and, under the hazy impression that something verycritical was going on, plied the lead furiously, bumping andsplashing myself, and shouting out the depths, which lessenedsteadily, with a great sense of the importance of my function. Daviesnever seemed to listen, but tacked on imperturbably, juggling withthe tiller, the sheets, and the chart, in a way that made one giddyto look at. For all our zeal we seemed to be making very slowprogress.
'It's no use, tide's too strong; we must chance it,' he said at last.
'Chance what?' I wondered to myself. Our tacks suddenly began to growlonger, and the depths, which I registered, shallower. All went wellfor some time though, and we made better progress. Then came a longerreach than usual.
'Two and a half--two--one and a half--one--only five feet,' I gasped,reproachfully. The water was growing thick and frothy.
'It doesn't matter if we do,' said Davies, thinking aloud. 'There'san eddy here, and it's a pity to waste it--ready about! Back thejib!'
But it was too late. The yacht answered but faintly to the helm,stopped, and heeled heavily over, wallowing and grinding. Davies hadthe mainsail down in a twinkling; it half smothered me as I crouchedon the lee-side among my tangled skeins of line, scared and helpless.I crawled out from the folds, and saw him standing by the mast in areverie.
'It's not much use,' he said, 'on a falling tide, but we'll trykedging-off. Pay that warp out while I run out the kedge.'
Like lightning he had cast off the dinghy's painter, tumbled thekedge-anchor and himself into the dinghy, pulled out fifty yards intothe deeper water, and heaved out the anchor.
'Now haul,' he shouted.
I hauled, beginning to see what kedging-off meant.
'Steady on! Don't sweat yourself,' said Davies, jumping aboard again.
'It's coming,' I spluttered, triumphantly.
'The warp is, the yacht isn't; you're dragging the anchor home. Nevermind, she'll lie well here. Let's have lunch.'
The yacht was motionless, and the water round her visibly lower.Petulant waves slapped against her sides, but, scattered as my senseswere, I realized that there was no vestige of danger. Round us thewhole face of the waters was changing from moment to moment,whitening in some places, yellowing in others, where breadths of sandbegan to be exposed. Close on our right the channel we had left beganto look like a turbid little river; and I understood why our progresshad been so slow when I saw its current racing back to meet the Elbe.Davies was already below, laying out a more than usually elaboratelunch, in high content of mind.
'Lies quiet, doesn't she?' he remarked. 'If you _do_ want a sit-downlunch, there's nothing like running aground for it. And, anyhow,we're as handy for work here as anywhere else. You'll see.'
Like most landsmen I had a wholesome prejudice against runningaground, so that my mentor's turn for breezy paradox was at firstrather exasperating. After lunch the large-scale chart of theestuaries was brought down, and we pored over it together, mappingout work for the next few days. There is no need to tire the generalreader with its intricacies, nor is there space to reproduce it forthe benefit of the instructed reader. For both classes the generalmap should be sufficient, taken with the large-scale fragment _[SeeChart A]_ which gives a fair example of the region in detail. It willbe seen that the three broad fairways of the Jade, Weser and Elbesplit up the sands into two main groups. The westernmost of these issymmetrical in outline, an acute-angled triangle, very like a sharpsteel-shod pike, if you imagine the peninsula from which it springsto be the wooden haft. The other is a huge congeries of banks, itsbase resting on the Hanover coast, two of its sides tolerably cleanand even, and the third, that facing the north-west, ribboned andlacerated by the fury of the sea, which has eaten out deep cavitiesand struck hungry tentacles far into the interior. The wholeresembles an inverted E, or, better still, a rude fork, on whosethree deadly prongs, the Scharhorn Reef, the Knecht Sand, and theTegeler Flat, as on the no less deadly point of the pike, many a goodship splinters herself in northerly gales. Following this simile, theHohenh?rn bank, where Davies was wrecked, is one of those that liebetween the upper and middle prongs.
Our business was to explore the Pike and the Fork and the channelswhich ramify through them. I use the general word 'channel', but infact they differ widely in character, and are called in German byvarious names: Balje, Gat, Loch, Diep, Rinne. For my purpose I needonly divide them into two sorts--those which have water in them atall states of the tide, and those which have not, which dry off, thatis, either wholly or partly at low-tide.
Davies explained that the latter would take most learning, and wereto be our chief concern, because they were the 'through-routes'--theconnecting links between the estuaries. You can always detect them onthe chart by rows of little Y-shaped strokes denoting 'booms', thatis to say, poles or saplings fixed in the sand to mark the passage.The strokes, of course, are only conventional signs, and do notcorrespond in the least to individual 'booms', which are far toonumerous and complex to be indicated accurately on a chart, even ofthe largest scale. The same applies to the course of the channelsthemselves, whose minor meanderings cannot be reproduced.
It was on the edge of one of these tidal swatchways that the yachtwas now lying. It is called Sticker's Gat, and you cannot miss it_[See Chart A]_ if you carry your eye westward along our course fromCuxhaven. It was, so Davies told me, the last and most intricatestage of the 'short cut' which the 'Medusa' had taken on that memorableday--a stage he himself had never reached. Discussion ended, we wenton deck, Davies arming himself with a notebook, binoculars, and theprismatic compass, whose use--to map the angles of the channels--wasat last apparent. This is what I saw when we emerged.
The Riddle of the Sands Page 12
