Three Men on the Bummel | Page 8

of any other point of the compass from which it can blow,
tell me, and I will wait for it. If not, and if that anchor has not grown
into the bottom of the ocean, we will have it up to-day and see what
happens."
He grasped the fact that I was determined.
"Very well, sir," he said, "you're master and I'm man. I've only got one
child as is still dependent on me, thank God, and no doubt your
executors will feel it their duty to do the right thing by the old woman."
His solemnity impressed me.
"Mr. Goyles," I said, "be honest with me. Is there any hope, in any
weather, of getting away from this damned hole?"

Captain Goyles's kindly geniality returned to him.
"You see, sir," he said, "this is a very peculiar coast. We'd be all right if
we were once out, but getting away from it in a cockle-shell like
that--well, to be frank, sir, it wants doing."
I left Captain Goyles with the assurance that he would watch the
weather as a mother would her sleeping babe; it was his own simile,
and it struck me as rather touching. I saw him again at twelve o'clock;
he was watching it from the window of the "Chain and Anchor."
At five o'clock that evening a stroke of luck occurred; in the middle of
the High Street I met a couple of yachting friends, who had had to put
in by reason of a strained rudder. I told them my story, and they
appeared less surprised than amused. Captain Goyles and the two men
were still watching the weather. I ran into the "King's Head," and
prepared Ethelbertha. The four of us crept quietly down to the quay,
where we found our boat. Only the boy was on board; my two friends
took charge of the yacht, and by six o'clock we were scudding merrily
up the coast.
We put in that night at Aldborough, and the next day worked up to
Yarmouth, where, as my friends had to leave, I decided to abandon the
yacht. We sold the stores by auction on Yarmouth sands early in the
morning. I made a loss, but had the satisfaction of "doing" Captain
Goyles. I left the Rogue in charge of a local mariner, who, for a couple
of sovereigns, undertook to see to its return to Harwich; and we came
back to London by train. There may be yachts other than the Rogue,
and skippers other than Mr. Goyles, but that experience has prejudiced
me against both.
George also thought a yacht would be a good deal of responsibility, so
we dismissed the idea.
"What about the river?" suggested Harris.
"We have had some pleasant times on that."

George pulled in silence at his cigar, and I cracked another nut.
"The river is not what it used to be," said I; "I don't know what, but
there's a something--a dampness--about the river air that always starts
my lumbago."
"It's the same with me," said George. "I don't know how it is, but I
never can sleep now in the neighbourhood of the river. I spent a week
at Joe's place in the spring, and every night I woke up at seven o'clock
and never got a wink afterwards."
"I merely suggested it," observed Harris. "Personally, I don't think it
good for me, either; it touches my gout."
"What suits me best," I said, "is mountain air. What say you to a
walking tour in Scotland?"
"It's always wet in Scotland," said George. "I was three weeks in
Scotland the year before last, and was never dry once all the time- -not
in that sense."
"It's fine enough in Switzerland," said Harris.
"They would never stand our going to Switzerland by ourselves," I
objected. "You know what happened last time. It must be some place
where no delicately nurtured woman or child could possibly live; a
country of bad hotels and comfortless travelling; where we shall have
to rough it, to work hard, to starve perhaps--"
"Easy!" interrupted George, "easy, there! Don't forget I'm coming with
you."
"I have it!" exclaimed Harris; "a bicycle tour!"
George looked doubtful.
"There's a lot of uphill about a bicycle tour," said he, "and the wind is
against you."

"So there is downhill, and the wind behind you," said Harris.
"I've never noticed it," said George.
"You won't think of anything better than a bicycle tour," persisted
Harris.
I was inclined to agree with him.
"And I'll tell you where," continued he; "through the Black Forest."
"Why, that's ALL uphill," said George.
"Not all," retorted Harris; "say two-thirds. And there's one thing you've
forgotten."
He looked round cautiously, and sunk his voice to a whisper.
"There are little railways going up those hills, little