and rolling itself into an irregularly shaped mass, drifted out to
seaward, travelling slowly over the blue heavens, like a threatening and
lonely cloud.



PART II. THE SHORE OF REFUGE

I

The coast off which the little brig, floating upright above her anchor,
seemed to guard the high hull of the yacht has no distinctive features.
It is land without form. It stretches away without cape or bluff, long
and low--indefinitely; and when the heavy gusts of the northeast monsoon
drive the thick rain slanting over the sea, it is seen faintly under the
grey sky, black and with a blurred outline like the straight edge of a
dissolving shore. In the long season of unclouded days, it presents to
view only a narrow band of earth that appears crushed flat upon the vast
level of waters by the weight of the sky, whose immense dome rests on it
in a line as fine and true as that of the sea horizon itself.

Notwithstanding its nearness to the centres of European power, this
coast has been known for ages to the armed wanderers of these seas
as "The Shore of Refuge." It has no specific name on the charts, and
geography manuals don't mention it at all; but the wreckage of many
defeats unerringly drifts into its creeks. Its approaches are extremely
difficult for a stranger. Looked at from seaward, the innumerable islets
fringing what, on account of its vast size, may be called the mainland,
merge into a background that presents not a single landmark to point the
way through the intricate channels. It may be said that in a belt of sea