half. 'That's the bank,' he said; 'we'll give it a bit of a berth and
then let go.'

'Let go now!' was the order after a minute, and the chain ran out
with a long-drawn moan. The Dulcibella snubbed up to it and jauntily
faced the North Sea and the growing night.

'There we are!' said Davies, as we finished stowing the mainsail,
'safe and snug in four fathoms in a magnificent sand-harbour, with no
one to bother us and the whole of it to ourselves. No dues, no
stinks, no traffic, no worries of any sort. It's better than a Baltic
cove even, less beastly civilization about. We're seven miles from
the nearest coast, and five even from Neuerk--look, they're lighting
up.' There was a tiny spark in the east.

'I suppose it's all right,' I said, 'but I'd rather see a solid
breakwater somewhere; it's a dirty-looking night, and I don't like
this swell.'

'The swell's nothing,' said Davies; 'it's only a stray drain from
outside. As for breakwaters, you've got them all round you, only
they're hidden. Ahead and to starboard is the West Hohenhörn, curling
round to the sou'-west for all the world like a stone pier. You can
hear the surf battering on its outside over to the north. That's
where I was nearly wrecked that day, and the little channel I
stumbled into must be quite near us somewhere. Half a mile away--to
port there--is the East Hohenhörn, where I brought up, after dashing
across this lake we're in. Another mile astern is the main body of
the sands, the top prong of your fork. So you see we're shut
in--practically. Surely you remember the chart? Why, it's--'