could see on a chart, professionally, with all its complications and
difficulties, yet simple enough in a way. One is a seaman or one is not.
And I had no doubt of being one.

The only part I was a stranger to was the Gulf of Siam. And I mentioned
this to Captain Giles. Not that I was concerned very much. It belonged
to the same region the nature of which I knew, into whose very soul
I seemed to have looked during the last months of that existence with
which I had broken now, suddenly, as one parts with some enchanting
company.

"The gulf . . . Ay! A funny piece of water--that," said Captain Giles.

Funny, in this connection, was a vague word. The whole thing sounded
like an opinion uttered by a cautious person mindful of actions for
slander.

I didn't inquire as to the nature of that funniness. There was really no
time. But at the very last he volunteered a warning.

"Whatever you do keep to the east side of it. The west side is dangerous
at this time of the year. Don't let anything tempt you over. You'll find
nothing but trouble there."

Though I could hardly imagine what could tempt me to involve my ship
amongst the currents and reefs of the Malay shore, I thanked him for the
advice.

He gripped my extended arm warmly, and the end of our acquaintance came
suddenly in the words: "Good-night."