"Then England and Poole it shall be," said Wat, confidently. "You shall see!"
"But have you considered, my friend, that England is a somewhat large mark to hit in the white and bring up in Poole Harbor at the first offer?" said Scarlett. "How shall one know that he is within a hundred miles or more of his aim?"
"Hearken," said Wat. "'Tis usually Jack Scarlett that is ready with plans, eager and fretful with encouragements. Upon his own adventures he fairly sweats alternatives, but on this occasion of mine he does naught but grumble. There is yet time for him to turn about and betake him to his greasy sheepfold. 'Guelderland' will even yet admit him in time for the morning muster of the fleecy ones."
Scarlett laughed good-naturedly, like one who will not take offence even when offence is meant.
"I am not in love, you see," he said. "It is love that is fertile of stratagems. I am but an old, wizened apple-jack. But so was it not ever. The days have been--ah, lad, the days have been!--when Jack Scarlett did not ride hot-foot after another man's lass."
"Hear my idea," said Wat, paying little heed to him. "We may hit or miss, it is true, but in any case the ship would be a small one, and most likely she would run for the nearest point of safety. Yet not directly across, for all the narrow seas are patrolled by the English vessels, because deadly jealousy of the Dutch still rankles deep in the heart of the king for the defeats he had of them in the days when he was Lord High Admiral of the Fleet, and attended to his mistresses' lapdogs instead of his duty."
Scarlett moved uneasily. There was, he knew, in most countries such a thing as a navy, but ships and rolling Jack Tars little concerned a soldier, save to transport him to his campaigning ground.
It was brightening to the morning as they came in sight of the high dunes of land that shut off the Northern Sea. Behind them, with the gables of its houses already threatened by the encroaching waves of sand, nestled the little village of Lis-op-Zee. A few fishing-boats were drawn up into a swallow's nest of a harbor, and beyond league on league stretched the desolate dunes, through which the river Lis felt its tortuous way among the sand-hollows to the wider levels of the sea.