A narrow canal that pierces an out-of-the-way corner of old Rotterdam. Mediæval houses--narrow, lofty, terminating in quaint, pointed gables--overhang the sluggish waters. It is only frequented by the picturesque native canal boats, with their lofty masts and varnished oak sides, so marvellously clean, for all their dirty work. In this quiet spot, with its old-world, decaying look, it is difficult to realise that close at hand are the busy quays of the Boompjees, crowded with vessels from all parts of the world, noisy with the haste of modern commerce. It is a bit of Rotterdam that does not change. The British tourist, unless he has lost himself, never explores the narrow alleys that lead down to the slimy water--a gloomy, dead quarter of the city, pervaded by a smell that is ancient and fish-like and something worse. It was a sultry August midday. No breath of air stirred the water of the canal, which seemed to be fermenting under the fierce sunshine, and foul gases bubbled up on its surface. Only one of the many vessels moored along the quay flew a foreign flag. The blue ensign of Great Britain hung motionless from the mizzen of the yacht _Petrel_. On the deck was a sturdy little man in baggy trousers, who, despite the languid influence of the day, was employed in polishing the brass-work on the vessel with an extraordinary energy. This was Willem, the pilot's cousin, who had entered into Carew's service, and who had, with Dutch diligence, set himself the task of scrubbing the yacht up to his high standard of Dutch smartness as quickly as possible. The owner--by right of undisputed possession--was below, looking over some charts of the South Atlantic, which he had just purchased. The solicitor had been making all his preparations as rapidly but as quietly as possible. But little now remained to be done. So far, honest Willem was the only hand he had engaged; but he knew that he could easily ship as many men as he needed at a moment's notice in so large a seaport as Rotterdam. He told no one of his projected voyage across the Atlantic, knowing that to do so would at once attract attention to him; and he naturally dreaded that publicity should be given to his doings. He showed himself in the streets as little as possible, and he always went forth to make his purchases in the early morning before English tourists were likely to be out of their beds. He had only been in port two days, but he was almost ready for sea. He had some tanks fitted into the cabin, so that he could carry sufficient water for a long voyage; he had filled all the lockers and bunks with a large quantity of tinned meats, biscuits, and other necessary stores; he had procured his charts; and all this had been done in the least conspicuous manner possible.