Felgate made his way aft, and we saw him disappear under the shadow of the poop. A moment later and he reappeared, glided across the deck, and explored the cuddy. Everything appeared satisfactory, so we joined him, sending the dinghy adrift. The galliot carried two masts, the after one only being set up. The foremast was housed in a tabernacle and lay on the deck. We manned a windlass, and with a dismal creaking, that alarmed us mightily, the mast slowly rose to an upright position. Then it was an easy matter to spread the great tanned sail, and having slipped the cable we stood westwards towards England and freedom. Once clear of the haven we felt the lift of the ocean as the vessel heeled to the breeze. Drake and I stood by the tiller, while Felgate went for’ard to keep a bright lookout. There was no longer need for silence, and our tongues wagged merrily at the thought of our escape. The galliot was, like all Dutch craft, of great beam, with bluff bows and an ugly square stern. She would, we had little doubt, prove a good sea boat, but sluggish in a light wind. As it was, the steady breeze was just strong enough to make her lively, and it was with satisfaction that we saw the dim outline of the low-lying coast get fainter and fainter. Suddenly a massive post, crowned by a triangle, loomed out on our starboard bow. "Steady there!" shouted Felgate; "there’s a beacon ahead." "Which side shall we make for?" asked Greville. "Quick, Aubrey, try a cast!" said Felgate, and I picked up a heavy piece of metal which happened to be lying near, fastened a line to it, and threw it overboard. Less than three fathoms! Again I tried, and touched the bottom in little more than two. "’Bout ship!" shouted Drake, bearing down on the long tiller, and the galliot, her sails flapping in the wind like the wings of a wounded bird, came about slowly yet surely, the breeze filled her sails as she lay on the other tack, and once more she slipped into deep water. But the result of this manoeuvre was bewildering. The blackness that precedes the dawn is always greatest; the shore was invisible, and our sole guide as to direction was the wind, which we hoped still blew from the same quarter. All around were the short, steep, white-crested waves that are so typical of the shallow waters around the Dutch coasts, while our range of vision on all sides was limited to a space of about a hundred yards of heaving water. "Keep the lead going!" ordered Greville, and feverishly I made cast after cast with my rough-and-ready leadline. For some time I found no bottom with four fathoms, which was the available length of the line, and I was on the point of giving up the task with a feeling that we were clear of the shallows, when I felt the sinker touch bottom.