The boat was once more put about and the lead kept going, but still the depth remained the same, or, rather, slightly shoaling. Again we tacked, but our efforts to find deeper water were unavailing, and at last the galliot ran aground with a slight shock on a bed of soft sand. With a falling tide our position was hopeless, and when daylight dawned and objects became visible, we found to our dismay that we were within half a mile of the shore, and in full view of the hamlet from which we had taken the galliot. As we had been sailing for over two hours, we must have doubled backwards and forwards for want of keeping a proper course, our numerous tacks having completely bewildered us. The inhabitants of the town of Haarlem were abroad early, and it was evident that our ignominious situation had come to their knowledge, for crowds lined the shore looking steadfastly in our direction. At about six in the morning the tide had left us high and dry, and the boundless expanse of sandbanks showed us how hopeless was our task on a dark night. Thoroughly disheartened and ashamed, we withdrew to the cabin, where we awaited the arrival of the soldiers who were to take us back to captivity. "Ah, goot-morning, Mynheer!" was the greeting of the governor, as he made his way across the sloping deck of the galliot, his usually grave visage puckered with a thousand wrinkles, while his eyes twinkled with grim humour. "Take us and do whatever you will," replied Felgate savagely, "but for any sake taunt us not!" Van der Wycke bowed in well-feigned gravity. "Pardon, Mynheer," he replied, "but you yourselves haf put to much trouble for nothing. You are now free!" And to our astonishment we learned how that peace had been proclaimed at Breda on the previous day, and that our futile attempt might well not have taken place. Needless to say, our further stay in the Low Countries was hurried as quickly as possible, and next day a stout little brig conveyed us from Rotterdam to London. The joys of seeing our native land once more were somewhat damped by the pitiful sight of the blackened hulls of our men-of-war that had been sunk off the mouth of the Thames. CHAPTER XVIII--The Veil is Partly Drawn Directly I set foot once more on English soil I hastened to Portsmouth, though on my journey thither I did stay a while at Rake, for the sake of old memories. On my arrival at Portsmouth I found my uncle looking careworn and haggard, due to the constant strain and worry that his duties in the dockyard entailed, for discontent amongst the workmen had almost grown into open mutiny. So ill paid were they that in some cases families were starving while work was plentiful. As the 23rd day of April, 1668, drew near, that being my twenty-first birthday, I found that I was becoming more and more excited over the vague rumours that I had heard from time to time respecting the remarkable disclosures that were to be made under the terms of my father’s will.