Thatnight it blew half a gale. Secure in a sheltered berth the Sea Scouts could make light of the elements, thankful that they were not "caught out" in the open sea.
At about one o'clock in the morning, Peter was roused by theThetisgrinding against the piles of the stage close to which she was moored. Evidently her quarter-warp had dragged the kedge.
"I'll put a fender out," decided Craddock, doubly careful since he was in charge of a strange yacht.
He turned out just as he was, barefooted and in pyjamas. But when he gained the cockpit all thoughts about putting out a fender vanished. The air was thick with driving smoke that failed to conceal a mass of deep red flame. The Snodburry mansion was on fire!
"Wake up, old man," exclaimed Peter to his slumbering chum. "Wake up! Snodburry's house is all on fire."
In the shortest possible time the Sea Scouts threw on some clothes, thrust their feet into their sea-boots and jumped into the dinghy.
A few strokes of the oars brought them to the opposite bank. Through the smoke they dashed across the lawn and up to the house, where they stumbled over the senseless form of one of the men-servants. It was a moment's work to drag him clear of the falling embers. There appeared to be no one else about on their side of the buildings. The late inmates were on the opposite end, vainly striving to quench the flames with buckets of water.
Already the whole of the ground floor was ablaze, while in one corner the flames were bursting through the roof.
"Everyone's out, I think," spluttered Peter, half choked with the fumes. "Let's release the horses and poultry. There's nothing more that we can do."
It was as well, he thought, that Carline and he had already paid a visit to the outbuildings. Up to the present the livestock were in no great danger, although the neighing horses and loudly cackling fowls were terrified by the roaring of the flames and the billowing clouds of smoke.
"There is someone, though!" exclaimed Peter, pointing to an upper window.
"Your imagination," declared Carline.
"No—look!"
A hand was fumbling with the casement. Then a face appeared, horror-stricken, gasping.
"It's old Snodburry!" exclaimed Carline. "They've forgotten all about him."
"Quick—bring a ladder!" shouted Peter. "There's one in the stable-yard."
"Stand by to steady it," said Peter resolutely, as the ladder was reared against the wall. "I'm going up—not you."
Waiting only to tie his scarf over his mouth and nose Craddock ascended the ladder. One smart blow demolished the pane of glass that enabled him to get to the casement fastening. The next instant the window was wide open, a rush of smoke well nigh forcing the Sea Scout from his precarious perch.
The room was full of smoke and in darkness. Leaning over the sill Peter groped but found nothing. Then a spurt of reddish flame darting through a charred portion of the floor revealed a huddled figure lying half way between the window and the door.
Craddock hesitated no longer. With a diving-like movement he leapt through the window on to the floor, that gave ominously as it felt his weight. With smarting eyes and painfully drawn breath he crawled over the hot floor-boards until he was able to seize the unconscious form of Mr. Snodburry, and dragged him to the window.
Then came the critical time. The senselessman was too heavy. Peter, in spite of his strength, was handicapped by the fumes, while the window sill was waist-high from the floor.
Without knowing how he managed it, Peter heaved the helpless man until his head and shoulders were without the window. Then he got astride the sill and groped for the top rung of the ladder, by this time unable to decide what to do. He was suffocating, but even in his half stifled state he realised that if he let go of his burden, Mr. Snodburry would probably break his neck by the fall.
A burst of flame from the lower window enveloped the ladder. Something had to be done, and that quickly.
"Coming, Peter!" shouted Carline.
This time Craddock did not forbid him. He was only half conscious that his chum was shouting, until Carline's head and shoulders appeared above the flame-tinged smoke.
"Let go!" bawled Carline. "I've got him."
Peter let go. Like a sack of flour the bulky figure of Mr. Snodburry vanished. There was a crash and the ladder disappeared.
Summoning up his last remaining strength Peter jumped and landed on his hands and feet upon the soft turf.
Carline, with his left arm dangling helplessly, was dragging the rescued man clear ...Brass helmets glinted in the firelight ... That was the last Peter remembered until he found himself in bed.
The two Sea Scouts admitted next afternoon that they hadn't done so badly and had got off lightly. Peter was slightly burnt about the legs and had had the greater part of his hair and eyebrows singed off; Carline had his left arm in splints with a fracture of the wrist. They were in the Cottage Hospital, and in an adjoining bed was Mr. Horatio Snodburry, whose neck had been saved at the expense of Carline's wrist.
True to his trust, Peter, declaring that he felt quite all right, went on board theThetisthat evening, where he was warmly greeted by Rex. Next day Mr. Clifton returned and Carline was sent home to Aberstour by train.
According to the usual run of things, Mr. Horatio Snodburry ought to have gratefully thanked the Sea Scouts for saving his life, and by virtue of his escape ought to have lived for ever afterwards in love and charity with his neighbours. But he did neither. Perhaps his mind was still rankling over the pound that he might have got had the Sea Scouts not assisted in recovering Farmer Thorley's ducks.
"I cantrust young Craddock to do anything or go anywhere within the bounds of possibility," declared Scoutmaster Grant. "He's a bit imaginative, I admit, and apt to jump to conclusions, but he's got the makings of a fine, trustworthy man."
"He is certainly plucky," agreed Mr. Clifton. "And he has proved himself very useful on board theThetis. He seems to have distinguished himself in several ways while I was off the yacht, visiting my brother, who was taken suddenly ill. Yes, young Craddock's a smart youngster, who would make a rattling good officer of the Mercantile Marine, although I shouldn't be at all surprised if his parents didn't shove him into a bank or make him cram up for the Civil Service. I've known heaps of cases like that—strong, healthy fellows condemned to a sedentary life when their one desire is to go to sea. Hullo! here he comes."
Hurrying along the tow-path came PeterCraddock. TheThetiswas lying at Ravensholm. For one thing, a spell of very bad weather had detained her, and for another, Mr. Clifton had been compelled to make several hurried journeys to his home and could not spare time to take the yacht round to her laying-up port.
Craddock had remained on board almost continuously, but his holiday was drawing to a close, and very soon he would have to bid farewell to the sea until Easter.
Then, by what Peter considered to be a rare slice of luck, Scoutmaster Grant found an opportunity of coming round to Ravensholm to help Mr. Clifton take theThetishome. That meant that Craddock would have what he had long been hoping for—a long sea passage in the capable little yacht.
It was Tuesday morning. Craddock had been sent into the town to purchase provisions for the voyage. The water tanks had already been filled. All that remained on Peter's return was to unmoor and set sail, then good-bye to Ravensholm and its fresh-water river, and "yo ho!" for the rolling billows of the English Channel. Even Rex, the sheep dog, seemed to have an inkling of what was in his master's mind, for he had shaken off his usual lethargy and was frisking about on deck as if to hurry on the process of getting under way.
The wind was well aft going down the river, and theThetismade short work of the run. Instead of a series of short tacks, requiring constant work with the sheets, as was the case when theThetisascended the river, there was little to be done beyond an occasional gybe when a bend in the course made such a manoeuvre imperative.
In a little over an hour theThetishad crossed the bar and was responding to the gentle lift of the English Channel.
"Jolly fine, sir, to taste the spray," commented Peter as a feather of foam flew in over the yacht's weather bow. "How long will the passage take?"
Mr. Grant shook his head.
"Can't say," he replied. "It depends entirely upon whether the breeze holds, since Mr. Clifton doesn't care to use the motor. At this rate, we ought to make Mapplewick before dark."
Alas, for that surmise! Just about noon the wind failed entirely, and theThetis, with jack topsail set above her mainsail and a jib-headed topsail over her mizzen, was helplessly becalmed. She had set every possible stitch of canvas, but to no purpose. There she lay, rolling sluggishly, with the main-boom swinging from side to side with a succession of jerks that every sailing man knows and has good cause to hate.
The rays of the sun beat pitilessly down upon the deck, while the oily surface of the water reflected the glare and seemed to throw off as much heat as that from the orb of day.
Mr. Grant gave an inquiring glance at his chum, but Mr. Clifton shook his head.
"No," he replied, "we won't use the engine. Bad seamanship—very. Motors weren't known in my young days, and we yachtsmen got on very well without them. Always managed to fetch somewhere after a calm."
So they stuck it.
It was a tedious experience. Nothing could be done. TheThetiswallowed and rolled, swept slowly and imperceptibly along by a steady two-knot tide. The low-lying shore was invisible, there were no buoys or beacons in sight, not even another sail—nothing to be seen but an expanse of cloudless sky and mirror-like sea.
"How about grub?" inquired the owner of theThetis, shaking off his drowsiness and stretching his cramped limbs.
The suggestion met with unqualified approval.
"All right," added Scoutmaster Grant. "Craddock and I will get the food ready, if you'll stand by the tiller."
Accordingly Peter made for the fo'c'sle and started up the Primus stove, while Mr. Grantprepared the saloon table and foraged in the tiny pantry.
The kettle was almost on the point of boiling when Mr. Clifton shouted down the companion.
"On deck, you two! There's a brute of a squall coming!"
The warning was instantly acted upon. On gaining the deck Craddock saw that it was not an exaggerated one. Less than a quarter of a mile away the hitherto tranquil sea was being lashed into a triangular sheet of white foam—one of those sudden squalls that, although rare, are to be met with in British waters, and of which the barometer gives little or no warning.
"Down with the jack-yarder!" ordered the skipper. "Take the helm, Peter, and luff her up when the squall strikes her."
The two men sprang to the topsail halliard, sheet and downhaul. The two latter "rendered" without a hitch, but the halliard obstinately refused to run through the block.
"Jammed!" exclaimed Mr. Clifton, bringing all his weight to bear upon the downhaul in a vain effort to lower the canvas. "Lower away the peak! That'll ease her."
Before the peak halliard of the mainsail could be cast off from the fife-rail belaying-pin, the squall struck the yacht. With a shrill, eerie shriek the first puff hit thehitherto becalmed vessel, and in spite of her stiffness threw her over almost on to her beam ends, so much so that water poured in torrents over the lee coamings into the water-tight cockpit.
The canvas groaned and shuddered at the furious blast, while the jack-yard topsail blew out like a banner.
Vainly Craddock, hanging on like grim death, thrust the tiller hard down. TheThetisrefused to answer to her helm. Sheets of white-crested water flew completely over the cabin-top, wetting the mainsail half-way up to the hounds. As for Mr. Grant and Mr. Clifton, all they could do was to grip the nearest object of a substantial nature and await developments. It was impossible to release the head sheets, since the lee waterways were more than knee-deep.
Above the noise of the elements came a report like the bark of a quick-firer. A cloth of the mainsail had been slit from top to bottom. Simultaneously the clew of the jib carried away, and the sail flapping violently in the wind, added to the deafening din.
That proved a blessing in disguise. The carrying away of the jib assisted theThetisto come up into the wind. More like a submarine than a yacht, she sluggishly shook herself clear of the water and began to gather way.
The worst was now over. The squall was of short duration, and although theThetiswas travelling fast, she was no longer in danger of being capsized or dismasted. Yet in all conscience the damage was serious.
"Where's Rex?" shouted Mr. Grant, knowing that the sheep dog had been lying under the lee of the cabin skylight.
"Rex is all right," replied the dog's owner reassuringly. "He's a knowing customer. Bolted down below a good twenty seconds before the squall came. Righto, Peter, I'll take the helm."
A couple of short barks came from below. Mr. Clifton turned to the Sea Scout.
"Nip below, Peter," he said, "and see what's wrong. I know the meaning of that bark."
Craddock hurried down the companion-ladder. The saloon was in a state of confusion. The heel of the yacht during the squall was too great for the maximum inclination of the swing-table, consequently the tea-things had slid off and were lying in a disordered heap on the floor, together with the best part of the ship's library and the cushion of the wind'ard bunk.
But it was not for that that Rex had given alarm.
The violent motion had unshipped the Primus stove from its gimbals and the fierceblue flame had burnt a considerable part of the fo'c'sle floor, notwithstanding the wet state of the boards. It was owing to the latter circumstance that the fire was not more serious. As it was, Peter replaced the stove, taking care to release the air and quickly beat out the flames with a damp towel.
TheThetis, although out of immediate danger, was in a pitiable plight. The wind was still fresh and the sea had worked up into quite a nasty turmoil. The damaged jib had already been lowered and unshackled from the traveller, but the jackyard topsail still fluttered bannerwise from the mainmast head. The torn mainsail, too, was shaking violently as the wind whistled through the long rent in the centre cloth.
"We'll have to get that topsail down," declared Mr. Clifton. "I'll go aloft. Stand from under, Peter."
If the truth be told, Mr. Clifton did not feel any too confident over the job. Active enough in most respects, he did not relish work aloft. On previous occasions his paid hand undertook tasks of that description. Yet he was quite ready to essay the work of sending the obstinate topsail down on deck.
"I'll go, sir," volunteered Peter.
Mr. Clifton looked very pleased, but the next moment he realised that the job was a dangerous one.
"I'm used to going aloft," continued Craddock. "Am I not, Mr. Grant?"
Scoutmaster Grant, who had relieved the owner at the helm, nodded assent.
"He's as active as a monkey, Clifton. Up you go, Peter!"
The Sea Scout needed no second bidding. Grasping the main halliards and using the mast-hoops as footholds he nimbly ascended to the cross-trees. There he paused to decide upon a further course of action.
It was far from comfortable. Although, as Peter had declared, he was used to going aloft, the conditions were very different from those he had previously encountered. The violent motion of the yacht was considerably exaggerated at a height of thirty feet above the deck, whilst the fiercely flogging mainsail threatened to sweep the Sea Scout from his precarious position.
Shinning up the bare pole above the cross-trees Peter made the discovery that the topsail halliard had "jumped" the block and was wedged tightly between it and the sheave.
At present there was only one thing to be done. Drawing his sheath knife he cut the rope. The topsail yard dropped, and beforeCraddock could regain the deck the sail was lowered and secured by Mr. Grant.
image: 06_precarious.jpg{Illustration: "THE FIERCELY FLOGGING MAINSAIL THREATENED TO SWEEP THE SEA SCOUT FROM HIS PRECARIOUS POSITION."[P. 150}
"Well done, Peter!" exclaimed both men as Craddock, breathless with his exertions, rejoined them.
"Had to cut it, sir," declared the Sea Scout apologetically.
"Only what I expected," rejoined Mr. Clifton. "Take the helm while we lower the mizzen topsail and mainsail. Keep her jogging along, Peter."
Still further reducing canvas occupied the next ten minutes. TheThetis, under staysail and mizzen, was now doing a bare three knots, while to make matters worse the wind had veered and was now dead against her.
"Not much chance of making Mapplewick before dark," commented Mr. Grant.
"No, but we must carry on," added his companion. "There's no harbour we can make for nearer than Winkhaven, and I don't want to retrace our course all that way."
"She'll make a bad performance to wind'ard without the mainsail," remarked the Scoutmaster. "The best thing we can do is to patch the canvas and trust to luck that it will hold."
"Our belated meal first," decided the owner. "We'll heave-to for half an hour."
Once more the stove was lighted, and presently the famished crew was enjoying ahearty meal, in spite of the disordered state of the yacht below and aloft.
The plain but satisfying repast over, theThetiswas put on her course again, and Mr. Grant and Peter tackled the torn mainsail. This they temporarily repaired by joining the rent edges by herring-bone stitching, putting on in addition a patch of canvas cut from the damaged jib.
This done, the mainsail was reefed and then rehoisted. The spitfire jib was then set and theThetisincreased her speed to a good five knots, lying a point closer to the wind than before.
By this time it was within an hour of sunset. The wind was still moderating and had veered another couple of points, so that it was possible to set a course to pass within five miles of Mapplewick before going about.
Nevertheless, it seemed very unlikely that theThetiswould make her port before dawn, since the harbour was a tidal one and could only be entered between half flood and half ebb.
At length darkness set in. The port and starboard lamps were lit and the electric lamp of the binnacle switched on. The breeze still held, but there seemed every prospect of another calm before very long.
At eleven o'clock the occulting light on Probert Head became visible, bearing a pointon the starboard bow. Mapplewick Harbour lay in a bay three miles beyond the head.
"More grub," decided the skipper. "Peter, if you will take the helm for a spell we'll get our supper. Then you can have yours and turn in."
"I'm not sleepy, sir," protested Craddock.
"You will be," said Mr. Clifton. "A few hours' rest will do you good. Keep her as she is, she'll almost sail herself. Shout if you sight anything."
The two men went below, leaving Craddock in charge of the deck.
"That youngster's proved himself a brick!" declared Mr. Clifton warmly. "You ought to be proud of him, Grant."
"I am," agreed the Scoutmaster, as he started up the stove. "Curiously enough, he'd hardly been afloat before he joined the troop, but he seemed to tumble to things naturally. His father is a farmer in a fairly big way. His grandfather was also a farmer, so it seems strange that the boy should suddenly develop a real sailorman's instincts."
"Possibly if you traced further back you'd find that he had an ancestor who was a pirate, smuggler or merchant adventurer," suggested Mr. Clifton. "The seafaring strain must have skipped several generations and suddenly developed in young Craddock. Sailors are born, not made, you know."
They conversed in loud tones, for the buzzing of the Primus stove and the thud of the waves against the yacht's weather bow rendered conversation in an ordinary tone inaudible.
Once Rex stirred himself and gazed intently through the companion into the dark night, but the action was unnoticed by either of the two men. Apparently satisfied the sheep-dog stretched himself at full length on one of the bunks.
"Kettle's boiling," announced Mr. Clifton, opening the valve of the stove. "Pass along the teapot, please."
The roar of the stove died away.
The two men sat down to the hurried meal.
Happening to glance upwards at the tell-tale compass in the roof of the deckhouse, Mr. Grant gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Hello!" he remarked. "What's Peter doing—dozing? We're four points off our course."
"All right, Peter?" shouted Mr. Clifton.
There was no response.
"Asleep on duty," continued the skipper of theThetisjokingly. Then louder: "Peter! Wake up! You're letting her shake!"
Still there was no reply.
The two men exchanged glances. Each read on the other's face an unspoken fear. Simultaneously they made for the companion-ladder, colliding in their frantic rush on deck. Coming directly from the brilliantly-lighted saloon, they could see nothing at first, save the faint gleam of the binnacle lamp. That, they knew, ought to be playing upon the figure of the helmsman. It did not, merely flickering upon the gently flapping mizzen.
"Peter!" shouted the Scoutmaster, vainly hoping that Craddock might have gone for'ard.
"'Fraid he's fallen overboard!" exclaimed Mr. Clifton. "Haul on the mizzen-sheet, Grant. We'll put about. He can't have gone very long."
The owner of theThetisput the helm hard over. The Scoutmaster fumbled for the mizzen-sheet. Only a few feet remained, one end frayed like a small mop-head.
As the yacht swung head to wind before falling off on the other tack, Mr. Grant secured the swaying mizzen-boom, then going for'ard and steadying himself by the fore-stay he peered through the darkness, shouting at intervals in the hope of hearing a response from the lost Sea Scout.
It was a hopeless task. Both men realised the extreme unlikeliness of the yacht retracing her course. All they could do was to make short tacks, in the hope that by so doing they might pass within hailing distance.
"He's a good swimmer," declared Mr. Grant.
"Ten miles from the nearest land," rejoined his companion gloomily. "Might have got a crack on the head as he went overboard. I was a fool to let him remain on deck alone."
"I'm more to blame," declared Mr. Grant. "But settling the responsibility will not find him. Ahoy!" he hailed for the twentieth time.
There was not even a mocking echo in reply. The waste of darkened water, where no doubt Peter was still swimming for dear life, was an impenetrable veil. For a distance of twenty yards or so the red and green navigation lamps threw their coloured rays upon the water. Beyond that sea and sky were merged into a wall of utter darkness.
All the rest of that long night theThetiscruised round the spot where it was supposed the yacht had been when the catastrophe occurred; then with the first streaks of red dawn in the eastern sky theThetisbore up for Mapplewick.
Atsix o'clock theThetis, with her ensign flying at half-mast, staggered into Mapplewick Harbour. Willing hands assisted to berth her alongside the jetty—a willingness prompted by the sight of the half-masted colours, while a crowd of curious onlookers could hardly be restrained from questioning the two grey-faced men who formed the crew of the storm-beaten yacht.
Half-dazed by the magnitude of the calamity, Grant and Clifton went ashore to perform their sad duty—to report the loss of one of the crew and to telegraph the grim tidings to Craddock's parents.
At noon Mr. and Mrs. Craddock arrived by train.
They were met by the Scoutmaster, who fully expected to be reproached by the missing lad's parents; but not a word of that sort escaped them. They were yet to realise their loss, and were still buoyed up in the hope that Peter would yet be restored to them.
For a fortnight they remained at Mapplewick. Mr. Grant remained, too. Nothing would induce him to return to Aberstour while there was a chance that the sea might give up the body of the drowned Sea Scout.
But in spite of the assurances of the fisherfolk that the corpse would be washed ashore in Mapplewick Bay at any time after the ninth day, the fortnight passed without that grim event taking place. The sea, lashed into fury by a prolonged Equinoctial gale, refused to give up its secret.
At length, with hope all but extinguished, Peter's parents returned to Aberstour. Mr. Grant went with them. He was utterly overwhelmed by the disaster—a prey to self reproaches that he had not taken better care of the boy. He remembered with a pang of remorse his confident assurances to Mr. Clifton that Craddock could be trusted to do almost anything. Peter had proved his resourcefulness in time of danger, yet in a comparatively light wind he had vanished.
"I can never bring myself to go afloat with the troop again," he thought to himself, dreading the time when thePuffinwas due to be put into commission with her youthful crew.
One morning the Scoutmaster was interrupted in the midst of shaving by a violent knocking on the front door.
"There's Mr. Craddock to see you, sir," announced his landlady through the closed door of the bathroom, followed by a loud hammering of the caller's fists.
"News—good news!" exclaimed Mr. Craddock excitedly when the two men were face to face. "Read this, Mr. Grant. Peter's safe!"
He thrust a bulky envelope into the Scoutmaster's hands.
"Read it!" he repeated. "Everything's all right now, but it fair puzzles me how Peter got there."
With this rather vague remark Mr. Craddock sat down, breathing heavily, for he had been running.
Mr. Grant read the letter. It was from Peter, and was headed, "s.s.Boanerges, Bahia, Brazil."
It was a breezy letter, relating at some length Peter's adventures on the High Seas between Las Palmas and South America.
"I'm quite happy," it went on, "only I'd like to see you all again very soon. We're off round the Horn and then to Sydney and Singapore. I'm now rated as Able Seaman, and it's a topping life. Hope you got my letter and cablegram from Las Palmas. "Your ever loving son, "PETER CRADDOCK."
"We never got either, but I suppose they'll come along soon," said Mr. Craddock, referring to the last passage of his son's letter. "I'm real curious to know how he got picked up."
"And so am I," added the Scoutmaster, who looked as if he were ten years younger than he didten minutes before. "Andwon't he be able to tell some stories of his adventures when he does return! Able seaman already, too."
"Ay," said Mr. Craddock. "Sounds grand—not that I know what an able seaman is exactly. 'Tany rate, he says he's doing well, thanks to his training as a Sea Scout."
THE END.MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BYPURNELL AND SONS PAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON
Transcriber's Notes:This book contains a number of misprints. The following misprints have been corrected:[even amongst rogues.]→[even amongst rogues."][without watertight]→[without water-tight]{both spellings occur in the paper version. To make it consistent, the latter (also the most frequent spelling in this book) has been chosen}[Ill try not to]→[I'll try not to][outside that beacon.]→[outside that beacon."][ten minutes before. And]→[ten minutes before. "And][the accomodation on]{What appears to be a misprint was actually put in the text deliberately, as can be concluded from the text}The second item in the "List of illustrations" refers to page[60]. This has been corrected to page [61]The paper version of this book uses italic text to emphasize parts of the text. In the 'plain text' and 'HTML'-versions that will be indicated thus:_italic text_ →italic textThe pagenumbers of the paper version have been taken over in the digital 'HTML'-version, but not in the digital 'plain-text'-version. The pagenumbers in the 'HTML'-version are virtual and are placed at the top of pages. They allow you to search for text-fragments spanning two pages as if there's no pagenumber in between. At the same time, you can find a pagenumber by searching for only a pagenumber. For instance if you were to search forp.8you would find it.
This book contains a number of misprints. The following misprints have been corrected:[even amongst rogues.]→[even amongst rogues."][without watertight]→[without water-tight]{both spellings occur in the paper version. To make it consistent, the latter (also the most frequent spelling in this book) has been chosen}[Ill try not to]→[I'll try not to][outside that beacon.]→[outside that beacon."][ten minutes before. And]→[ten minutes before. "And][the accomodation on]{What appears to be a misprint was actually put in the text deliberately, as can be concluded from the text}The second item in the "List of illustrations" refers to page[60]. This has been corrected to page [61]The paper version of this book uses italic text to emphasize parts of the text. In the 'plain text' and 'HTML'-versions that will be indicated thus:_italic text_ →italic textThe pagenumbers of the paper version have been taken over in the digital 'HTML'-version, but not in the digital 'plain-text'-version. The pagenumbers in the 'HTML'-version are virtual and are placed at the top of pages. They allow you to search for text-fragments spanning two pages as if there's no pagenumber in between. At the same time, you can find a pagenumber by searching for only a pagenumber. For instance if you were to search forp.8you would find it.
This book contains a number of misprints. The following misprints have been corrected:
[even amongst rogues."]
[without water-tight]
{both spellings occur in the paper version. To make it consistent, the latter (also the most frequent spelling in this book) has been chosen}
[I'll try not to]
[outside that beacon."]
[ten minutes before. "And]
{What appears to be a misprint was actually put in the text deliberately, as can be concluded from the text}
The paper version of this book uses italic text to emphasize parts of the text. In the 'plain text' and 'HTML'-versions that will be indicated thus:_italic text_ →italic textThe pagenumbers of the paper version have been taken over in the digital 'HTML'-version, but not in the digital 'plain-text'-version. The pagenumbers in the 'HTML'-version are virtual and are placed at the top of pages. They allow you to search for text-fragments spanning two pages as if there's no pagenumber in between. At the same time, you can find a pagenumber by searching for only a pagenumber. For instance if you were to search forp.8you would find it.