ou'west, until they
passed Gotland, and they edged west again, leaving Bornholm to port....
And they sailed past Malmoe into the Sound, heading north for the
Cattegat.... They turned the Skaw and swung her into the Skage-Rack....
And the wind held....

And once out of there, they pointed her nose nor'west by nor' as though
Iceland were only a buoy in a yacht-race.... And the wind held.... The
summer nights of the North were on them, the unearthly beauty of the
light.... There was no world.... They were sailing on the Milky Way....
Only the gurgle of the water at the bows, the _whush_ of the wake
beneath the counter, held them as by a thin umbilical cord to the world
of men.... The _whap-whap-whap_ of the cordage.... The _ting-ting-ting_
of the helmsman's bell.... The cry for'a'd: "The lights are burning
bright, sir!" ...

Section 13

The gaunt Shetlands were on their starboard beam now, the dun Orkneys
off the port bow. Sumburgh Head dropped away, and they headed due
west.... The waves were laughing, the sun rose in a great explosion
abaft of them.... The world was a very small place.... The universe so
large.... At dawn the gulls chattered and whined, and screamed until
they felt immense loneliness.... One seemed to be intruding in a world
of white feathers and cold inimical eyes, and complaints in a language
one could not understand.... So lonely ... so undefiled ... the home of
the great whale.... Here was the world as God first made it ... clean
and beautiful and absolute.... Up here steam engines seemed ridiculous
toys.... In winter the sleek seal and the great white bear.... And the
great crying of the gulls.... One thought of Adelina Patti's great
singing and wondered did it matter a lot.

And they swung sou'west by sou' to leave the Hebrides to port. They were
on the last leg of the voyage, and the wind still held....

"O Shane, it's wonderful...." She had come on deck in her man's
clothing.... She was so tall, so slim, her legs so long, it seemed some
pleasant feminine fancy of hers, not a material adaptation of the life
on board ship. "The wind will hold until we get there."

"I don't like it," Shane grumbled.

"Why, Shane? Why don't you like it?"

"We're too lucky."

"It isn't luck, Shane. It's the will of God."

"Hmm!"

"Granya!"

"Yes, Shane."

"I've just been thinking. Why couldn't you conspirators have chosen a
better time of the year than August for landing your arms? There's only
ab