know. He had not given a thought to the matter. And with
a faint smile he flitted away from me on his never-ending duties, with
his usual guarded activity.

Two more days passed. We had advanced a little way--a very little
way--into the larger space of the Gulf of Siam. Seizing eagerly upon
the elation of the first command thrown into my lap, by the agency of
Captain Giles, I had yet an uneasy feeling that such luck as this has
got perhaps to be paid for in some way. I had held, professionally,
a review of my chances. I was competent enough for that. At least, I
thought so. I had a general sense of my preparedness which only a man
pursuing a calling he loves can know. That feeling seemed to me the most
natural thing in the world. As natural as breathing. I imagined I could
not have lived without it.

I don't know what I expected. Perhaps nothing else than that
special intensity of existence which is the quintessence of youthful
aspirations. Whatever I expected I did not expect to be beset by
hurricanes. I knew better than that. In the Gulf of Siam there are no
hurricanes. But neither did I expect to find myself bound hand and foot
to the hopeless extent which was revealed to me as the days went on.

Not that the evil spell held us always motionless. Mysterious currents
drifted us here and there, with a stealthy power made manifest only by
the changing vistas of the islands fringing the east shore of the Gulf.
And there were winds, too, fitful and deceitful. They raised hopes only
to dash them into the bitterest disappointment, promises of advance
ending in lost ground, expiring in sighs, dying into dumb stillness in
which the currents had it all their own way--their own inimical way.

The island of Koh-ring, a great, black, upheaved ridge amongst a lot of
tiny islets, lying upon the glassy water like a triton amongst minnows,
seemed to be the centre of the fatal circle. It seemed impossible to get
away from it. Day after day it remained in sight. More than once, in
a favourable breeze, I would take its bearings in the fast-ebbing
twilight, thinking that it was for the last time. Vain hope. A night of
fitful airs would undo the gains of temporary favour, and the rising
sun would throw out the black relief of Koh-ring looking more barren,
inhospitable, and grim than ever.

"It's like being bewitched, upon my word," I said once to Mr. Burns,
from my usual position in the doorway.

He was sitting up in his bed-place.