I had accepted an invitation to dinner on the following day with the
captain of the whaler. We had got on famously together. His manners were
not those of polite society, but there was nothing vulgar or commonplace
about him. And besides it was the only way in which I could get Yves on
board his ship.
I half expected on the following morning, at daybreak, to find that the
whaler had disappeared, flown during the night like a wild bird. But no;
there it was in its position off-shore, with all its black fringes in
its shrouds, standing out against the great circular mirror of the
waters; which, on that morning, were motionless, and heavy, and
gleaming, like coulées of silver.
The invitation was seriously meant, therefore, and they were waiting for
me. As a precaution, the captain had decided that the crew of the cutter
which took me should be armed and should remain with me throughout. This
fitted in admirably so far as Yves was concerned, and I took him with me
as coxswain.