'Oh, very rarely; your countrymen don't come so far as this--except on pleasure.' He bowed to us each and smiled.
'Not much of that to be got in Bensersiel,' I laughed.
'I'm afraid you'll have a dull afternoon. Look here. I know you can't leave your boat altogether, and it's no use asking Herr Davies; but will you drive into Esens with me and see a Frisian town--for what it's worth? You're getting a dismal impression of Friesland.' I excused myself, said I would stop with Davies; we would walk out over the sands and prospect for the evening's sail.
'Well, goodbye, then,' he said, 'till the evening. Be ready for the warp at 6.30.'
He jumped up, and the cart rattled off through the mud, crossed the bridge, and disappeared into the dreary hinterland.
Clearing the Air
'Has he gone to get the police, do you think?' said Davies, grimly.
'I don't think so,' said I. 'Let's go aboard before that customs fellow buttonholes us.'
A diminished row of stolid Frisians still ruminated over the Dulcibella. Friend Grimm was visible smoking on his forecastle. We went on board in silence.
'First of all, where exactly is Memmert?' I said.
Davies pulled down the chart, said 'There', and flung himself at full length on a sofa.
The reader can see Memmert for himself. South of Juist,1 abutting on the Ems delta, lies an extensive sandbank called Nordland, whose extreme western rim remains uncovered at the highest tides; the effect being to leave a C-shaped island, a mere paring of sand like a boomerang, nearly two miles long, but only 150yds. or so broad, of____________________