in the night and was still falling; so I made for the nearest port of refuge on the Zeeland coast, a little fishing-haven called Gillelie. When I sailed in I found that a fête was in progress, the fishermen enjoying themselves; for this happened to be the last day of their idle season; all the herringers were ready for sea, and were about to sail to the fishing-grounds round the island of Anholt on the following morning.
'I suppose you will be sailing at the same time as we do,' said a fisherman to me.
'I don't think that any of us will sail to-morrow,' I replied.
'How is that?' he asked, 'the herringers must sail.'
'It will be blowing a gale from the north-west,' I said.
'Ah, you are wrong, captain, you don't know this coast like I do.'
'I don't know anything about the coast, but come below and look at our glass.'
It had fallen another quarter of an inch and was now very low.
I was sure that a strong blow was coming. I was willing to stake my reputation on it, and, if I was wrong I would never trust in a barometer again. But my friend scouted the idea of an approaching gale, said he did not believe in glasses, and, what was more to the point, did not understand them. 'The wind is south-west' he urged; 'we never get bad weather from that quarter.'
