VII

THE LEGEND OF "THE THREE CUPS"

"Then by some secret shrine I ride;

I hear a voice, but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,

The silver vessels sparkle clean,

The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
And solemn chaunts resound between."

TENNYSON: Sir Galahad.

UP

PON an evening in December, when the wind is in the north-east and when the ocean is grey and the sky leaden, the North Sea is not attractive. When, in addition to these cheerless circumstances, it surrounded me when I was single-handed in a small yacht at night-fall, still many miles from safety, the chances of a comfortable time seemed very remote. I could not boil a kettle and the prospect of lying at anchor until daylight was purgatorial.

I had done a somewhat foolish thing in trying to bring a yacht from Lowestoft to Harwich without any assistance, but

as most of the way I was to have a tow by a trawler, and as time was pressing, I thought I would risk it. With a wind like this, I could easily make the Stour when I cast off somewhere between Felixstowe and the Naze.

Everything went according to programme, but after I had let go and made sail several unrehearsed episodes caused delay. The wind had freshened considerably, and I was carrying far too much sail, but being single-handed I shirked taking in a reef. Soon the gaff carried away and I hove-to wallowing in a sea-way until I had made good. This all took time and I feared I might not make the entrance to the river before the tide was heavily against me. Late, however, as it was, I forged ahead over the ebb I could see that I was going to do it, the lights of Harwich heralding a safe anchorage.

It was slow work, wet work and heavy work, wind against tide and a short fierce sea. At last I was in and I took the mud not far from Harwich church upon that bit of shore where the " low-light" stands; that curious survival, once a lighthouse, now a shelter. I was in no mood for another night on board, so I stowed everything, put up a riding-light, threw some clothes into a bag and waded ashore, the tide having ebbed sufficiently to allow me to do so. Being the evening of December 5th, the temperature of the water although higher than I had expected to find it, was sufficiently low to make me vow to do no more single-handed winter cruising, whatever the pictorial possibilities might be.

The shore was deserted. It would not be likely that any one would be about in such cold weather. Against the sky

"THE WORLD FORGETTING, BY THE WORLD FORGOT."