About that time many events had occurred at sea, and amongst others, the defeat of the Baron de Pointi’s eight ships off Cape Carnero, which had driven the whole French fleet into refuge at Gibraltar; so that the Channel was swept of every man-of-war, and merchant vessels were able to sail backwards and forwards between London and Rotterdam, without a convoy.

The vessel on which was to be read the word Vograat, and which Gwynplaine was now close to, lay with her main-deck almost level with the wharf.  But one step to descend, and Homo in a bound, and Gwynplaine in a stride, were on board.

The deck was clear, and no stir was perceptible.  The passengers, if, as was likely, there were any, were already on board, the vessel being ready to sail, and the cargo stowed, as was apparent from the state of the hold, which was full of bales and cases.  But they were, doubtless, lying asleep in the cabins below, as the passage was to take place during the night.  In such cases the passengers do not appear on deck till they awake the following morning.  As for the crew, they were probably having their supper in the men’s cabin, whilst awaiting the hour fixed for sailing, which was now rapidly approaching.  Hence the silence on the two decks connected by the gangway.

The wolf had almost run across the wharf; once on board, he slackened his pace into a discreet walk.  He still wagged his tail—­no longer joyfully, however, but with the sad and feeble wag of a dog troubled in his mind.  Still preceding Gwynplaine, he passed along the after-deck, and across the gangway.

Gwynplaine, having reached the gangway, perceived a light in front of him.  It was the same that he had seen from the shore.  There was a lantern on the deck, close to the foremast, by the gleam of which was sketched in black, on the dim background of the night, what Gwynplaine recognized to be Ursus’s old four-wheeled van.

This poor wooden tenement, cart and hut combined, in which his childhood had rolled along, was fastened to the bottom of the mast by thick ropes, of which the knots were visible at the wheels.  Having been so long out of service, it had become dreadfully rickety; it leant over feebly on one side; it had become quite paralytic from disuse; and, moreover, it was suffering from that incurable malady—­old age.  Mouldy and out of shape, it tottered in decay.  The materials of which it was built were all rotten.  The iron was rusty, the leather torn, the wood-work worm-eaten.  There were lines of cracks across the window in front, through which shone a ray from the lantern.  The wheels were warped.  The lining, the floor, and the axletrees seemed worn out with fatigue.  Altogether, it presented an indescribable appearance of beggary and prostration.  The shafts, stuck up, looked like two arms raised to heaven.  The whole thing was in a state of dislocation.  Beneath it was hanging Homo’s chain.