In my heart I blessed the chance that had stored it ready to my hand.

Stumbling through dark and tortuous streets where the moon’s frosty brilliance was almost completely hidden, I came at last to the waterman’s door and knocked.  He was in bed and for some time my summons was in vain.  At last I heard a sound in the room above, the window was let down and a sulky voice said, “Who’s there?”

“Is that you, Bagnell?” I answered.  “Come down.  It is I, Mr. Trenoweth, and I want you.”

There was a low cursing, a long pause broken by a muttered dispute upstairs, and then the street door opened and Bagnell appeared with a lantern.

“Bagnell, I want my boat.”

“To-night, sir?  And at this hour?”

“Yes, to-night.  I want it particularly.”

“But it is put away behind a dozen others, and can’t be got.”

“Never mind.  I will help if you want assistance, but I must have it.”

Bagnell looked at me for a minute and I could see that he was cursing under his breath.

“Is it serious, sir?  You’re not—­”

“I am not drunk, if that is what you mean, but perfectly serious, and I must have my boat.”

“Won’t another do as well?”

“No, it will not.”  I felt in my pockets and found two sovereigns and a few shillings.  “Look here,” I said, “I will give you two pounds if you get this boat out for me.”

This conquered his reluctance.  He stared for a moment as I mentioned the amount, and then hastily deciding that I was stark mad, but that it was none of his business, put on his hat and led the way down to his boat-yard.

Stumbling in the uncertain light over innumerable timbers, spars, and old oars, we reached the shed at length and together managed, after much delay, to get out the light boat and let her down to the water.  I gave him the two sovereigns as well as the few shillings that remained in my pocket, and as I descended, reflected grimly that after all they were better in his possession; the man who should find my body would have so much the less spoil.  We had scarcely spoken whilst we were getting the boat out, and what words we used were uttered in that whisper which night always enforces; but as I clambered down (for the tide was now far out) and Bagnell passed down the sculls, he asked—­

“When will you be back, sir?”

The same question!  I gave it the same answer.  “Not before morning,” I said, and with a few strokes was out upon the tide and pulling down the river.  I saw him standing there above in the moonlight, still wondering, until he faded in the dim haze behind.  My boat was a light Thames dingey, so that although I felt the tide running up against me, it nevertheless made fair progress.  What decided me to pull against the tide rather than float quietly upwards I do not know to this day.  So deadened and vague was all my thought, that it probably never occurred to me to correct the direction in which the first few strokes had taken me.  I was conscious of nothing but a row of lights gliding past me on either hand, of here and there a tower or tall building, that stood up for an instant against the sky and then swam slowly out of sight, of the creaking of my sculls in the ungreased rowlocks, and, above all, the white shimmer of the moon following my boat as it swung downwards.