A Desperate Voyage — A Reader’s Guide

(0 User reviews) 2013

In Category - Exploration Survival Adventure Tales

Authors: Knight, E. F. (Edward Frederick), 1852-1925 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2012 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Pirates -- Fiction; Lawyers -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 56,803

Reading time 247 min

Text sections 6

The catalog record for A Desperate Voyage — A Reader’s Guide provides practical reading context through 56,803 words, 4 hr 7 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 17.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Pirates -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #39082

This editorial note examines the structural interplay between London law offices and a scuttled yacht, focusing on the protagonist's calculated descent into crime and the recurring image of the syphon as a symbol of controlled risk.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg39082

Read the Text

This was the one taste he had in common with Carew. It was at some yacht club, of which they were both members, that they had become acquainted.

It was a lovely August evening. The windows of Allen's bachelor chambers in the Temple were open, and through them could be seen that fair oasis of London's desert of bricks and mortar, Fountain Court, with its stately buildings, ancient trees, and quiet garden with splashing fountains in its midst. Nor was the view confined; for, beyond the chapel and the green, could be perceived the broad, gleaming Thames, and the distant Surrey shore, glorified by a faint mist; a peaceful, old-world spot, with a contemplative air about it, for it is haunted by the memories of much departed greatness. Allen was reclining in a comfortable arm-chair, drawn up to the open window, in whose recesses geraniums bloomed, their vivid blossoms occasionally shaking beneath the breath of the soft south wind that had come directly from the cool river.

He smoked his pipe as he looked out upon the sweet sunset scene, his mind happily occupied in planning his coming cruise, when his meditations were interrupted by a knock at the outer door. He rose to admit his visitor, opened the door, and there stood before him Henry Carew in serge suit and yachting cap, a small Gladstone bag in his hand.

"Hallo, Carew, old man! you have not been long replying to my letter. I was afraid you would have left the office before it reached you. Come in."

"Are you alone?" inquired Carew, in a low voice.

"Yes, quite alone. I am smoking a pipe of peace by myself. You have just come at the right time."

They entered the room, and then, as the light of the sunset fell upon the solicitor's face, Allen perceived its haggard expression.

"How queer you look, Carew!" he exclaimed. "Are you ill?"

"Ill--no, not at all; but worried--worried almost out of my life," replied Carew wildly, throwing himself into a chair, and putting his face between his hands.

Allen sat in a chair opposite to him, refilled and lit his pipe, and, as he smoked, gazed at his friend with feelings of perplexed compassion.

"Have a pipe, old fellow; there is nothing like a pipe for worry."

"A pipe?" cried Carew, with contemptuous bitterness. "No; but have you some brandy? Give me some brandy."

"Certainly, Carew," and the barrister produced a spirit-case, some glasses, and water.

Carew poured a quantity of spirit into a glass and drank it neat. He was usually a temperate man.

"That is not the way to clear one's brain for confronting one's troubles," remarked Allen.

"No, you are right. It is foolish of me. Allen, I have come to say that I shall be very glad to accompany you on your cruise."

"I am delighted to hear that. A good blow in the North Sea will do you good, if your mind is so upset."

"Allen," said Carew, pulling himself together and speaking with more self-possession, "I wish I could speak to you of the business that is troubling me, but I am not at liberty to do so. It concerns others."

"I don't want to know anything about it, old man; but I am sure you will soon get out of your trouble, whatever it is. With an easy conscience no man is miserable for long. And now that I have secured you as a hand, I have a sufficient crew. So we will start to-morrow morning. Will you be ready by then?"

"I am ready now. You see I have brought my baggage with me."

"Then, as we have to catch an early train to-morrow, you had better sleep to-night in my chambers; I can put you up. Our destination is the Dutch coast, old man, and we should have a jolly time of it. You have not yet seen my new boat, the _Petrel_--a yawl of twenty-eight tons, yacht measurement; a splendid sea-boat. I would go anywhere in her. She is now lying off Erith."

Carew had been listening attentively. "What crew do you carry?" he asked.

"Ah, let me tell you that you will have lots of work to do. We shall be but three all told. I have shipped one hand only--Jim, the fisherman, who was with me last year. Another friend was coming with me, but he has disappointed me."

"For how long will you be away?"

"About a fortnight. I have been a bit fagged of late, and want a holiday. I only made up my mind to take this cruise this afternoon. Not a soul but yourself knows we are going."

Continue Reading →

The novel opens not at sea but in Carey Street, Chancery Lane, where the solicitor Henry Carew, described as having “all a sailor's bluff manner,” confronts his financial ruin in a locked office. This land-bound setting establishes a pattern: the narrative repeatedly shuttles between the rigid world of law and the fluid, lawless domain of the ocean. The transition is marked by Carew’s own transformation—from a man who “loathed” crime to one who meticulously plans a maritime fraud.

The Office as Prologue

The first chapter grounds the story in the mundane specifics of a solicitor’s office: a “huge block of new buildings facing the Law Courts,” a list of names on the door, and a partner dead from gout. This setting is not mere backdrop; it establishes the stakes. Carew’s moral flaw—a “slight” one that friends tolerate—is introduced here, and the language of legal consequence (“sins had found him out”) foreshadows the elaborate schemes to come. The office, with its locked doors and piles of papers, becomes a space of private agony before the action moves to open water.

The Syphon as Structural Motif

A recurring technical image dominates the preparation for the yacht’s scuttling: the syphon. Carew bends lead piping into a “lengthened U,” fills it with water, and uses it to control the inflow. The mate Baptiste’s admiration—“You are a very clever man”—underscores the precision of the plan. Yet the syphon also mirrors the novel’s own structure: a system of controlled flow, where pressure builds in one setting (the office) and is released in another (the sea). The double plug, the backup syphon, the careful calculation of risk—these details suggest a narrative that values method over impulse.

Movement Between Worlds

The excerpted passages show a deliberate oscillation between land and sea. Carew is first seen in London, then later commands a yacht. The transition is abrupt but logical: the legal world’s failure drives him to the maritime. The yacht itself becomes a hybrid space—a vessel of escape that is also a stage for deception. When Carew explains his scuttling plan, he uses the language of a “wise general” securing retreat, blending military and nautical terminology. This movement is not just physical; it reflects a shift in identity from solicitor to captain, from upholder of law to orchestrator of fraud.

The Crew as Audience

Baptiste, the mate, functions as a critical observer within the text. His reactions—sighing over Carew’s “unfortunate scruples,” praising his ingenuity—provide a running commentary on the protagonist’s actions. The crew’s presence turns Carew’s preparations into a performance; they watch, question, and approve. This dynamic creates a layered reading experience: the reader, like Baptiste, is invited to admire the cleverness of the scheme while recognizing its moral weight. The mate’s remark that Carew would make “a splendid pirate” highlights the tension between technical skill and ethical boundaries.

Readers attentive to structure will notice how the novel uses physical spaces—the locked office, the deck of the yacht—to mirror psychological states. The syphon, with its careful balance of inflow and outflow, is a fitting emblem for a story that hinges on controlled release. Pay attention to how each scene shift reinforces Carew’s dual identity as solicitor and sailor, and how the crew’s reactions guide our own judgment of his descent.

Sitting with this guide, I remembered a damp afternoon spent tracing how restraint can curdle into risk-taking. That same patient dread surfaced years ago when I followed Wilhelm’s wanderings—his careful steps toward unknown purpose felt like walking a deck that tilts, quietly, underfoot. There’s a sober comfort in that echo. Wilhelm Meister's apprenticeship and travels, vol. 1 (of 2) — Themes and Context offered me the same unhurried permission to sit with uncertainty.