Not every wave broke so high, some were only rocking slowly and cradling the boat, lifting and sucking it forward. It seemed as though the little man at the tiller could from a distance judge when a gigantic wave would come, and with a slight push at the tiller held firm or sneaked between the dreadful green walls, which threatened to spring and form an arch over the boat.
The fact was that the danger had really increased through the sail being furled, for the driving power had diminished and the sail's lifting ability must be dispensed with, therefore the surveyor's astonishment at the incredible fine maneuvering began to change to admiration.
He looked at the changing expression on the pale face and the movement in the black eyes, and felt that inside there was a combined calculation. Then not to seem superfluous himself he put out his oar, for he felt the time had come, and acknowledged willingly the superiority before it was wrung from him, thus:
"Oh, he has been at sea before!"
The fish commissioner, who was deeply occupied, and would have no intercourse whatever, as he was afraid of being surprised and deceived in a moment's weakness by the apparent external superiority of the giant, made no response.
His right glove had cracked round the thumb, and the bracelet had fallen over the hand. When the flame faded from the crest of the waves and the day closed, he took out with his left hand a lorgnette and placed it in his right eye, moving his head quickly to several points of the compass as though he would sight land, where no land was to be seen, and then threw this brief question forward.
"Have you no lighthouse on the East Skerries?"
"God knows we have not," answered the surveyor.
"Have we any shoals?"
"Deep water."