‘The wind is drawing more to the nor’ard,’ said old Tom, as night closed in, ‘and the clouds look dirty.’
‘Bear her up a point or two,’ said I, ‘and let us stand in for Cork Harbour if it comes on to blow.’
He muttered something in reply, but I did not catch the words, nor, indeed, cared I to hear them, for I had just wrapped myself in my boat-cloak, and, stretched at full length on the shingle ballast of the yawl, was gazing in rapture at the brilliancy of the starry sky above me. Light skiffs of feathery cloud would now and then flit past, and a peculiar hissing sound of the sea told, at the same time, that the breeze was freshening. But old Tom had done his duty in mentioning this once, and thus having disburthened his conscience, he closehauled his mainsail, shifted the ballast a little to midships, and, putting up the collar of his pilot-coat, screwed himself tighter into the corner beside the tiller, and chewed his quid in quietness. The boy slept soundly in the bow, and I, lulled by the motion and the plashing waves, fell into a dreamy stupor, like a pleasant sleep. The pitching of the boat continued to increase, and twice or thrice struck by a heavy sea, she lay over, till the white waves came tumbling in over her gunwale. I heard Tom call to his boy something about the head-sail, but for the life of me I could not or would not arouse myself from a train of thought that I was following.
‘She’s a stout boat to stand this,’ said Tom, as he rounded her off at a coming wave, which, even thus escaped, splashed over us like a cataract. ‘I know many a bigger craft wouldn’t hold up her canvas under such a gale.’
‘Here it comes, father. Here’s a squall!’ cried the boy; and with a crash like thunder, the wind struck the sail, and laid the boat half under.
‘She’d float if she was full of water,’ said the old man, as the craft ‘righted.’
‘But maybe the spars wouldn’t stand,’ said the boy anxiously.
‘‘Tis what I ‘m thinking,’ rejoined the father. ‘There’s a shake in the mast, below the caps.’
‘Tell him it’s better to bear up, and go before it,’ whispered the lad, with a gesture towards where I was lying.
‘Troth, it’s little he’d care,’ said the other; ‘besides, he’s never plazed to be woke up.’