“It is freshening, by Jove!” said he, as a squall struck the vessel, and laid her almost on her beam ends, while every plank shivered as though she were rending in pieces.
“It's coming stronger, sir,” said the pilot, as he shook the sea from his rough coat and bent his gaze steadfastly towards the east; “I 'd rather not see that red sunrise. Keep her away, man, keep her away!”
“Shall we try it?” muttered Sickleton, to some whispered observations of the other.
“We may as well,” rejoined the pilot; “she 'll never hold steerage way with her present canvas, and if she won't bear the mainsail we must go on shore, and no help for it.”
“Bear a hand there, boys!” cried Sickleton; “shake out the mainsail!”
“You 'll carry away the mast,” cried Cashel, as he heard the order.
“It 's like enough,” growled the pilot, “but yonder's the lee-shore.”
“I could save her—I 'm certain I could save her,” said Cashel.
“He's thinking of the lady,” said the pilot to Sickleton; and the contemptuous tone showed how humbly he estimated him.
“Breakers ahead!—shoal water!” shouted a voice from the bow.