“Here it comes!—here it comes, sir!”
Nor were the words well out, when, like a thunder-clap, the wind struck the sail, and bent the mast over like a whip. For an instant it seemed as if she were going down by the prow; but she righted again, and, shivering in every plank, held on her way.
“That 's as much as she could do,” said the sailor; “and I would not like to ax her to do more.”
“I agree with you,” said Harcourt, secretly stealing his feet back again into his shoes, which he had just kicked off.
“It's freshening it is every minute,” said the man; “and I'm not sure that we could make the islands if it lasts.”
“Well,—what then?”
“There's nothing for it but to be blown out to say,” said he, calmly, as, having filled his tobacco-pipe, he struck a light and began to smoke.
“The very thing I was wishing for,” said Harcourt, touching his cigar to the bright ashes. “How she labors! Do you think she can stand this?”
“She can, if it's no worse, sir.” “But it looks heavier weather outside.”
“As well as I can see, it's only beginnin'.”