“Throw that sail over Miss Mary, for it will soon come down heavily.”
A loud clap of thunder burst forth, and as suddenly, like a torrent, the rain poured down, hissing over the dark sea, and filling the air with a dull, discordant noise. Still they slept on, nor heard nor felt aught of that gathering storm.
“There now, sure enough, it 's coming,” cried a boatman, as the sail shook tremulously; and two great waves, in quick succession, broke over the bow.
“We'll have to run for Innishmore,” said another, “and lucky if we get there before it comes on worse.”
“You ought to wake her up, Loony, and ask her what we are to do.”
“I 'll make straight for the harbor of Kilkieran,” replied the helmsman. “The wind is with us, and she's a good sea-boat. Take in the jib, Maurice, and we'll shorten all sail on her, and—”
The rest of his speech was drowned in the uproar of a tremendous sea, which struck the boat on her quarter and nearly overset her. Not another word was now uttered, as, with the instinct of their calling, they set about to prepare for the coming conflict. The mainsail was quickly lowered and reefed, the oars and loose spars secured, and then, seating themselves in the bottom of the boat, they waited in silence. By this time the rain had passed over, and a strong wind swept over the sea.
“She's going fast through the water, anyway!” said one of the men. But though the speech was meant to cheer, none felt or acknowledged the encouragement.
“I 'd rather than own Cro' Martin Castle Miss Mary was safe at home!” said Loony, as he drew the rough sleeve of his coat across his eyes, “for it's thicker it's getting over yonder!”
“It would be a black day that anything happened her!” muttered another.