“I knew they would not desert us, boys,” cried Mark, with wild enthusiasm, for hope gained on him every moment as peril increased.
“Now for it, and all together,” said Tom, as he bent forward against the whistling storm, and the craft, as if instinct with life, bounded over the wave, and cleft her way through the boiling surf, while the hardy fishermen strained every nerve, and toiled with all their energy. Mark kneeling in the bow, his eyes strained to catch any signal, seemed perfectly delirious in the transport of his joy.
“Luff her, luff her—here comes a large wave—nobly done, lads—how she mounts the sea—here's another;” but the warning was this time too late, for the wave broke over the boat, and fell in torrents over the crew. With redoubled vigour the stout fellows bent to their work, and once more the boat sped on her course; while Mark cheered them with a shout heard even above the storm, and with a deep, mellow voice chanted out the rude verses of a song—
“The fisherman loves the rippled stream,
And the lover the moon-lit sea,
But the darkening squall
And the sea birds call are dearer far to me.
“To see on the white and crest'd wave
The stormy petrel float,
And then to look back On the stormy track
That glitters behind our boat.”
“Avast there, Master Mark, there's wind enough without singing for more,” cried one of the fishermen, who, with the superstition of his craft, felt by no means pleased at Mark's ditty; “and there comes a sea to poop a line of battle-ship,” and as he said the words, a wave mountains high rolled past, and left them labouring in the deep trough of the sea; while the lurid glare of sheet lightning showed all the ships of the fleet, as, with top-sails bent, they stood out to sea.
“There they go,” said one of the fishermen, “and that's all the good they've done us.”
“Pull hard, boys,” cried Mark, passionately, “it may not be yet too late, strain every arm—the fate of our country may rest upon those bending spars—together, men, together; it is not for life now, it is Ireland is on the struggle:” thus cheering the drooping courage of the men, and eagerly bending his glance towards the sea, his own heart glowed with enthusiasm that made every danger forgotten; and at last, after an hour of desperate exertion, with strength all but exhausted, and nearly overcome by fatigue, they beheld the dark hull of a large ship looming above them. By firing his pistol, Mark attracted the notice of the watch on deck; his signal was replied to, and the next moment the boat was alongside, and Mark clambering up the steep side, stood on the quarter-deck.
“Will the troops not land,” said Mark, as the officers crowded eagerly around him—“is the expedition abandoned?”
“Don't you think the hurricane might answer the question, young man?” said a weather-beaten officer, who appeared in command—“or are you so ignorant in naval matters as to suppose that a force could disembark in a gale like this?”
“It might scare a pleasure party,” said Mark, rudely, “but for men who have come to give and get hard knocks, methinks this need not disconcert them.”