“To windward of us, as likely as not,” said Amyas. “The devil fights for him, I believe. To have been on his heels sixteen days, and not sent this through him yet!” And he shook his sword impatiently.
So the morning wore away, without a sign of living thing, not even a passing gull; and the black melancholy of the heaven reflected itself in the black melancholy of Amyas. Was he to lose his prey after all? The thought made him shudder with rage and disappointment. It was intolerable. Anything but that.
“No, God!” he cried, “let me but once feel this in his accursed heart, and then—strike me dead, if Thou wilt!”
“The Lord have mercy on us,” cried John Brimblecombe. “What have you said?”
“What is that to you, sir? There, they are piping to dinner. Go down. I shall not come.”
And Jack went down, and talked in a half-terrified whisper of Amyas's ominous words.
All thought that they portended some bad luck, except old Yeo.
“Well, Sir John,” said he, “and why not? What better can the Lord do for a man, than take him home when he has done his work? Our captain is wilful and spiteful, and must needs kill his man himself; while for me, I don't care how the Don goes, provided he does go. I owe him no grudge, nor any man. May the Lord give him repentance, and forgive him all his sins: but if I could but see him once safe ashore, as he may be ere nightfall, on the Mortestone or the back of Lundy, I would say, 'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace,' even if it were the lightning which was sent to fetch me.”
“But, master Yeo, a sudden death?”
“And why not a sudden death, Sir John? Even fools long for a short life and a merry one, and shall not the Lord's people pray for a short death and a merry one? Let it come as it will to old Yeo. Hark! there's the captain's voice!”