“Here she is!” thundered Amyas from the deck; and in an instant all were scrambling up the hatchway as fast as the frantic rolling of the ship would let them.
Yes. There she was. The cloud had lifted suddenly, and to the south a ragged bore of blue sky let a long stream of sunshine down on her tall masts and stately hull, as she lay rolling some four or five miles to the eastward: but as for land, none was to be seen.
“There she is; and here we are,” said Cary; “but where is here? and where is there? How is the tide, master?”
“Running up Channel by this time, sir.”
“What matters the tide?” said Amyas, devouring the ship with terrible and cold blue eyes. “Can't we get at her?”
“Not unless some one jumps out and shoves behind,” said Cary. “I shall down again and finish that mackerel, if this roll has not chucked it to the cockroaches under the table.”
“Don't jest, Will! I can't stand it,” said Amyas, in a voice which quivered so much that Cary looked at him. His whole frame was trembling like an aspen. Cary took his arm, and drew him aside.
“Dear old lad,” said he, as they leaned over the bulwarks, “what is this? You are not yourself, and have not been these four days.”
“No. I am not Amyas Leigh. I am my brother's avenger. Do not reason with me, Will: when it is over I shall be merry old Amyas again,” and he passed his hand over his brow.
“Do you believe,” said he, after a moment, “that men can be possessed by devils?”