Each man looked in the other's face: but Amyas was unmoved.
“The storm is coming,” said he, “and the wind in it. It will be Eastward-ho now, for once, my merry men all!”
“Eastward-ho never brought us luck,” said Jack in an undertone to Cary. But by this time all eyes were turned to the north-west, where a black line along the horizon began to define the boundary of sea and air, till now all dim in mist.
“There comes the breeze.”
“And there the storm, too.”
And with that strangely accelerating pace which some storms seem to possess, the thunder, which had been growling slow and seldom far away, now rang peal on peal along the cloudy floor above their heads.
“Here comes the breeze. Round with the yards, or we shall be taken aback.”
The yards creaked round; the sea grew crisp around them; the hot air swept their cheeks, tightened every rope, filled every sail, bent her over. A cheer burst from the men as the helm went up, and they staggered away before the wind, right down upon the Spaniard, who lay still becalmed.
“There is more behind, Amyas,” said Cary. “Shall we not shorten sail a little?”
“No. Hold on every stitch,” said Amyas. “Give me the helm, man. Boatswain, pipe away to clear for fight.”