Markham seemed to derive some relief from railing at the fishermen, singly and collectively, while Mr. Ashford tried to learn the real facts, and gather opinions as to the chance of safety. The old fishermen held that there was frightful risk, though the attempt was far from hopeless; they said the young men were all good at their oars, Sir Guy knew the rocks very well, and the chief fear was, that he might not know how to steer in such a sea; but they had seen that, though daring, he was not rash. They listened submissively to Mr. Markham, but communicated in an under-tone to the vicar, how vain it would have been to attempt to restrain Sir Guy.
‘Why, sir,’ said old James Robinson, ‘he spoke just like the captain of a man-of-war, and for all Mr. Markham says, I don’t believe he’d have been able to gainsay him.’
‘Your son is gone with him?’
‘Ay, sir; and I would not say one word to stop him. I know Sir Guy won’t run him into risk for nothing; and I hope, please God, if Ben comes back safe, it may be the steadying of him.’
‘’Twas he that volunteered to go before Sir Guy came, they say?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the old man, with a pleased yet melancholy look. ‘Ben’s brave enough; but there’s the difference. He’d have done it for the lark, and to dare the rest; but Sir Guy does it with thought, and because it is right. I wish it may be the steadying of Ben!’
The shower rushed over them again, shorter and less violent than the former one, but driving in most of the crowd, and only leaving on the quay the vicar, the steward, and a few of the most anxious fishermen. They could see nothing; for the dark slanting line of rain swept over the waves, joining together the sea and thick low cloud; and the roaring of the sea and moaning of the wind were fearful. No one spoke, till at last the black edges of the Shag loomed clearer, the moon began to glance through the skirts of the cloud, and the heaving and tossing of the sea, became more discernible.
‘There!—there!’ shouted young Jem, the widow’s son.
‘The boats?’
‘One!’