Captain Cole shook his head in a knowing way.
“Oh, I tell you it’s coming, sure; you can make up your mind to that. I tell you that a howler is coming up!”
The captain arose and went on deck, and Harry followed him, that he might see for himself the prospect before them.
The change that he encountered was enough to make the strongest man, unaccustomed to the sea, draw back in terror.
It was of pitchy darkness, and the gale, as it whistled through the rigging, rose and swelled like the shrieking of spirits in the air, as they floated high above the mast, or glided over the deck; the wind that blew against his cheeks brought with it the brine of the ocean, and he instinctively clapped his hand upon his head to prevent his hat being carried away.
The sloop was pitching and tossing quite heavily, but still she held her own. All sail was crowded on, and she seemed to be under capital control, if it would only last.
The captain speedily vanished in the gloom, as he went to take his place at the helm, and relieve the mate, who had been stationed there during his absence.
When Harry found himself out of the cabin and upon the deck, he staggered to the gunwale, where he caught hold with both hands and held on, while he listened and looked, and endeavored to gain a fair view of the situation.
“There is a strong gale of wind,” he thought, as the spray went dashing over his head; “but I can not see why there should be any great danger. She has not taken in any sail yet, and so long as the wind keeps as it is, it will only hurry us on our way.”
Looking aloft, not a star was to be seen. The sky seemed to be wrapped in the densest, blackest gloom.