Rising on its tranquil breast.
But, too soon, the heavenly sky
Is obscured by Nature’s hand;
And the whirlwind, passing by,
Leaves a wreck upon the strand.—Anonymous.
“A black cloud, that! rising over yonder—we shall have dirty weather to-night,” said the master of the “Flying Foam,” coming to the side of Dick Hammond, as the latter stood leaning over the bulwarks of the yacht and looking out upon the receding town and shores of St. Aubins.
Dick raised his eyes to a long black line just visible above the heights of Noirmont, and then said:
“Yes; I think it looks threatening; but the ‘Flying Foam’ is a sea-worthy little craft, I suppose?”
“Bless you, yes, sir! I’ve seen her ride safely over seas that would have swamped a ship of the line,” answered the master, as he went forward to make ready for the expected “dirty weather.”
And dirty weather it was, though not so “dirty” as to endanger the safety of the yacht.