Malachi did as he was told, and peered anxiously into the grey veil ahead; but he could see nothing, only tumbling waves rising and falling, leaping up like grey shadows, and disappearing in the misty gloom.
Suddenly Malachi felt the boat give a violent lurch, followed by a dizzy rush, and he found himself in water nearly up to his waist. What was it? What had happened?
The oar had broken, and the boat had come round into the trough of the sea, and was in imminent danger of being rolled over or swamped.
All were now aroused, for most were lying in the water, which half filled the boat. However, Ceolwulf had seized another oar the moment the catastrophe happened, and with great quickness had brought her round to the course she was running, and then directed the men to bail the water out.
Once more they rushed wildly on; while poor brother Malachi, murmuring "De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine," drenched to the skin, gazed out into the darkness.
For the next quarter of an hour or so nothing disturbed the monotony of the rushing waters, the creaking mast, the occasionally flapping sail as the boat sank into the trough of the sea, or the whistling of the wind; everything in the boat was getting covered with a white pall, and the discomfort of all was great.
Suddenly Malachi shouted out:
"Land! land! right ahead. I see——"
But his words were lost in a wild crash, that hurled Ceolwulf and Athelhune into the bottom of the boat, and pitched poor Malachi head over heels overboard.
CHAPTER VIII.