“Yes, Mr Jones. Hands about ship—and—yes, by heavens, we must!—up mainsail.”
The mainsail was taken off, and the frigate appeared to be immediately relieved. She no longer jerked and plunged as before.
“We’re very near the land, Captain Wilson; thick as it is, I think I can make out the loom of it—shall we wear round, sir?” continued the master.
“Yes—hands wear ship—put the helm up.”
It was but just in time, for, as the frigate flew round, describing a circle, as she payed off before the wind, they could perceive the breakers lashing the precipitous coast not two cables’ length from them.
“I had no idea we were so near,” observed the captain, compressing his lips—“can they see anything of those vessels?”
“I have not seen them this quarter of an hour, sir,” replied the signalman, protecting his glass from the rain under his jacket.
“How’s her head now, quarter-master?”
“South south-east, sir.”
The sky now assumed a different appearance—the white clouds had been exchanged for others dark and murky, the wind roared at intervals, and the rain came down in torrents. Captain Wilson went down into the cabin to examine the barometer.