“The barometer has risen,” said he on his return on deck. “Is the wind steady?”
“No, sir, she’s up and off three points.”
“This will end in a south-wester.”
The wet and heavy sails now flapped from the shifting of the wind.
“Up with the helm, quarter-master.”
“Up it is—she’s off to south-by-west.”
The wind lulled, the rain came down in a deluge—for a minute it was quite calm, and the frigate was on an even keel.
“Man the braces. We shall be taken aback directly, depend upon it.”
The braces were hardly stretched along before this was the case. The wind flew round to the south-west with a loud roar, and it was fortunate that they were prepared—the yards were braced round, and the master asked the captain what course they were to steer.
“We must give it up,” observed Captain Wilson, holding on by the belaying pin. “Shape our course for Cape Sicie, Mr Jones.”