Just at that moment there was a tremendous crack overhead, followed by a snapping as of pistol-shots; for one of the sails had got loose, and was now being torn into ribbons, which snapped and cracked like so many cart-whips on a gigantic scale.
“Is that dangerous?” I shouted, for the wind carried away my voice.
“No; a blessing, my lad. It will save her. I only want steering power. Look here, don’t fire unless you are obliged. If you do, mind, I take it as a signal that you want help, both of you; and then of course we shall come to your help. But what about Mr Denning?”
As he spoke, the invalid came struggling along by the bulwarks, and I ran to help him to where he could stand in shelter.
“Glad to see you, Mr Denning. Ah, that’s right. Rather a small pistol, but I dare say it can do its duty. You will help them?”
“As far as my strength will let me,” he said.
“That’s right. Now, Mr Preddle, I must go. Sorry about your fish, but we can do nothing till the weather mends.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Mr Preddle yelled.
“I don’t hear that crying out now.”
“No; I haven’t heard it since Mr Dale came,” panted Mr Preddle, with the wind driving his words back so that he could hardly get his breath.