The next minute Syd was beside him, holding on to the rocky edge of the cleft, high up above the guns, catching the full force of the wind. Down below they were in complete shelter. Here the gale had such power that it was impossible to stand securely. The wind shrieked about their ears, and seemed to come at them in huge waves, each throwing them back against the rock, and now and then making what felt like a snatch to tear them from where they stood, and hurl them down the rocks, or blow them away to sea.
“I say,” cried Roylance, panting to get his breath, and holding his lips close to his companion’s ear, “they must be having it pretty rough on board to-night.”
“Think there’s any danger?” shouted Syd.
“Not if they keep well out to sea. Eh? What?”
“I didn’t speak,” roared Syd; “it was the wind howling.”
“Hadn’t we better get down? I feel as if I was going to be blown right off.”
“Wait a bit. I say, I think I’ll have a man posted here by this gun.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, at once.”
“Nonsense, man; there’s no one on the rock but ourselves, and no enemy could come near us in this gale.”