. . . . . .
When Sandie retired to bed that night, the wind still howled and raged around the fisherman’s cottage, and the breakers broke in thunder on the beach.
When Sandie awoke next morning, the wind was hushed, the waves had gone down, and the sun was just rising over the eastern horizon and changing all the sea to blood.
As he hastened away to his pool to enjoy his bath, he found all along the shore a huge embankment of brown seaweed of every sort, that the sea had flung up in its wrath. This was mingled with dead fish of many kinds, especially dog-fish and herrings. Crabs too there were in abundance, and here and there sodden salt-encrusted spars of wood. Could these spars have told their story, a sad one indeed it would have been—a story of tempest and shipwreck, of widows’ tears and orphans’ cries.
Although the eastern sky was pretty clear, heavy clouds hung low on the horizon in every other direction, and the waves that now broke more lazily on the golden sands had a sullen boom in them that somehow, to Sandie’s ears, was far from reassuring.
However, all preparations were made that afternoon for another night at sea.
It seemed, as the day drew near a close, that the wind meant to veer round to the north-west entirely, and though it might blow fresh for a time, no one imagined it would be so high as to interfere in any great degree with the catch.
What was the matter with John to-night, I wonder? I am sure I cannot tell, but although he had already twice bidden his Eppie good-bye, he must run back once more, just as all hands were on board and sail was being hoisted, to say good-night again.
. . . . . .
Away went John’s great boat, fleet and swift upon the wings of that nor’-western breeze. And away went fifty other boats as well, spreading out as they gave the land a wide berth, so as not to hamper each other.