As John’s boat opened out the rocky promontory, the wind blew higher and higher.
“I think,” said John to his mate, “we better take in a reef. What think ye, men?”
“To be surely,” said a Skyeman, “and it is myself that would close-reef her entirely evermore.”
“Weel, men, close-reefin’ be it.”
And in a short time the thing was accomplished.
Under the influence of so strong a breeze the boat soon reached the fishing-ground. Just as a round moon rose slowly up from the sea, fighting every foot of its way through stormy clouds that raced across the sky, the net was paid out.
Despite the disturbed nature of the sea, fortune appeared to favour them, and a good haul was their reward.
This was succeeded by other good hauls, but by this time—it was now past midnight—the weather seemed so threatening, and the wind so stormy, it was deemed advisable to make their last haul, and bear up for the harbour. As it was, they would have to sail pretty close to the wind to make it, but John knew the qualities of his sturdy little vessel and had no fear.
Already they could see in the glimmering moonlight many of the other boats hurrying past them shorewards, and no doubt dreading the oncoming of some fearful tempest.
While they were preparing to put about, Sandie suddenly clutched John by the arm and tremblingly pointed shorewards.