"Davie, is he not a wonderful man? Do you like him?"
"I fear him," I replied honestly. "But I think I could even love him, an' I had the chance. He is some great man, Ruth, that I know!"
"I like him, too, and I am not a bit feared of him," she said earnestly. "Say naught to anyone of what he said, Davie, for I think he would trust us more than others."
Whereto I agreed willingly enough, remembering that shoulder-grip which still burned me. But that did not save me from much speculating to myself. First, why had the old man been sailing westward in a small and battered sloop, scarce fit for coast fishing? Second, what did he know of Gib o' Clarclach? And last and greatest— who was he? These questions drove through my mind as I went back to the deck, but it was long ere any of them were answered. All that evening I looked about for the face of Gib the sailor, but saw it not.
Oddly enough, that same night a terrific gale from the south came on us. Odd, because until then the weather had been perfect, and also because of what followed. It was such a gale as I had never known before, keeping up day after day and driving us ever west and north, for the poor little "Lass" could only run with a single shred of sail to keep her right end forward.
That was a hard time for all of us. Morn and eve we held assembly in the larger of the cabins, where we men slept, and Alec Gordon led us in prayer. At each of these meetings the old stranger attended, although he took no part himself, which my father liked but ill. During those days we younger men helped the crew pull and haul, but the others were cooped up in the cabin—and a dreary place it was. Alec and the rest kept up an ever-lasting argument on Effectual Calling and Reason Annexed, together with other such topics as the articles of faith afforded, and I was glad enough to be sharing with the crew instead of listening to such talk below, for I was ever fonder of action than discussion.
I had nearly forgot the other part of our crew and cargo—Grim, who kept company with half a dozen more sheep dogs, and the poor beasts stowed away in hasty-built pens below. The day the old stranger came aboard, three of the sheep died, and what with broken legs from the rolling of the "Lass," and from sickness, the rest followed speedily. Wherein Wat Herries was proved to know his business better than my father. As for Grim, he kept close below after the storm began, and remained there in safety, keeping near to my father's heels as usual.
For a week that storm blew down on us, and there was rest or comfort for none aboard. On the seventh day we had clear weather once more and returned to our course, from which we had been sadly driven. Two days after this befell a sore accident, for Master Herries was knocked down by a lower yard breaking from its cordage, and when we picked him up his right leg was found broken below the knee.
We carried him to his cabin and there my father, who had no little leechcraft, tended him. This placed the ship in the hands of an Ireland man called Black Michael, who was good enough in his way, but a poor mate, for as events proved he had little hold on the men forward.
As if this were not enough, the storm came back upon us the next day and again the poor "Lass" fled helpless before it. It was now that first I noted a peculiar manner among the men, who like all our west coast seamen were highly superstitious. I thought little of it, nor dreamt how it tended, until one night when I crept forward to steal a pannikin of water from the butt for Grim. On my way back I heard two seamen talking in Gaelic, behind a corner of the cabins, and the wind carried me their words.