"Oh, come, Murry! I believe you're frightened. Why, it's only a puff off shore, anyway."
"That's just it, sir. Tie them reefs, Tim, smart. The squall will catch us out here unless ye luff up, Mister Jule."
"I am luffing up all I can," I replied. "The beastly ship won't stand up to it, somehow! What's the matter?"
"It's the thun'er in the air does it. Ye see the breeze is backin' and fillin'. Give me the tiller, and go ye forward with Tim. Now, just be easy."
Murry did not often interfere with my sailing, and, therefore, I made no further objection to vacate the post of honour. He loosed the sheet, and held it in his left hand while steering the boat. Ever and anon he cast a glance above the cliff in the direction of which we were running obliquely to save all possible wind, but we did not make so much headway, as we wished to reach beneath the point of Ratcham Head for shelter.
"There she comes," cried Tim. "What a black 'un! Whiz! that's lightnin', sure."
"Yes, certainly. We're in for it, I think," I replied.
"Father don't like it, I can see. He's allus skeered in a big storm. Mother, she was struck that-a-way," he whispered.
"How dreadful! In a boat you mean?"
"In this very boat it was. They was out lookin' after nets. Father he was stoopin' forrad, a'most in the water, and mother she was steerin', when smack come the lightnin' and kill her stone dead, settin' up like a statoo, she was; and when father shouted at her to keep up, she set, and set, until he went on savage, and then found her struck. There it is again!"