"I hear a strange sound," said Dick Selby, putting a tarry hand behind his red, weatherbeaten ear.
"'Tis the storm fiend laughing," said John o'Lynne.
"Nay," said Howard, "'tis the waves roaring in a cavern, and mingling with the boom cf breakers on the beach; and now we should see Phillorth Church and sands; and lo! there they are to leeward—let her fall off a few points—so—yare—John, yare, and bravely!"
Rattray Point, that low and dangerous promontory, with its burgh town, not a vestige of which now remains, were left astern, and soon Kinnaird, that tremendous headland on the Buchan coast reared its weatherbeaten brow above the foam, where the wave that rose upon the far Norwayn shore breaks upon its iron front; and now, as Howard said, Phillorth opened its friendly bay, overlooked by an ancient castle belonging to the Frazers, and its kirk of St. Modan, the confessor of King Couran.
The Harry fired a gun as a signal to her consorts, and right before the wind they stood in between the foam-drenched promontories of Cairnbulg and Frazerburgh, and came to anchor in the bay or roads, where, as the high bluffs protected them from the fury of the sea, they rode in safety.
"Thank God and St. George our anchor is down, and seems to hold bravely too!" said Howard, as the ship swung round and everything was furled, fore and aft.
"But how fareth this dainty Scottish dame to-day?" asked John o'Lynne.
Howard coloured deeply, and pretending not to have heard, looked fixedly at the bluff of Cairnbulg.
"Dost thou affect her, shipmate o' mine?"
Still no answer.