For some time the master did not think it necessary to shorten sail, but only to stretch out towards the south-east; but, as the sun mounted towards the meridian, the gale so continued to increase, that he not only found it necessary to reef, but in the end to hand almost all his canvas save the foresail. Still, as there were no clouds, no rain, no thunder nor lightning, the sea-sick Glasgow merchant dreamt of no danger.
‘Maybe,’ said the cabin-boy in passing, as the Laird happened to look up from his prostrate situation on the deck, ‘ye’ll get your ugly wish oure soon.’
The regardless manner and serious tone in which this was said had an immediate and restorative effect. Mr. Walkinshaw roused himself, and, looking round, was surprised to see the sails taken in; and, casting his eyes to leeward, beheld, with a strong emotion of consternation, the ocean boiling with tremendous violence, and the spindrift rising like steam.
‘It blows a dreadful gale?’ said he inquiringly to the master.
‘It does,’ was the emphatic reply.
‘I hope there is no danger,’ cried the merchant, alarmed, and drawing himself close under the larboard gunnel.
The master, who was looking anxiously towards Duncansby-head, which presented a stupendous tower of foaming spray, over the starboard bow, replied,—
‘I hope we shall be able to weather Noss-head.’
‘And if we do not,’ said Mr. Walkinshaw, ‘what’s to be done?’