"Ye see how she takes it?" he bawled down the wind to his son. "No excuse for steaming wide; ye can drive her to a hair. Keep your eyes on that light to port; we don't want anything bumping into us."
"You wouldn't ease her a bit, then?" shouted the mate, the wind snatching his words.
"Ease her!" was the reply. "You'd have her edging into France. She'll lie her course while we drive her."
When dawn came up the sea had mounted; the Bay was going to be true to its name. Captain Price went to his chart-house at midnight, to sleep on a settle; but by his orders the Burdock was kept to her course and her gait, battering away at the gale contentedly.
After breakfast, he took another look round and then went below to rest in his bunk, while the tell-tale swam in wild eccentrics above his upturned face. After a while he dozed off to sleep, lulled by the click of furnishings that rendered to the ship's roll, the drum of the seas on her plates, and the swish of loose water across the deck.
He was roused by his steward. That menial laid a hand on his shoulder and he was forthwith awake and competent.
"A ship to windward, sir, showin' flags," said the steward. "The mate 'ud be glad if you'd go to the bridge."
"A' right," said the Captain, and stood up. "In distress, eh?"
"By the looks of her, sir," admitted the steward, who had been a waiter ashore. "She seems to be a mast or two short, sir, so far as I can tell. But I couldn't be sure."
He helped the Captain into his oilskins deftly, pulling his jacket down under the long coat, and held the door open for him.