"There are the ports of Quimper, Doualan, Auray, and Morbihan," said Pierre, counting them on his fingers. "All of easy distance from Hennebon—though, perchance, we may receive a rough handling when we arrive. Ma foi! And the passage of the Chenal du Four 'Twould be quicker and safer to run into St. Brieuc."
"St. Brieuc!" exclaimed Redward, referring to a very rough plan. "Why, 'tis at least twenty leagues from the town to which we journey."
"Twenty leagues by land, as ye say," replied the Guernseyman doggedly. "But if 'tis a question of time, commend me to St. Brieuc, for if we lose the wind or have a contrary wind off Ushant, it may mean a week's buffeting in the Chenal du Four, with a score of reefs and unseen rocks on each side of us."
"As ye will, then," assented Redward; and he moved away to tell Raymond of the alteration of their plans.
But the young squire was in no fit mood to be informed. The long, swinging motion and the heat of the sun had done their work, and he lay prone on the deck in the miseries of sea-sickness. Knowing that any attempt at consolation would only aggravate the malady, the master-bowman turned away, and, leaning against the low bulwarks, gazed intently towards the still invisible French coast.
Late in the afternoon the grey cliffs of La Hogue and the dark outline of the Isle of Aurigny were sighted; but just before sundown the wind died utterly away, leaving the little craft wallowing heavily in the long swell, her sail flapping idly against the mast.
The sky, hitherto clear and cloudless, was now overcast, and away towards the southward a succession of flashes of lightning betokened an approaching storm.
Even Pierre de la Corbière, bold fisherman as he was, looked anxious, for the vessel was now beginning to feel the influence of the dreadful Race of Alderney, and, with a lack of wind and a dark night to boot, the terrors of the Race were considerably magnified.
About midnight they were in the thick of it. A slight breeze had sprung up, but barely sufficient to give the boat steerage-way. All around were tremendous broken waves, and, although Pierre stood gripping the tiller in an endeavour to avoid the heaviest breakers, the boat was urged onwards through the Race at the rate that a horse would trot, her mast threatening to snap under the irregular action of the vicious cross seas.
Throughout the tumult Raymond lay like a log, utterly unmindful of the danger, his illness having completely overcome him. His father took the precaution to lash him to the mast, and throughout that fearful night Redward remained by his side, making endless vows to the saints, which he heartily meant to fulfil should they ever again reach dry land.