“What do you think o' this business, Herm?” asked Buckingham.
“Oh—well, it ain't but three hours in this wind.”
“I don't like them tops'ls.”
Peabody had no reply to this.
“What the devil's he runnin' way out here for?”
Peabody turned toward Point Sable; and then they both looked in silence. They could see the white line of the surf, due south. On the bluff the trees were tossing and bending.
Buckingham was the first to turn away. “Look there!” he exclaimed, gripping Peabody's arm. “Hi there, Hunch!” A black squall was sweeping down from the north, as sharply defined on the water as if laid out with a rule. Before the line were the leaden billows, behind it a black, wrinkled surface, dotted with whitecaps. “Hi there, Hunch!”
But Hunch's eyes had been long trained to take in a full circle at a glance. “Ready about!” he was bellowing, “Ready about!”
The wheel spun around, the jibs flapped, the schooner reeled as she swung lazily up. The three men watched the squall. Slowly—slowly—creaking angrily—Will she make it?—No—Yes—No——
“Struck, by——! Hold fast, boys! Hold fast!”