I approved her, and lay back, smiling, in the I heard Wesley's little old voice pipe up, considerately: "You'll scare 'em jest as well if you do go to sleep, major."
I kept on smiling. The sun seemed a lake of glory and I a boatman, fair and free, sailing vast distances upon it with just one stroke of my wand-oar—and here I began to scare the crows unconsciously.
The air of the Basin anon exhilarated one, anon soothed one into wondrous, deep, peace-drunken slumber.
When I awoke Vesty stood over me, calling me.
There was a purple, dark sky—now but little after mid-day—glowing with red at the edges like a sunset; the wind was blowing strong. It was dark, yet all was distinct about me. I sprang to my feet with a sort of solemn exultation and bared my head.
"Wake, major, wake!" Vesty cried to me. She drew me and pointed out to sea. "Notely's boat—it was trying to make home—it is on the reefs."
I saw it then by a flash of that unearthly light, the wind descending like the last of days. I hastened with Vesty to the low beach, where the people were moving strangely, looking out on the sea with its swift-crested breakers.
From the yacht, beating helpless on the ledges, Notely and the few who had sailed with him that morning were putting out the life-boat; but Captain Rafe kept running his weather-stained hand down his white face, his head shaking.
"Bare chance t' save half of 'em in the gale—they'll swamp her; nay, nay, they'll never get her home with that freight; and it's no sea—it 's a herricane, above and below. I see the sky in broad day like that but once before, and then——"
His voice was hushed, the boat was off, was lost; then once again we saw her; we felt the gale rushing; when we could see again, there were a few struggling in the waves, a few climbing back upon the sinking masts of the vessel, with wild signals.