7
All that day the wind out in the Channel was blowing fresh from the sou'west, as we could see by the blackness of the horizon and the saw-edged sea-line beyond the outer headlands. During the afternoon, a ground-sea crept into the bay, silently rolling in like an unbidden unannounced guest who will not name his business. And when, at the turn of the tide, the breeze in-shore also backed to the sou'west, a busy lop was superposed on the long heaving swell.[8] About half-past seven, the Widgers were gathered together near their boats.
"What time be it high tide?" asked Granfer. "'Bout ten, en' it?"
"Had us better haul the boats up over?" said Tony. "Tides be dead, en't they?"
"No-o-o," replied Uncle Jake. "They 'en making."
"'Tis goin' to blow, I tell 'ee," said Granfer. "See how brassy the sun's going down. Swell coming in too. Boats up be boats safe."
"Hould yer bloody row," said John. "What be talking 'bout? Plenty o' time to haul up if the sea makes."
"All very well for yu," Tony protested, "living right up to Saltmeadow. If the sea urns up to the boats in the night yu won't be down to lend a hand, no, not wi' yer own boats. 'Tis us as lives to the beach what has to strain ourselves to bits hauling your boats up over so well as our own."
"Let 'em bide, then!"
"Looks dirty, I say," said Granfer. "Might jest so well haul up as bide here talking about it. I shan't sleep till I knows the boats be all right."