"Yare! yare!" screamed Goodwin Hawtayne, flinging himself upon
the long pole which served as a tiller. "Cut the halliard! Haul
her over! Lay her two courses to the wind!"
Over swung the great boom, and the cog trembled and quivered
within five spear-lengths of the breakers.
"She can scarce draw clear," cried Hawtayne, with his eyes from
the sail to the seething line of foam. "May the holy Julian
stand by us and the thrice-sainted Christopher!"
"If there be such peril, Sir Oliver," quoth Sir Nigel, "it would
be very knightly and fitting that we should show our pennons. I
pray you. Edricson, that you will command my guidon-bearer to
put forward my banner."
"And sound the trumpets!" cried Sir Oliver. "In manus tuas,
Domine! I am in the keeping of James of Compostella, to whose
shrine I shall make pilgrimage, and in whose honor I vow that I
will eat a carp each year upon his feast-day. Mon Dieu, but the
waves roar! How is it with us now, master-shipman?"
"We draw! We draw!" cried Hawtayne, with his eyes still fixed
upon the foam which hissed under the very bulge of the side.
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