"I fear that we can scarce bide upon this tack," cried Hawtayne;
"and yet the other will drive us on the rocks."
"Might we not haul down sail and wait for better times?"
suggested Sir Nigel.
"Nay, we should drift upon the rocks. Thirty years have I been
on the sea, and never yet in greater straits. Yet we are in the
hands of the Saints."
"Of whom," cried Sir Oliver, "I look more particularly to St.
James of Compostella, who hath already befriended us this day,
and on whose feast I hereby vow that I shall eat a second carp,
if he will but interpose a second time."
The wrack had thickened to seaward, and the coast was but a
blurred line. Two vague shadows in the offing showed where the
galeasses rolled and tossed upon the great Atlantic rollers,
Hawtayne looked wistfully in their direction.
"If they would but lie closer we might find safety, even should
the cog founder. You will bear me out with good Master Witherton
of Southampton that I have done all that a shipman might. It
would be well that you should doff camail and greaves, Sir Nigel,
for, by the black rood! it is like enough that we shall have to
swim for it.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350