The wind rose higher. The masts bent so that each sail had every
possible reef taken in. Her canvas thus reduced she scudded as fast as
before, such was now the fury of the gale. The sea rose so that the
boat seemed to mount with each wave as high as the second story of a
house, and go down again to the cellar at every plunge. Talboys,
prostrated by seasickness in the forehold, lay curled but motionless,
like a crooked log, and almost as indifferent to life or death. Lucy,
pale but firm, put no more questions that she felt would not be
answered, but scanned David Dodd's face furtively yet closely. The
result was encouraging to her. His cheek was not pale, as she felt her
own. On the contrary, it was slightly flushed; his eye bright and
watchful, but lion-like. He gave a word or two of command to Jack
every now and then very sharply, but without the slightest shade of
agitation, and Jack's "ay, ay" came back as sharply, but cheerfully.
The principal feature she discerned in both sailors was a very
attentive, business-like manner. The romantic air with which heroes
face danger in story was entirely absent; and so, being convinced by
his yarns that David _was_ a hero, she inferred that their
situation could not be dangerous, but, as David himself had inferred,
merely one in which watchfulness was requisite.
The sun went down red and angry. The night came on dark and howling.
No moon. A murky sky, like a black bellying curtain above, and huge
ebony waves, that in the appalling blackness seemed all crested with
devouring fire, hemmed in the tossing boat, and growled, and snarled,
and raged above, below, and around her.
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