.. good gear," answered the Mate, hugging himself
at thought of the new lanyards, the stout Europe gammon lashings, he
had rove off when the boom was rigged. Now was the time when Sanny
Armstrong's spars would be put to the test. The relic of the ill-fated
_Glenisla_, now a shapely to'gallant mast, was bending like a whip!
"Good iron," he shouted as the backstays twanged a high note of utmost
stress.

Struggling across the heaving deck, the Pilot joined the group.
Brokenly, shouting down the wind, "She'll never do it, Capt'in, I tell
'oo! ... An' th' tide.... Try th' south passage.... Stags, sure! ...
See them fair now! ... Th' south passage, Capt'in.... It iss some
years, indeed, but ... I know. _Diwedd an'l_! She'll never weather
it, Capt'in!"

"Aye ... and weather it ... an' the gear holds! Goad, man! Are ye
sailor enough t' know what'll happen if Ah start a brace, wi' this
press o' sail oan her? T' wind'ard ... she goes. Ne'er failed me
yet"--a mute caress of the stout taffrail, a slap of his great hand.
"Into it, ye bitch! T' wind'ard! T' wind'ard!"

Staggering, taking the shock and onset of the relentless seas, but ever
turning the haughty face of her anew to seek the wind, she struggled
on, nearing the cruel rocks and their curtain of hurtling breakers.
Timely, the moon rose, herself invisible, but shedding a diffused light
in the east, showing the high summits of the rocks, upreared above the
blinding spindrift. A low moaning boom broke on our strained ears,
turning to the hoarse roar of tortured waters as we drew on.

"How does 't bear noo, M'Kellar? Is she makin' oan't?" shouted the Old
Man.

The Second Mate, at the binnacle, sighted across the wildly swinging
compass card. "No' sure, Sir. ... Th' caird swingin' ... think
there's hauf a p'int.... Hauf a p'int, onyway!"

"Half a point!" A great comber upreared and struck a deep resounding
blow--"That for yeer half a point"--as her head swung wildly off--off,
till the stout spanker, the windward driver, straining at the stern
sheets, drove her anew to a seaward course.

Nearer, but a mile off, the rocks plain in a shaft of breaking
moonlight.

"How now, M'Kellar?"

"Nae change, Sir! ... 'bout east, nor'-east ... deefecult ... th' caird
swingin'...."

The Old Man left his post and struggled to the binnacle. "East,
nor'-east ... east o' that, mebbe," he muttered. Then, to 'Dutchy,' at
the weather helm, "Full, m' lad! Keep '