So the morning wore away, without a sign of living thing, not even a passing gull; and the black melancholy of the heaven reflected itself in the black melancholy of Amyas. Was he to lose his prey after all? The thought made him shudder with rage and disappointment. It was intolerable. Anything but that.
"No, God!" he cried, "let me but once feel this in his accursed heart, and then—strike me dead, if Thou wilt!"
"The Lord have mercy on us," cried John Brimblecombe. "What have you said?"
"What is that to you, sir? There, they are piping to dinner. Go down. I shall not come."
And Jack went down, and talked in a half-terrified whisper of Amyas's ominous words.
All thought that they portended some bad luck, except old Yeo.
"Well, Sir John," said he, "and why not? What better can the Lord do for a man, than take him home when he has done his work? Our captain is wilful and spiteful, and must needs kill his man himself; while for me, I don't care how the Don goes, provided he does go. I owe him no grudge, nor any man. May the Lord give him repentance, and forgive him all his sins: but if I could but see him once safe ashore, as he may be ere nightfall, on the Mortestone or the back of Lundy, I would say, 'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace,' even if it were the lightning which was sent to fetch me."
"But, master Yeo, a sudden death?"
"And why not a sudden death. Sir John? Even fools long for a short life, and a merry one, and shall not the Lord's people pray for a short death and a merry one? Let it come as it will to old Yeo. Hark! there's the captain's voice!"
"Here she is!" thundered Amyas from the deck; and in an instant all were scrambling up the hatchway as fast as the frantic rolling of the ship would let them.
Yes. There she was. The cloud had lifted suddenly, and to the south a ragged bore of blue sky let a long stream of sunshine down, on her tall masts and stately hull, as she lay rolling some four or five miles to the eastward: but as for land, none was to be seen.
"There she is; and here we are," said Cary; "but where is here? and where is there? How is the tide, master?"
"Running up Channel by this time, sir,"
"What matters the tide?" said Amyas, devouring the ship with terrible and cold blue eyes. "Can't we get at her?"
"Not unless some one jumps out and shoves behind," said Cary. "I shall down again and finish that mackerel, if this roll has not chucked it to the cockroaches under the table."
"Don't jest, Will! I can't stand it," said Amyas, in a voice which quivered so much that Cary looked at him. His whole frame was trembling like an aspen. Cary took his arm, and drew him aside.
"Dear old lad," said he, as they leaned oyer the bulwarks,
