They had lost their dirty yellow colour when the light
died, and were rolling after us like great black mountains, with a
combing white top that seemed as if they must overwhelm us every minute.
Twice they pooped us, and we were up to our waists in icy water, but
still held to the wheel for our lives.
The white line was nearer to us now, and above all the rage of wind and
sea I could hear the awful roar of the under-tow sucking back the
pebbles on the beach. The last time I could remember hearing that roar
was when I lay, as a boy, one summer's night 'twixt sleep and waking, in
the little whitewashed bedroom at my aunt's; and I wondered now if any
sat before their inland hearths this night, and hearing that far distant
roar, would throw another log on the fire, and thank God they were not
fighting for their lives in Moonfleet Bay. I could picture all that was
going on this night on the beach--how Ratsey and the landers would have
sighted the _Aurungzebe,_ perhaps at noon, perhaps before, and knew she
was embayed, and nothing could save her but the wind drawing to east.
But the wind would hold pinned in the south, and they would see sail
after sail blown off her, and watch her wear and wear, and every time
come nearer in; and the talk would run through the street that there was
a ship could not weather the Snout, and must come ashore by sundown.
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