IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



of cloud that was ever rising higher across 

 the whole breadth of the mighty estuary. 

 About nine o'clock the roar of wind 

 and rain sweeping down the river, heard 

 afar in the stillness, gave us time to reef. 

 We essayed to beat up into the murk, but 

 the boat made poor weather of it with what 

 canvas she could carry. The wind came 

 with a steadily increasing weight; the 

 strain of tackle and the rising sea opened 

 the seams of the old tub, and its weeping 

 master, encumbering the cockpit, called 

 lamentably upon Saint after Saint for aid. 

 Doubtless he knew his boat better than we, 

 though to us it was clear enough she would 

 not float till morning if held on the wind. 

 The best way out of a bad job was to run 

 for it, with a rag of sail, and put her ashore 

 if the water gained. Even in this blackest 

 night you could steer by the gleam of the 

 surf, and, wallowing down to the Gulf be- 

 fore the sou'wester, suddenly we bethought 

 us of the visibility of white rocks in the 

 dark, and that those at the mouth of the 

 little harbour might possibly show amid the 

 breaking seas. The keenest eyes were sta- 

 tioned forward, watching as the bows rose 

 high for some hint of a whiteness that did 

 not fling itself into the air and dissolve. 

 44 



