He had scarcely spoken when Lavender called attention to a fishing-smack that was apparently making for the harbor.  With all sails set she was sweeping by them like some black phantom across the dark plain of the sea.  They could not make out the figures on board of her, but as she passed some one called out to them.

“What did he say?” Lavender asked.

“I don’t know,” his companion said, “but it was some sort of warning, I suppose.  By Jove, Lavender, what is that?”

Behind them there was a strange hissing noise that the wind brought along to them, but nothing could be seen.

“Rain, isn’t it?” Lavender said.

“There never was rain like that,” his companion said.  “That is a squall, and it will be here presently.  We must haul down the sails.  For God’s sake, look sharp, Lavender!”

There was certainly no time to lose, for the noise behind them was increasing and deepening into a roar, and the heavens had grown black overhead, so that the spars and ropes of the crank little boat could scarcely be made out.  They had just got the sails down when the first gust of the squall struck the boat as with a blow of iron, and sent her staggering forward into the trough of the sea.  Then all around them came the fury of the storm, and the cause of the sound they had heard was apparent in the foaming water that was torn and scattered abroad by the gale.  Up from the black south-east came the fierce hurricane, sweeping everything before it, and hurling this creaking and straining boat about as if it were a cork.  They could see little of the sea around them, but they could hear the awful noise of it, and they knew they were being swept along on those hurrying waves toward a coast which was invisible in the blackness of the night.

“Johnny, we’ll never make the harbor:  I can’t see a light,” Lavender cried, “Hadn’t we better try to keep her up the loch?”

“We must make the harbor,” his companion said:  “she can’t stand this much longer.”

Blinding torrents of rain were now being driven down by the force of the wind, so that all around them nothing was visible but a wild boiling and seething of clouds and waves.  Eyre was up at the bow, trying to catch some glimpse of the outlines of the coast or to make out some light that would show them where the entrance to Tarbert harbor lay.  If only some lurid shaft of lightning would pierce the gloom! for they knew that they were being driven headlong on an iron-bound coast; and amid all the noise of the wind and the sea they listened with a fear that had no words for the first roar of the waves along the rocks.