“Safe as a fox in a trap.  Satan himself cannot take him from us!”

“But God may,” said Brimblecombe, simply.

“Who spoke to you, sir?  If I thought that He—­There comes the thunder at last!”

And as he spoke an angry growl from the westward heavens seemed to answer his wild words, and rolled and loudened nearer and nearer, till right over their heads it crashed against some cloud-cliff far above, and all was still.

Each man looked in the other’s face:  but Amyas was unmoved.

“The storm is coming,” said he, “and the wind in it.  It will be Eastward-ho now, for once, my merry men all!”

“Eastward-ho never brought us luck,” said Jack in an undertone to Cary.  But by this time all eyes were turned to the north-west, where a black line along the horizon began to define the boundary of sea and air, till now all dim in mist.

“There comes the breeze.”

“And there the storm, too.”

And with that strangely accelerating pace which some storms seem to possess, the thunder, which had been growling slow and seldom far away, now rang peal on peal along the cloudy floor above their heads.

“Here comes the breeze.  Round with the yards, or we shall be taken aback.”

The yards creaked round; the sea grew crisp around them; the hot air swept their cheeks, tightened every rope, filled every sail, bent her over.  A cheer burst from the men as the helm went up, and they staggered away before the wind, right down upon the Spaniard, who lay still becalmed.

“There is more behind, Amyas,” said Cary.  “Shall we not shorten sail a little?”

“No.  Hold on every stitch,” said Amyas.  “Give me the helm, man.  Boatswain, pipe away to clear for fight.”

It was done, and in ten minutes the men were all at quarters, while the thunder rolled louder and louder overhead, and the breeze freshened fast.

“The dog has it now.  There he goes!” said Cary.

“Right before the wind.  He has no liking to face us.”

“He is running into the jaws of destruction,” said Yeo.  “An hour more will send him either right up the Channel, or smack on shore somewhere.”

“There! he has put his helm down.  I wonder if he sees land?”

“He is like a March hare beat out of his country,” said Cary, “and don’t know whither to run next.”

Cary was right.  In ten minutes more the Spaniard fell off again, and went away dead down wind, while the Vengeance gained on him fast.  After two hours more, the four miles had diminished to one, while the lightning flashed nearer and nearer as the storm came up; and from the vast mouth of a black cloud-arch poured so fierce a breeze that Amyas yielded unwillingly to hints which were growing into open murmurs, and bade shorten sail.

On they rushed with scarcely lessened speed, the black arch following fast, curtained by the flat gray sheet of pouring rain, before which the water was boiling in a long white line; while every moment behind the watery veil, a keen blue spark leapt down into the sea, or darted zigzag through the rain.