“We shall have it now, and with a vengeance; this will try your tackle, master,” said Cary.

The functionary answered with a shrug, and turned up the collar of his rough frock, as the first drops flew stinging round his ears.  Another minute and the squall burst full upon them, in rain, which cut like hail—­hail which lashed the sea into froth, and wind which whirled off the heads of the surges, and swept the waters into one white seething waste.  And above them, and behind them and before them, the lightning leapt and ran, dazzling and blinding, while the deep roar of the thunder was changed to sharp ear-piercing cracks.

“Get the arms and ammunition under cover, and then below with you all,” shouted Amyas from the helm.

“And heat the pokers in the galley fire,” said Yeo, “to be ready if the rain puts our linstocks out.  I hope you’ll let me stay on deck, sir, in case—­”

“I must have some one, and who better than you?  Can you see the chase?”

No; she was wrapped in the gray whirlwind.  She might be within half a mile of them, for aught they could have seen of her.

And now Amyas and his old liegeman were alone.  Neither spoke; each knew the other’s thoughts, and knew that they were his own.  The squall blew fiercer and fiercer, the rain poured heavier and heavier.  Where was the Spaniard?

“If he has laid-to, we may overshoot him, sir!”

“If he has tried to lay-to, he will not have a sail left in the bolt-ropes, or perhaps a mast on deck.  I know the stiff-neckedness of those Spanish tubs.  Hurrah! there he is, right on our larboard bow!”

There she was indeed, two musket-shots’ off, staggering away with canvas split and flying.

“He has been trying to hull, sir, and caught a buffet,” said Yeo, rubbing his hands.  “What shall we do now?”

“Range alongside, if it blow live imps and witches, and try our luck once more.  Pah! how this lightning dazzles!”

On they swept, gaining fast on the Spaniard.  “Call the men up, and to quarters; the rain will be over in ten minutes.”

Yeo ran forward to the gangway; and sprang back again, with a face white and wild—­

“Land right ahead!  Port your helm, sir!  For the love of God, port your helm!”

Amyas, with the strength of a bull, jammed the helm down, while Yeo shouted to the men below.

She swung round.  The masts bent like whips; crack went the fore-sail like a cannon.  What matter?  Within two hundred yards of them was the Spaniard; in front of her, and above her, a huge dark bank rose through the dense hail, and mingled with the clouds; and at its foot, plainer every moment, pillars and spouts of leaping foam.

“What is it, Morte?  Hartland?”

It might be anything for thirty miles.

“Lundy!” said Yeo.  “The south end!  I see the head of the Shutter in the breakers!  Hard a-port yet, and get her close-hauled as you can, and the Lord may have mercy on us still!  Look at the Spaniard!”