But in the night came a sudden lull in the gale that told of a change at
hand, and in half an hour it was blowing harder than ever from the
northeast, and setting us down to the English coast fast, for we could
do naught but run before such a wind. It thickened up also, and was very
dark even until full sunrise, so that one could hardly tell when the sun
was above the sea's rim.
I crept from the fore cabin about this time, after trying in vain to
sleep, and found the men sheltering under the break of the deck and
looking always to leeward. Two of them were at the steering oar with my
father, for Arngeir was worn out, and I had left him in the cabin,
sleeping heavily in spite of the noise of waves and straining planking.
Maybe he would have waked in a moment had that turmoil ceased.
It was of no use trying to speak to the men without shouting in their
ears, and getting to windward to do that, moreover, and so I looked
round to see if there was any change coming. But all was grey overhead,
and a grey wall of rain and flying drift from the wave tops was all
round us, blotting out all things that were half a mile from us, if
there were anything to be blotted out. It always seems as if there must
be somewhat beyond a thickness of any sort at sea. But there was one
thing that I did notice, and that was that the sea was no longer grey,
as it had been yesterday, but was browner against the cold sky, while
the foam of the following wave crests was surely not so white as it had
been, and at this I wondered.
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