We shoved off and started back, and in a few moments it seemed that the decks of the _Warwick_ were crowded with men. I made no comment, for there was little use of calling the girl’s attention to their garb. The ship lay at some distance and the sun was very hot, so I let the men row slowly. Suddenly the sunshine seemed to grow dimmer. I looked around over the calm ocean, and noticed what looked to be a sort of mist close aboard. “Aye tank something is going to happen,” said the man rowing the bow oar. “Look, sur, at the ship.” Turning, I saw the light canvas coming in by the run. The noise of gear sounded distinctly over the water. Then, suddenly, the mist seemed to envelop the _Warwick_, and as it did so there fell upon my ears a thundering thrashing of flying canvas, and I saw her heel heavily over as she disappeared in the smudge. “White squall,” I yelled, and swung the boat’s head around to face the wind. “Hold her steady, head to it,” I cried, and at that moment a blast of wind rushed over the sea, pushing up the foam ahead of it like a wall of snow. We had just time to get the boat straightened out to meet it when it struck us. A storm of flying water swept over us, but the men, bending all their weight to the oars, held the craft head to the wind, while with the rudder I gave what help I could. The _Countess of Warwick_ had completely disappeared, and the rush of the wind and sea about us quickly blotted out everything save the ocean close alongside. It blew like the blast from a gun, whirling, whistling over us. Then in less than five minutes down came a deluge of water. The wind was over. I felt a small hand grasp mine holding the tiller rope. Then I looked into the face of the girl, and her eyes met mine. Ten minutes later the sun broke out from behind the bank with unabated vigour. The _Arrow_ lay a mile away with some of her lighter canvas hanging from the yards. “I wonder what uncle will say,” said Miss Waters. “What he will say will be of small interest,” I answered. “It is more important what he will do. However, let’s hope there was little damage done and that he is still in good humour.” “I see now why he didn’t think it any too safe,” she said. “It was the finest squall I ever saw,” I answered, “and it has done more to make me thankful than anything that has happened to me for some years.” “Perhaps you will enjoy the pork just as much,” she commented, but she let her gaze fall to the bottom of the boat and said no more until we were alongside. CHAPTER XV.