The old fisherman crouched low in the boat, holding the helm, while the other three lay on the planks in the bottom.

Speech was impossible, for the loudest shouts would have been drowned in the fury of the storm.

In half an hour the worst was over.

They were through the straits and out in the open sea again, but Islay now made a lee for them, and the sea, high as it was, was yet calm in comparison to the tremendous waves in the Strait of Jura.

More sail was hoisted again, and in an hour the fisherman said, "Thank God, there are the islands." The day was already fading, and Archie could with difficulty make out the slightly dark mass to which the helm pointed.
"Is that Colonsay ?" he asked.
"It is Oronsay," the fisherman said.