Wallace tore down the sails, and laying his nervous arms to the oar, assisted to keep the vessel off the breakers, against which the waves were driving her.

The sky collected into a gloom; and while the teeming clouds seemed descending even to rest upon the cracking masts, the swelling of the ocean threatened to heave her up into their very bosoms.
Lady Mar looked with affright at the gathering tempest, and with difficulty was persuaded to retire under the shelter of a little awning.

The earl forgot his debility in the general terror; and tried to reassure the boatmen.

But a tremendous sweep of the gale, driving the vessel far across the head of Bute, shot her past the mouth of Loch Fyne, toward the perilous rocks of Arran.

"Here our destruction is certain!" cried the master of the bark, at the same time confessing his ignorance of the navigation on this side of the island.