And there was no Captain to talk with, though he could hear his hoarse, strong voice above the roar of wind and waters.

For the sea was rising like the gable of a house, but the yacht was in no trouble; she had held her own in far worse seas.
In the morning the sky was of snaky tints of yellow and gray, but the wind had settled and the waves were flatting; but John saw bits of trailing wreckage floating about their black depths, making the Firth look savagely haggard.
On the second evening the Captain came to eat his dinner with John.
"The storm is over, Mr.Hatton," he said.

"The sea has been out of her wits, like an angry woman; but," he added with a smile, "we got the better of her, and the wind has gone down.

There is not breeze enough now to make the yacht lie over." "I could hear your voice, strong and cheerful, above all the uproar, Captain, so I had no fear." "We had plenty of sea room, sir, a good boat, and--" "A good captain." "Yes, sir, you may say that.

The Pentland roared and raged a bit, but the sea has her Master.