His back was to the squall, and he was at first intent upon the setting of the sail.

When that was done, and the great trapezium of canvas had begun to draw and to trail the lee-rail of the Farallone level with the foam, he laughed out an empty laugh, drained his glass, sprawled back among the lumber in the boat, and fetched out a crumpled novel.
Herrick watched him, and his indignation glowed red hot.

He glanced to windward where the squall already whitened the near sea and heralded its coming with a singular and dismal sound.

He glanced at the steersman, and saw him clinging to the spokes with a face of a sickly blue.

He saw the crew were running to their stations without orders.