and warn her. But the wind was strong by this time, driving hard off the sea, and the tide ran faster than before.
Stephen Orry was now some thirty fathoms space to the north of the broken pier, and at that point the current from across Maughold Head meets the current going across the Mull of Galloway. Labouring in the heavy sea he could barely fetch about, but when at last he got head out to sea he began to drive down on the schooner at a furious speed. He tried to run close along by her on the weather side, but before he came within a hundred fathoms he saw that he was in the full race of the north current, and strong seaman though he was, he could not get near. Then he shouted, but the wind carried away his voice. He shouted again, but the schooner gave no sign. In the darkness the dark vessel scudded past him.
He was now like a man possessed. Fetching about he ran in before the wind, thinking to pass the schooner on her tack. He passed her indeed; he was shot far beyond her, shouting as he went, but again his voice was drowned in the roar of the sea. He was almost atop of the breakers now, yet he fetched about once more, and shouted again and again and again. But the schooner came on and on, and no one heard the wild voice that rang out between the dark sea and sky like the cry of a strong swimmer in his last agony.
Chapter IX.
The Coming of Jason.
The schooner was the Peveril, homeward bound from Reykjavík to Dublin, with a hundred tons of tallow, fifty bales of eider-down, and fifty casks of cods' and sharks' oil. Leaving the Icelandic capital on the morning after Easter-Day, with a fair wind, for the outer Hebrides, she had run through the North Channel by the middle of the week, and put into Whitehaven on the Friday. Next day she had stood out over the Irish Sea for the Isle of Man, intending to lie off at Ramsey for contraband rum. Her skipper and mate were both Englishmen, and her crew were all Irish, except two, a Manxman and an Icelander.
