Some old fishermen were there trying to hold a telescope steady
in the gale, that they might look across the water for any sign of a
boat, and mothers and wives and sweethearts of the absent fishermen were
there also, with shawls tied over their heads, and with troubled and
tear-stained faces, peering out into the dismal light of that sorrowful
morning.
Mr. Christie and I stood near them, and he spoke from time to time a
word of encouragement and hope to the anxious women beside him. As the
light increased the wind dropped somewhat, and the gale seemed to have
spent its violence. We were thankful to notice, that although the sea
was still very rough, and would be so for hours, the wind was gradually
subsiding; instead of howling and shrieking, as it had done the whole
night long, it was dying away with gentle moans, like a child weary with
passion who is crying himself to sleep. But still there was no sign of
the boats.
The women on the shore were wet through, and Mr. Christie tried to
persuade them to go home. Their men would want good fires and hot tea on
their return, he told them, and they ought to make ready for them.
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