The cook, an old, bent man, with a wild blue eye, stood by his rusty stove watching as they devoured what was set before them. Overhead they could hear the trample of feet and the occasional impact of a big wave as it broke in spray over the bow.
"Seems to be," agreed Bill; "this is a small boat to be out in a storm."
"They say that the trawlers are fine sea boats," declared Jack.
There was no doubt that it was getting rougher. By mid-afternoon the green seas with breaking, white tops, were leaping mountainously under a scudding gray sky. Still, the captain of the _Barley Rig_ did not take in a reef of his sails. He stood beside the tiller, which was gripped by a young giant of a fisher in jersey and boots, giving an occasional order and puffing vigorously at his stubby clay pipe.
Beside an occasional gruff word, Captain Hoeseason did not have much to say to his passengers, but they noticed that his eyes followed them constantly.
"I can't shake off an idea that the fellow has some mischief in mind," declared Bill, after he had noticed the furtive scrutiny the skipper of the _Barley Rig_ was bestowing on them.
"Nonsense," declared Jack. "I made a few inquiries about him and he appears to bear a good character. Anyhow, we are going among dangers beside which this trip won't appear as anything, so don't get nervous at the start off."
As dusk began to settle down, it showed a wild scene. The trawler appeared to be alone on the troubled ocean; at least, no other craft was within sight. The wind howled dismally through the cordage, and the reefed sails tore at their ropes as if they would part at any moment.
"Bad weather, Captain," said Jack, as he and Bill stood bracing themselves against a back stay.
"Oh, aye," rejoined the captain, taking out his pipe like a stopper to permit himself speech, "but she'll be worse afore she gits better."
He was right. By nightfall, it was blowing a gale, and the big seas were breaking over the _Barley Rig_, drenching everything. Water fell in cataracts down the cabin companionway every time the hatch was opened. Cooking was impossible, and the boys made their supper on hard ship biscuit and water while a small flood washed about their feet.
"This is awful, Jack," remarked Bill after a lurch that had sent him sliding across the cabin.