Lady Mar, who continued to expatiate on the beauties of the shores
which they passed; and thus the hours flew pleasantly away, till,
turning the southern point of the Cowal Mountains, the scene suddenly
changed. The wind, which had gradually been rising, blew a violent
gale from that part of the coast; and the sea, being pent between the
rocks which skirt the continent and the northern side of Bute, became
so boisterous, that the boatmen began to think they should be driven
upon the rocks of the island, instead of reaching its bay. Wallace
tore down the sails, and laying his nervous arms to the oar, assisted
to keep the vessel off the breakers, against which the waves were
driving her. The sky collected into a gloom; and while the teeming
clouds seemed descending even to rest upon the cracking masts, the
swelling of the ocean threatened to heave her up into their very bosoms.

Lady Mar looked with affright at the gathering tempest, and with
difficulty was persuaded to retire under the shelter of a little
awning. The earl forgot his debility in the general terror; and tried
to reassure the boatmen. But a tremendous sweep of the gale, driving
the vessel far across the head of Bute, shot her past the mouth of Loch
Fyne, toward the perilous rocks of Arran. "Here our destruction is
certain!" cried the master of the bark, at the same time confessing his
ignorance of the navigation on this side of the island. Lord Mar,
seizing the helm from the stupefied master, called to Wallace, "While
you keep the men to their duty," cried he, "I will steer."

The earl being perfectly acquainted with the coast, Wallace gladly saw
the helm in his hand. But he had scarcely stepped forward himself to
give some necessary directions, when a heavy sea, breaking over the
deck, carried two of the poor mariners overboard. Wallace instantly
threw out a couple of ropes. Then, amidst a spray so blinding that the