For, though
no man among them had any smallest hope of finding life in that which
lay under the cliff, yet must they strain every muscle, till the
labouring boat seemed to share their anxiety to get there and learn the
worst.
So, out past the Laches, with the tide boiling round the point; past
Derrible, with its yawning black mouths; past Dixcart with its patch of
sand; under the grim bastions of the Cagnon; the clean grey cliffs and
green downs above, all smiling in the morning sun; the clear green water
creaming among the black boulders, hissing among their girdles of tawny
sea-weeds, cascading merrily down their rifted sides; round the
Convanche corner, so deftly close that the beauty of the water cave is
bared to them, if they had eye or thought for anything but that which
lies under the cliff in Coupee Bay. And not a word said all the way--not
one word. Jokes and laughter go with the boat as a rule, and
high-pitched nasal patois talk; but here--not a word.
The prow runs grating up the shingle, the heavy feet grind through it
all in a line, for none of them has any desire to be first.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171