"Where are you taking me?" he asked, as they crept past the miners'
cottages on the cliff above Rouge Terrier.
"To Breniere.... To L'Etat.... Bernel went on to find a boat."
And presently they were out on the bald cliff-head, and slipping and
sliding down it till they came to the ledge, below which Breniere
spreads out on the water like a giant's hand.
Between her panting breaths Nance whistled a low soft note like the pipe
of a sea-bird. A like sound came softly up from below, and slipping and
stumbling again, they were on the beach among mighty boulders girt with
dripping sea-weed.
Another low pipe out of the darkness, and they had found the boat and
tumbled into it, wet and bruised, and breathless.
"Dieu merci!" said Bernel, and pulled lustily out to sea.
The swirl of the tide caught them as they cleared Breniere Point, and
Gard crawled forward to take an oar. Nance did the same, and so set
Bernel free to scull and steer, the arrangement which dire experience
has taught the Sark men as best adapted to their rock-strewn waters and
racing currents.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194