Sam had been familiar with all these scenes when a
boy, and now knew that he could not be far from the place of which they
were in quest.
They now made their way to the water's edge, scrambling along ledges of
rocks, and having often to hold by shrubs and grape-vines to avoid
slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length they came to a
small cove, or rather indent of the shore. It was protected by steep
rocks and overshadowed by a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to
be sheltered and almost concealed. The beach sloped gradually within
the cove, but the current swept deep and black and rapid along its
jutting points. Sam paused; raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched
his grizzled poll for a moment, as he regarded this nook: then suddenly
clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly forward, and pointing to a
large iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock, just where a broad shelve
of stone furnished a commodious landing-place. It was the very spot
where the red-caps had landed. Years had changed the more perishable
features of the scene; but rock and iron yield slowly to the influence
of time. On looking more narrowly, Wolfert remarked three crosses cut
in the rock just above the ring, which had no doubt some mysterious
signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the overhanging rock
under which his skiff had been sheltered during the thunder-gust. To
follow up the course which the midnight gang had taken, however, was a
harder task.
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