The heads of these coves were filled with those materials the sea usually flings up—sea-weeds, shells, barrel staves, chips, planks, and broken pieces of vessels.
On the eastern end of the rock was a patch of turf extending from the edge of the bold cliffs along the heads of the coves, covered with bushes and scrub trees, dwarfed by the sea winds, and thickly matted together.
The sun had risen clear, bringing with it a moderate easterly breeze. The English frigate before referred to is passing within musket shot of the eastern extremity of the rock. A close observer might have noticed the branches of a pine bush move in a direction opposite to the wind, and in a few moments the head of a man is cautiously thrust through the branches. It is Walter Griffin. He watches with keen eyes the course of the man-o’-war, and, as she increases the distance between them, crawls to the shelter of a ledge, and, resting his glass over it, watches her till she disappears from view. From his position he can command a view of the roadstead, the men-of-war lying at anchor in it, the forts, and the entrance to the port.
At the head of one of the coves, in which there was a little beach of white sand, a portion of the stern frame of a vessel had, by the conjunction of a high tide and a gale of wind, been flung high on the rocks, extending from one side to the other, leaving a space of several feet between it and the beach. Here Walter had bestowed his water and food.
Having made all the observation possible, he retired to this place, and, with some dry sea-weed for a bed, lay down for a nap, as he had been up the entire night.
When he awoke, he espied a French fisherman, fishing among the kelp for rock-fish. Looking cautiously around, to be sure that no vessel was in sight, he, after a while, succeeded in attracting his attention, and prevailing upon him to row into one of the passages between the rocks, where he met him.
“Who are you?” asked the fisherman, resting upon his oars, and surprised to be addressed in his own language by one who, he perceived, was of another nation.
“An American.”
“Have you run away from the man-o’-war?” asked the Frenchman, taking him for some impressed American seaman, who had swum off from a British vessel.
“No; I was put ashore here last night from an American vessel, that is trying to run the blockade, to watch the fleet; she will stand in for the land again to-night.”