It was an ideal place for sea-fishing, for the great deep pool was free from rocks save those which surrounded it, and not a thread of weed or wrack to be seen ready to entangle their lines or catch their hooks; while they knew from old experience that it was the sheltered home of large shoals, which sought it as a sanctuary from the seals or large fish which preyed upon them.
In addition, the place they stood upon was a dry, rocky platform, shut off from the cave by a low ridge, against which they could lean their backs, whilst another much lower ridge was just in front, as if on purpose to hide them from the fish in the crystal water of the great pool.
Partly behind them and away to their right was the entrance to the seals’ hole, from which came a hollow splashing from time to time, as something moved; every sound making Mike turn his head quickly in that direction, and bringing a smile to Vince’s lips.
“Ah! it’s all very well,” said Mike sourly, “but everybody isn’t so brave as you are.”
“Might as well have lit our fire before we came here,” said Vince, ignoring the remark.
“What’s the good of lighting the fire till we know whether we shall get any fish?” said Mike. “We didn’t catch one last time, though you could see hundreds.”
“To boil the kettle and make some tea,” replied Vince; and he rose to get hold of the bait, pausing to look back over the ridge which shut him off from the cave, and hesitating.
“I think I’ll go back and light the fire,” he said, as he fixed his eyes on the dark spot which they made their fireplace, it looking almost black from the bright spot they occupied, which was as far as they could get out towards the open cove.
“No, no; sit down,” said Mike impatiently. “We didn’t catch any last time because you would keep dancing about on the rocks here, and showing the fish that you were come on purpose to hook them. We can get a good fire in a few minutes. There’s plenty of wood, and we’re in no hurry.”
“You mean you kept dancing about,” retorted Vince. “Very well,” he added, seating himself, “it shan’t be me, Ladle: I won’t stir. But it’s the wrong time for them. If we were to come here just before daylight, or to stop till it was dark, we should be hauling them out as fast as we could throw in our—our”—splash—“lines.”