“And climb along to the edge of the cliff, and look over?” said Vince.
“What!” cried Daygo, with a look of horror. “Nay, don’t you never try to do that, lad; you’d be sure to fall, and down you’d go into the sea, where it’s all by ling and whizzing and whirling round. You’d be sucked down at once among the rocks, and never come up again. Ah! it’s a horful place in there for ’bout quarter of a mile. I’ve knowed boats—big uns, too—sailed by people as knowed no better, gone too near, and then it’s all over with ’em. They gets sucked in, and away they go. You never hear of ’em again—not so much as a plank ever comes out!”
“What becomes of them, then?” said Vince, looking at the rugged old fellow curiously.
“Chawed up,” was the laconic reply, as the old fellow shaded his brow, and gazed long and anxiously beyond the headland they were leaving on their left.
“But I want to see what it’s like,” said Mike.
“Ay, and so has lots o’ lads, and men, too, afore you, youngster,” said the old man solemnly; “and want’s had to be their master. It arn’t to be done.”
“Well, look here,” continued Mike, for Vince sat very thoughtfully looking from one to the other as if he had something on his mind: “steer as close in as it’s safe, and let’s have a look, then.”
“Do what?” roared the old man fiercely.
“Steer as close in as it’s safe,” repeated Mike. “We want to go, don’t we, Vince?”
The lad nodded.