Even this selected path looked far more easy than it proved; but by the exercise of a little care they got about half-way down, and then stopped; for it was plain enough to see, from the point of vantage they had gained, that even if they climbed to the narrow line of black slaty shingle between them and the perpendicular rock, they could not reach the face of the Rill Head, which projected, promontory-like, into the sea, and low down in which for certain the cave must be.
“What a bother!” exclaimed Fred. “I thought we were going to have a fine bit of adventure, and discover seals, and lobsters, and crabs, and all kinds of things. What shall we do?”
“Wait till low water.”
“But it’s nearly low water now. Can’t you see?”
The marks of the last tide were plainly visible high up on the rugged rock-face, the last tide having left every ledge covered with washed-up fucus and bladder-wrack, speckled with white shells and sandy patches.
“Then it must always be deep in water?” said Scarlett.
“Well, I tell you what, then, let’s borrow somebody’s boat and try and get right in that way.”
“I don’t know who somebody is,” said Scarlett, drily; “and if I did, I don’t suppose he has got a boat.”
“Don’t talk like that,” cried Fred. “I say, couldn’t we get a boat?”
“There isn’t one for miles. Old Porlett bought one—don’t you recollect?—and the sea knocked it all to pieces in the first storm.”