“Never mind,” said Big, getting hold of the anchor as we drew in our leads, and laid them with the hooks carefully placed aside, ready for beginning again.
“Now, then, who’s going to pull along with me!”
“You pull, Sep,” said Bob. “I want to count the fish.”
I took an oar, and just as I was about to pull the boat’s head round I looked towards the mouth of the Gap, which was nearly three-quarters of a mile away, and though at present the smooth sea was just specked here and there by the falling drops, over shoreward there was what seemed to be a thick mist coming as it were out of the mouth of the Gap, and a curious dull roar towards where we were.
“Going to be a squall,” said Bigley. “Pull away, Sep, and let’s get ashore.”
Easy enough to say—difficult enough to do, as we very soon found, in spite of trying our very best.