“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated my father. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bigley, “I’m quite sure. I was quite sure before that we left her where we looked first, but I didn’t like to say so.”
“Here, give me your hand,” said my father. “You, Sep, let me try and get up over you. Bob Chowne, you had better stand by him to strengthen him. I’m heavy. Reach down, Bigley, and give me your hand.”
My father was active enough, and with our help scrambled up on to the top of the rock, where he gave one glance at the speck Bigley pointed out, and then uttered an impatient ejaculation.
“Come down,” he said. “You’re quite right, my lad. But how can that boat have got away? The grapnel was good.”
“I’m afraid I know,” said Bigley sadly. “I don’t think anyone looked to see if the painter was made fast to the ring. I didn’t.”
“And as I’m an old sailor, who ought to have known better, I confess that I did not,” said my father. “Well, boys, it’s of no use to cry over spilt milk. If the boat is not recovered unhurt, Mr Jonas Uggleston will have a new one, and I must apologise for my carelessness. Now, then, we must walk home.”
Bigley looked at him in rather a curious way; and as I divined what he meant I glanced at the two points which projected and formed the bay, and saw that they were being swept by the waves to such an extent that it would have been madness to attempt to get round either wading or swimming.
“Yes,” said my father, speaking as if someone had made this remark to him, “it would be impossible to get round there. Come along, boys, help me down; I can’t jump. Let’s see for a place to climb the cliff.”
We helped him down by standing with our heads bent upon our arms, as if we were playing at “Saddle my nag,” then he lowered himself till he could rest his feet upon our shoulders, and the rest was easy.