“Sodge, sir, sodge; breaks her back, melts all to pieces like a tub with the hoops shook off; and the sea was covered with pilchar’s right and left, and they all went scoopin’ ’em off the bay.”
“And was any one drowned?” said Arthur.
“Well, sir, you see the story don’t say,” said Josh, moistening first one hand and then the other as he rowed; “but that’s why she were called Tom Dodder’s Rock; and there’s the rock, as you see, so it must be true.”
As soon as they were clear of the bar at the mouth of the harbour the sea had become smoother, and in the interest he had taken in Josh’s narrative about Tom Dodder’s Rock, Arthur had forgotten a little of his discomfort and dread; but now that the boat was getting farther from land and the story was at an end, he began to show his nervousness in various ways, the more that nobody but Josh seemed to be noticing him, for his father was busy with a small glass, inspecting the various headlands and points, and looking long and earnestly at the old mines, whose position was indicated by the crumbling stone engine-houses.
“Is the sea very deep here?” said Arthur to his brother, who did not answer; he was too intent upon the preparation of a fishing-line with Will.
“Deep? No,” said Josh, “not here.”
“But it looks deep,” said Arthur, gazing over the side.
“Ah! but it ar’n’t. ’Bout three fathom, p’r’aps.”
“Three fathoms!” cried Arthur. “Why, that’s eighteen feet, and over my head!”
“Well, yes, you ar’n’t quite so tall as that!” cried Josh, with a bit of a chuckle.