Josh was guiding the boat in and out along a most intricate channel, now almost doubling back, but always the next minute getting nearer to a beautiful white patch of strand, beyond which was a dark forbidding clump of rocks piled-up in picturesque confusion, and above which the gaunt cliff ran up perpendicularly in places till it was at least three hundred feet above their heads, and everywhere seeming to be built up in great blocks like rugged ashlar work, the joints fitting closely, but all plainly marked and worn by the weather.
“Sit fast all!” said Josh; “here’s a wave coming!”
He gave one oar a sharp tug to set the boat’s head a little farther round, and Arthur sprang up and with a sort of bound leaped to his father’s side, clinging to him tightly, as a loud rushing, hissing sound rose from behind, and a good-sized wave came foaming in and out among the great blocks of stone, as if bent on leaping into and swamping the boat; but instead of this, as it reached them it lifted the boat, bore it forward, bumping and scraping two or three rocks below the keel, and then letting it glide over the surface of a good-sized rock-pool, swirling and dancing with the newly coming water.
Josh then rowed steadily on for a few strokes, pausing by some glistening rocks that, after lying dry for a few hours, were being covered again by the title.
“Your young gents like to look at the dollygobs, master?” said Josh.
“Look at the what!” exclaimed Mr Temple.
“Them there gashly things,” said Josh, pointing to a number of round patches of what seemed to be deep-red jelly, with here and there one of an olive green.
“Sea-anemones, boys,” said Mr Temple. Then to Josh, “No, they must hunt them out another time; I want to land. I suppose we can climb up to that shelf?”
He pointed to a flat place about a hundred feet above them.
“Dessay we can, if it arn’t too gashly orkard,” growled Josh. “If she be, we’ll bring the rope another time and let you down. Sit fast again!”