“Yes; it must be an awful coast in a storm.”
“Ay, it be!” said Josh. “See yon island, sir?” he continued, pointing to a long black reef standing up out of the sea about half a mile from shore. “Why, I’ve known that covered by the waves. They’ll wash right over it, and send their tops clean over them highest rocks.”
“And how high are they?” said Mr Temple, examining the ragged pile, upon which were perched half a dozen beautiful grey gulls, apparently watching their fellows, who were slowly wheeling about over the surface in search of food.
“Good fifty feet, sir; and I’ve seen the waves come rolling in like great walls, and when they reached the rocks they’ve seemed to run right up ’em and go clean over.”
“That’s what you call the sea running mountains high, eh, my man?” said Mr Temple, rather dryly.
“No, sir, I don’t,” said Josh quietly; “’cause the sea don’t run mountains high. Out in the middle of the bay there, where the water’s deep, I dunno as ever I see a wave that would be more than say fifteen foot high. It’s when it comes on the rocks and strikes that the water’s thrown up so far. Look at that, sir,” he said, pointing towards a wave that came along apparently higher than the boat, as if it would swamp them, but over which they rode easily. “See where she breaks!”
They watched the wave seem to gather force till it rose up, curled over like a glistening arc of water, striking the rocks, and then rushing up, to come back in a dazzling cascade of foam.
“How high did she go?” said Josh quietly.
“Why, it must have dashed up nine or ten feet, my man,” replied Mr Temple.
“Things look small out here, sir,” said Josh. “If you was to measure that you’d find it all two fathom, and this is a fine day. Sea leaps pretty high in a storm, as maybe you’ll see if you’re going to stop down here.”