Chapter Twenty Three.
Dick catches his first Conger.
“Why, Will,” cried Dick, “it is quite an island. Oh, Taff, look at the birds!”
“We don’t call a rock like that an island,” said Will quietly, as the boys watched a cloud of gulls that had been disturbed by their approach, and new screaming and uttering peevish querulous cries above their heads. The top of the rock, which was sixty or seventy feet above the water, was quite white with guano, and every ledge of the perpendicular mass seemed to be the home of the sea-birds which had been perched there in rows, looking almost like pigeons till the near approach of the boat had sent them off.
“How long would it take to row round?” said Arthur, who, in the novelty of the scene, forgot all about the conger.
“Two minutes if you could go close in,” said Josh; “ten minutes, because you have to dodge in and out among the rocks which lie out all round.”
“And from the Mew Rock to the shore yonder,” added Will.
“Yes,” said Josh; “it’s all rock about here, just a fathom or two under water, and a bad place for boots.”
“Then why did you come in your boat?” cried Arthur excitedly.