When they lowered the sail for screening purposes, when they raised it again, it was all the same, for the human level is above all little things.
Towards noon and with the coast now closer and well-defined, La Touche sighted something ahead. It was a rock, high and pointed like a black spire protruding from the sea and standing there like an outpost of the land.
“Had we better give it a wide berth?” asked La Touche. “Maybe there’s more near it.”
“The sea is running smooth enough by it,” said Bompard. “I don’t see breakers, and we don’t draw anything to speak of.” He held on.
The sun was shewing through breaks in the high clouds and its light fell on the water and the rock, pied with roosting guillemots. As the boat drew near the guillemots gave tongue. The sound came against the wind fierce and complaining, antagonistic like the voice of loneliness crying out against them and telling them to be gone—be gone—be gone!
Cléo, as they passed, saw the green water sliding up and falling from the polished black rock surface. The sight seemed to bring the hostile coast leagues nearer and the bagpipe crying of the guillemots as it died away behind them seemed a barrier passed, never to be re-crossed.