“If this wind grows to a gale, she’s done for.”
“But then it may not get any worse, and if it goes down, I’d undertake to swim on board.”
“O, of course, if it gets smooth.”
“What do you say to going out to the point?” said Bruce.
“O, yes, let’s go.”
The point was not far away, and the woods were thinner. They reached it without much difficulty. Standing here an extensive scene came upon their view.
On the left, the coast line ran on for a few miles, rough and rugged cliffs, with a crest of stunted trees. On the right, the coast line was what they had already seen. In front was the boundless sea, covered with foaming waves. At their feet the surf thundered in a line of foam, and tossed its spray high on the air.
“I don’t altogether like the look of things,” said Bruce, after a long and silent gaze upon the sea and the rough coast in the west.
“O, don’t fret,” said Bart. “Look, Bruce, close in to the shore under the cliffs: why, it’s smooth enough there to paddle a raft in. They’ll keep close in to the shore, and land whenever they want to.”
“Only they might try to round a headland like that,” said Bruce, pointing to a cliff which terminated the view towards the left, at the base of which there was a line of white foam; “and if they did,” he added, “I’m afraid neither Arthur nor Tom—”