"What is it? Oh, what is it?"
"What—what?" said the young waterman, shipping his oars and looking rather terrified.
The old man gave his head a slight jerk as he said—
"I fancy it's Blackfriars."
"Oh, yes, yes," said Todd, with a feeling of great relief. "It's the bridge, of course—it's the bridge; but in the darkness of the night, it looked awful and strange; and as we approached it, it had all the effect as if it were something big enough to crush the world rising up out of the water.
"Ay—ay," said the old man. "I have seen it on all sorts of nights, and was looking out for it. It's all right. Easy with your larboard over there. That will do—there we go."
The boat shot under one of the arches of the old bridge, and for a moment, the effect was like going into some deep and horrible cavern, the lower part of which was a sea of ink.
Todd shuddered, but he did not say anything. He thought that after his affected raptures at sailing, that if he made any sort of remark indicative of his terrors at the passage of the bridge, they would sound rather inconsistent.
It was quite a relief when they had shot through the dim and dusky arch, and emerged again upon the broad open water; and owing to the terrible darkness that was beneath that arch, the night upon the river, after they had passed through it, did not seem to be nearly so black as it had been before, thus showing that, after all, most of our sensations are those of comparison, even including those dependant upon the physical changes of nature.
"This is cheering," said Todd. "It is lighter now upon the river. Don't you think it is?"