For the tides and currents in those seas are strange and gruesome. Even as they lay, apparently motionless, with the sea as smooth as oil all round them, there came a sudden turmoil, and they were in a wild race of waters, with bubbling coils and swirls and frothing gouts of foam from rocks that lay fathoms deep below.
"La Grune," growled one of the keen-eyed watchers, and was discounted at once by doubtful growls from the rest.
Then a black ledge loomed through the mist and faded again before they had more than a glimpse of it.
"Les Dents," ventured one.
"Hautes Boues,"—so divergent were their views.
A sound of waters and another dark loom of rock.
"Sercul," said one.
"L'Etac," said another.
Then the engine bell tanged sharply, and they went ahead. The captain had seen more than the rest and knew where he was, and they all breathed more freely. And presently, with a wide berth to the dangers of the south-east coast, they nosed slowly in again, picked up La Conchée without dissentients, and so into Creux Harbour in a way that seemed to Graeme little short of marvellous.
"Fogs at sea are beastly—there is no other word for it—but all the same I'm glad we saw the Wedding-Bow," said Miss Penny.