Hence it was that Martin, a-tingle though he was with curiosity, found no opportunity to run aloft into the sunshine and view the place he had talked and dreamed so much about. Other men went aloft on ship's work, but Martin's duty kept him racing about the wet decks.
The fog pressed closer upon them as the day advanced, it seemed to Martin. It required an effort of his imagination to admit that a few feet above him the sun shone.
The ship seemed to be crawling blindly about in a limitless void. Anon would come Ruth's cheering and mellow halloo, cleaving sweetly through the drab enveloping blanket, and seeming to Martin's eager ears to be a good fairy's voice from another world.
The screaming of the sea-birds grew in volume—but not a wing did Martin spy. The air appeared to take on an irritating taint; the fog tasted smoky.
Added to other sounds, slowly grew a great surging rumble. Aided by Ruth's calls, Martin knew he heard the sea beating against the reef that encircled the mountain; but he saw nothing overside but that dead gray wall.
The upper canvas was clewed up and left hanging, and the brig's slow pace became perceptibly slower.
A boat was lowered, and Little Billy was pulled into the void ahead; and directly his musical chant came back, as he sounded their path with the lead.
The surging thunder came from both sides, and Martin knew they were entering the haven. The voices of Ruth and Little Billy brought echoes from the giant sounding-board ahead.
A sharp command from Captain Dabney, a moment's rush of work to the accompaniment of a deal of fiery swiggling on the boatswain's part, the ship lost way and rounded up, the anchor dropped with a dull plub, the chain roared through the hawse-pipe and brought a vastly multiplied echoing roar from the invisible cliffs, and there was a sudden, myriad-voiced screeching from the startled birds. Succeeded an ominous, oppressive quiet, broken only by the dull thunder of the surf.
Martin drew a long breath and stared at the blank, impervious void about him.