Like a madman he pulled at the clumsy oars, to reach the protection where the wall all but folded the basin from the sea.
His raft was around it—half of the raft—and another good foot would have covered himself, when the blast abruptly boomed.
Even out of the tail of his eye he saw the dull-red flare behind a blot that represented ragged rock in motion.
A fragment no larger than a man's two fists came as straight as a cannon projectile and struck the pitted wall beside his head.
He had ducked instinctively forward, which doubtless saved his life. But dozens of smaller and barely less violent fragments were broken away from the edge of the wall by the piece with the meteoric speed. One of these struck him above the ear—and down he went, face forward, on the platform, to hang with arms and shoulders loosely supported on the bridge that was used for the sockets of his rowlocks.
A rain of loose pieces hissed about in the sea. The cave belched smoke like a suddenly active volcano. The tide took the raft, with its motionless burden, and floated it back whence the man had come, but not so close in the shore.
Then up on the cliff, when the shock and hail had subsided from all the air about her, Elaine came inquiringly over to the brink, to receive some word that all was well.
The smoke still rose from down below and obscured the face of the waters. There was nothing Elaine could discover. She waited a time that seemed very long, in her usual determination not to seem unduly alarmed or importunate concerning Sidney's safety.
But at last she called his name.
There was no response. Her uneasiness increased. She called again, and moved along the brink, staring eagerly down at the sea.