And they trudged on in that glorious prospect.
For an hour they toiled along the rocky shore until the daylight almost suddenly vanished, and the gloom of a damp November night fell upon them. What was the use of exploring further? Even Bowler lost heart as he stumbled about in the dusk, and heard Braintree shivering and chattering with cold beside him, and Tubbs’s scarcely suppressed whimper of misery.
“Better get back to the rest as soon as we can,” said he, taking out his whistle and blowing it again.
They listened, but no answer came, only the shriek of the gulls and the steady splash of the rain on the rocks.
“Never mind, we can’t be long before we get round to them,” said Bowler; “perhaps they’ve found a place, you know.”
For another half-hour they toiled on, Bowler blowing his whistle every few minutes, but always without response.
“Where can they be? We’re almost round at the place we started from, surely,” said Bowler, “and—hullo, look out there!”
They had reached a sudden break in the coast about twenty yards across, with rocks on each side which dropped almost precipitously into the water, forming a serious bar to further progress.
They must either scramble down and wade or swim across, or else turn inland and make a long détour round the head of the chasm.
Bowler made a careful inspection of the rocks, and then said—