“Let’s see,” said Hutton, “we are going north-west, aren’t we?”
“Yes, so we shall be able to make use of the wind both ways, with a little tacking.”
“He’s shouting something now,” said Charlie, with his eyes still on Neil.
“Oh, he’s an old woman,” said Hall, laughing; “he’s always wanting to tell you this and that, as if no one knew anything about sailing but himself.” And he took off his hat and waved it ceremoniously to the old sailor, who continued shouting and beckoning all the while, though without avail, for the only words that came to us across the water were “fresh” and “afternoon,” and we were not much enlightened by them.
“I’m afraid he’s fresh in the morning,” laughed Hutton.
A short sail brought us to the bar mouth, over which, as the tide was in and the sea quiet, we passed without difficulty, although Hall had bade us have the oars ready in case of emergency, should it be necessary to lower our sail in crossing. But of this there was no need, and in a minute we were at last in the bay, and fairly at sea.
“Do you see Parkhurst over the trees there, you fellows?” cried Charlie, pointing behind us. “I never saw the place from the bay before.”
“Nor I,” I answered; “it looks better here than from any other side.”
We were all proud of the old school-house, and fully impressed with its superiority over any other building of the kind in the kingdom.
The view in the bay was extremely beautiful, Shargle Head stood out opposite us, distinct and grand, towering up from the water, and sweeping back to join the moorland hills behind. On our left, close beside the bar mouth, rose Raven Cliff, where we so often had been wont to lie and look out on this very bay; and one by one we recognised the familiar spots from our new point of view, and agreed that from no side does a grand coast look so grand as from the sea.