The solitude of the place impressed them with a strange feeling of dread. They felt the threatening aspect of the silent house. It was wild and savage. The naked and deserted plateau terminated in a precipice at a short distance from its steep incline. The sea below was quiet. There was no wind. Not a blade of grass stirred.
The birds’-nesters advanced by slow steps, the French boy at their head, and looking towards the house.
One of them, afterwards relating the story, or as much of it as had remained in his head, added, “It did not speak.”
They came nearer, holding their breath, as one might approach a savage animal.
They had climbed the hill at the side of the house which descended to seaward towards a little isthmus of rocks almost inaccessible. Thus they had come pretty near to the building; but they saw only the southern side, which was all walled up. They did not dare to approach by the other side, where the terrible windows were.
They grew bolder, however; the caulker’s apprentice whispered, “Let’s veer to larboard. That’s the handsome side. Let’s have a look at the black windows.”
The little band accordingly “veered to larboard,” and came round to the other side of the house.
The two windows were lighted up.
The boys took to their heels.
When they had got to some distance, the French boy, however, returned.