How near the bottom
does your keel lie?"
"I am afraid to sound," returned Barnstable. "I have never the heart to
touch a lead-line when I see the rocks coming up to breathe like so many
porpoises."
"You are afloat!" exclaimed the other, with a vehemence that denoted an
abundance of latent fire.
"Afloat!" echoed his friend; "ay, the little Ariel would float in air!"
As he spoke, he rose in the boat, and lifting his leathern sea-cap from
his head, stroked back the thick clusters of black locks which shadowed
his sun-burnt countenance, while he viewed his little vessel with the
complacency of a seaman who was proud of her qualities. "But it's close
work, Mr. Griffith, when a man rides to a single anchor in a place like
this, and at such a nightfall. What are the orders?"
"I shall pull into the surf and let go a grapnel; you will take Mr.
Merry into your whale-boat, and try to drive her through the breakers on
the beach."
"Beach!" retorted Barnstable; "do you call a perpendicular rock of a
hundred feet in height a beach!"
"We shall not dispute about terms," said Griffith, smiling, "but you
must manage to get on the shore; we have seen the signal from the land,
and know that the pilot, whom we have so long expected, is ready to come
off."
Barnstable shook his head with a grave air, as he muttered to himself,
"This is droll navigation; first we run into an unfrequented bay that is
full of rocks, and sandpits, and shoals, and then we get off our pilot.
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