John put the helm down. Swallow shot up into the wind. The boom and the brown sail swung over and filled again on the other tack and Swallow , with the water rustling under her bows, sailed in towards the island’s western shore. Here there were no outlying rocks, but the island itself dropped steeply, like a wall, into the water.
“Sing out when you see the bottom, Roger,” called Mate Susan.
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Roger, looking as hard as he could into the green depths.
“We ought to have brought a lead for sounding,” said Susan.
“It wouldn’t have been much good here,” said John.
They sailed on and on till they were within five yards of the shore and the water was still dark beneath them. John dared go no nearer.
“Ready about,” he called.
It was not until they were already swinging round, close under the wall of rock, that Roger shouted, “I can see the bottom.” On this side, it was clear, the island rose sharply up out of deep water.
Down went Susan’s head and down went Titty’s, though she had no need. Round swung the little Swallow and off again on the other tack out into the lake. John did not take her far before it was “Ready about” once more and she slipped in again towards the island. Backwards and forwards they went, each time a little further north along the island’s shore.
All this western shore was the same, a steep, rocky wall, dropping into deep water, with no bay in which it would be possible to land.
“That place on the other side is the only one,” said Susan.