As Wat sailed farther to the west he could hear the surf hammering in the caves which look towards the Atlantic--a low, continuous growl of sound, mostly reverberating like the distant roaring of many wild beasts, but occasionally exploding with a louder boom as a full-bodied green roller from mid-ocean fairly caught the mouth of a cave, for a moment gagged and compressed the imprisoned air within it, and then sent it shooting upward through some _creux_ or gigantic blow-hole in a burst of foam and white water which rose high into the air. The wonder and solemnity of this ceaseless artillery at the hour of evening, and with the Atlantic itself lying like a sea of glass outside, impressed the landwardborn Wat greatly. For he had never before dwelt in the midst of such sea-marvels, nor yet upon the shores of such a rock-bound, wave-warded prison as this inhospitable isle of Suliscanna. The heavy boat slowly gathered way under the pressure of the broad oar-blade wielded by Wat's very vigorous young arms. And all went well while he kept the inner and protected side of the reef, but so soon as he had begun to clear the lofty cliffs of Suliscanna, and to bethink himself of attempting to cross the belt of turbid and angry waters interposed between the quiet inner haven and the cool, green lift of the ocean waves without, the boat stuck in the sand and heeled over, first with an oozy glide, and then with a sharper "rasp," as though the knife-edge of a basalt reef were masked beneath. Her head fell sharply away, and the waves coming over the bar in brown-churned foam threatened every moment to swamp her. Wat felt the depth of the water with his oar, and promptly leaped overboard. His feet sank dangerously into the slushy ooze of the bank, but the boat, relieved of his weight, rose buoyantly on the swell, and Wat, clasping his hands about her prow, was dragged clear, and presently, drenched and dripping for the third time that day, he found himself aboard again. Clearly there was nothing further to be obtained by persevering in that direction, at least with a boat so unwieldy as that in which Scarlett and he had come over from the main-land. So Wat resolved to try if he could not find a smooth and safe passage by hugging the shore of Fiara, thus avoiding the sweep of the tide-race, and in the end reaching the still, deep strait lying between the rocks of his isle and the huge, lowering cliffs of Lianacraig, which so tantalizingly shut out from his view all that he wished to see of the spot on which, as he believed, his love waited for him.