202 ALONGSHORE iv 



farthest from home. The south-easterly gale 

 must have hurled Itself furiously into Refuge 

 Cove, though it lies well back between headlands 

 of rock at either end. An overpowering smell 

 arose from the high-water cop, which was nastily 

 soft and springy underfoot because so much rotten 

 seaweed was buried in it among its blackened 

 pebbles. All the beach, particularly where it 

 stank most, was strewn with flotsam and jetsam; 

 with boxes and scraps of plank, tins, bolts, and 

 twisted timbers, from ships; sticks stripped of 

 their bark, bushes and tree-roots, from the river; 

 corks, cordage and battered lobster-pots, from 

 fishermen's lost gear; worm-eaten balks from the 

 depths of the sea. One's stomach turned a little 

 at the sight; it was as if the sea had disgorged. 

 We had lighted on one of its charnel-houses. 

 The wash of the surf was black, foul, and scummy 

 with decay. There seemed to be something 

 ghoulish about Benjie too, as he picked his way 

 along, throwing above high-water mark everything 

 that could possibly be of value to him. Behind 

 Dog's Tooth Point the sun dipped. A chill 

 shadow overspread the Cove. 



Benjie shouted, holding aloft what turned out 

 to be a yellowed and water-worn tallow dip. 



