was not a pleasant one.  It was a sort of half rolling, half pitching,—­very unlike the even, smooth slide of the early part of the afternoon.  The rock soon became plainer, and at last I rested on my oars to watch the waves as they broke on its furrowed face.  The great rollers, which became higher as the water shoaled toward its foot, fell upon it bursting into foam, and jetting the spray high above the half-broken beacon.  It was a beautiful sight as the spray broke under the shadow of the seaward face and was thrown up into the sunlight.

Not heeding whither I was drifting, a nasal hail suddenly roused me to the fact that there were other navigators in those seas.  “Bo-oat ahoy!  Whar’ ye bo-ound?” Giving a stroke with the larboard oar, I saw, hove to, a fishing-schooner,—­her whole crew of skipper, three men, and a boy standing at the gangway and looking with all their ten eyes to make out, if possible, what strange kind of sea-monster had turned up.  My boat could not have seemed very seaworthy, only seven inches above water, disappearing in the trough of every sea that passed, then lifting its long and slender bow of brilliant crimson above the white foam, and the occupant apparently on a level with the water.  The hail was repeated.  The answer, “Cape Ann,” did not satisfy them; and the question, “Wa-ant any he-elp?” was next bawled out.  My only reply was by a shake of the head; and settling back into my place, I gave way on the oars, and left my fishing friends still looking and evidently very uncertain whether it were not better to make an attempt at a rescue.

I now kept on about a mile farther toward the Cape, but found that the time before sundown was too short to reach it.  About seven miles distant, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, was the hospitable mansion of Mr. T., where I was sure of a welcome and a good berth for my boat, and which snug harbor could just be reached by nightfall.  The way lay straight across Gooseberry Shoal, on the outside of which stands Half-Way Rock.  The sea for my small boat was very heavy; but, having full confidence in her buoyancy, I drove straight on.  Upon the shoal the color of the water changed from deep to light green; the sea was shorter, much higher, and broke quicker; the waves washed over the stern of the boat, burying it two feet or more, and coming almost into the seat-room.  Then she would lift herself free, and ride high and clear on the backs of the great rollers, which would break and crush down under her, sending her well ahead.  The sunlight, falling from behind, shone through the body of each wave, making it of the most transparent brilliant emerald, and tinting the foam with every hue of the rainbow.  Pulling with the sea is very easy work, if the boat be long enough to keep from broaching to,—­that is, swinging sideways and rolling over, a performance which dories are apt to indulge in.  There are on the shoal several reefs, whose black ridges are just awash at high tide;