and cast upon
_Strachan's Ledge_ or _Scoreby's Point_, and no man, however powerful
he might be, could have survived the shock of being launched on any
of these rocks. On the other hand, if, in order to avoid these
dangers, he should swim too much to windward, there was danger of his
being carried on the crest of a billow and hurled upon the weather
side of _Cunningham's Ledge_, instead of getting into the eddy under
its lee.

All this Ruby had seen and calculated when he passed the north end of
the rock the first time, and he had fixed the exact spot where he
should take the plunge on repassing it. He acted so promptly that a
few minutes sufficed to carry him towards the eddy, the tide being in
his favour. But when he was about to swim into it, a wave burst
completely over the ledge, and, pouring down on his head, thrust him
back. He was almost stunned by the shock, but retained sufficient
presence of mind to struggle on. For a few seconds he managed to bear
up against wind and tide, for he put forth his giant strength with
the energy of a desperate man, but gradually he was carried away from
the rock, and for the first time his heart sank within him.

Just then one of those rushes or swirls of water, which are common
among rocks in such a position, swept him again forward, right into
the eddy which he had struggled in vain to reach, and thrust him
violently against the rock. This back current was the precursor of a
tremendous billow, which came towering on like a black moving wall.
Ruby saw it, and, twining his arm amongst the seaweed, held his
breath.

The billow fell! Only those who have seen the Bell Rock in a storm
can properly estimate the roar that followed. None but Ruby himself
could tell what it was to feel that world of water rushing overhead.
Had it fallen directly upon him, it would have torn him from his
grasp and killed him, but its full force had been previously spent on
_Cunningham's Ledge_. In another moment it passed, and Ruby, quitting
his hold, struck out wildly through the foam. A few strokes carried
him through _Sinclair's_ and _Wilson's_ tracks into the little pool
formerly mentioned as _Port Stevenson_.[1]

[Footnote 1: The author has himself bathed in Fort Stevenson, so that
the reader may rely on the fidelity of this description of it and the
surrounding ledges.]

Here he was in comparative safety. True, the sprays burst over the
ledge called _The Last Hope_ in heavy masses, but these