Explore "Tom Wallis" by Louis Becke on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Under the five oars -- Tom tugging manfully at the bow, though still panting with his previous exertions -- the boat soon cleared the entrance to the little rocky cove, which, during the old convict days, had been made into a fairly safe boat harbour -- the only one, except an unfrequented beach under Pilot's Hill, for many miles along the coast. Five minutes after the oars had touched the water she was fairly racing seaward, for she was in the full run of the ebbing tide as it swept through the sandbanks and reefs which lined the narrow bar. Then, as the water deepened, and the current lost its strength, Foster shielded his eyes with his hands from the blazing sun, and looking ahead, tried to discern the approaching boat.
'I can't see her anywhere! ' he exclaimed presently; 'easy there, pulling. Perhaps she's in a line with Kooringa Rock, and we won't see her for another half-hour yet. Jump up, Combo, and take a look ahead.'