short coat of oilskin which the old sailor wore on all
occasions -- when he wore a coat at all -- and the
pockets always contained a variety of objects, useful
and ornamental, which made even Trot wonder where they
all came from and why Cap'n Bill should treasure them.
The jackknives -- a big one and a little one -- the bits
of cord, the fishhooks, the nails: these were handy to
have on certain occasions. But bits of shell, and tin
boxes with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles
of curious stones and the like, seemed quite
unnecessary to carry around. That was Cap'n Bill's
business, however, and now that he added the candles
and the matches to his collection Trot made no comment,
for she knew these last were to light their way through
the caves. The sailor always rowed the boat, for he
handled the oars with strength and skill. Trot sat in
the stern and steered. The place where they embarked
was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat cut
across a much larger bay toward a distant headland
where the caves were located, right at the water's
edge. They were nearly a mile from shore and about
halfway across the bay when Trot suddenly sat up
straight and exclaimed: "What's that, Cap'n?"

He stopped rowing and turned half around to look.

"That, Trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty
like a whirlpool."

"What makes it, Cap'n?"