One gloomy autumn morning the sloop ran close to a shallow cove where a landing could be made on that iron-bound shore.

A boat was lowered, and pulled in with Tom Corbin (Cuba Tom) perched in the bow, and our young man (Mr.Edgar Byrne was his name on this earth which knows him no more) sitting in the stern sheets.
A few inhabitants of a hamlet, whose grey stone houses could be seen a hundred yards or so up a deep ravine, had come down to the shore and watched the approach of the boat.

The two Englishmen leaped ashore.
Either from dullness or astonishment the peasants gave no greeting, and only fell back in silence.
Mr.Byrne had made up his mind to see Tom Corbin started fairly on his way.

He looked round at the heavy surprised faces.
"There isn't much to get out of them," he said.

"Let us walk up to the village.