While this was doing, half a dozen splashed in with iron bars and pickaxes; the rest rigged two stout ropes with tackles, and hauled.

The stone did not budge.

For more than an hour they prised and levered and strained.

And all the while the sailor ran to and fro, snatching up now a pick and now a crowbar, now lending a hand to haul, and again breaking off to lament aloud.
The tide turned, the winter dark came down, and at half-past four Taffy gave the word to desist.

They had to hold back the sailor, or he would have jumped in and drowned beside his brother.
Taffy slept little that night, though he needed sleep.