§ 15
The soft luminosity of a summer night was in it ... and a little moon, which Shane damned.... Before them rose the outline of Donegal.... On each beam they could see faintly the outlines of the bay's arms.... The schooner moved under jibs and mizzen.... From the bow was the splash of the lead....
"By the mark, fine!"
"Luff her a little, a little more ... steady!"
"Four fathoms, no bottom!"
"Keep her off a point!"
"By the deep, four!"
"How's the bottom?"
"Clean and sandy, sir!"
"No bottom at three!"
"Ready for'a'd to let go?"
"All ready, sir!"
"The mark three, no bottom!"
"Lee—o!... Hold her!"
The long swish of oars, the rattle of oar-locks.... A voice rapping out:
"Rest on the oars!" And then: "Schooner ahoy!"
Shane's heart sank. He gave no answer.
"What ship is that?" The voice rang over the little bay ... found a grotesque echo in some cliff....
"Who are you?"
"His Majesty's coast-guards. Stand by. Coming aboard. Lay on your oars, men!"
And then ... a long instant.... "Toss oars!"
"Bring her into the wind!" Shane ordered....
A scramble alongside, and some one was coming over the waist rail.... A firm step on deck.... Some one was smiling....
"My name's Flannagan, Lieutenant Flannagan.... Sorry, Mr. Campbell, we can't let you land ... your cargo or your passenger...."
"I don't understand."
"Well, sir, we know what your cargo is, and my orders are not to let you land. And I was to tell you, sir, that you couldn't land anywhere."
"By God! I knew it would end like this.... Are we under arrest?"
"No, sir.... You are just not to land. I'm sorry, sir, but.... Orders!"
"Then what the blazes am I going to do?"
"Jove, I don't know. Can't you bring the cargo back where you got it?"
"I suppose I'll have to do that. But my passenger.... I can put her ashore."
"I'm sorry, sir. But your passenger can't go ashore, anywhere, any time, in her Majesty's dominions."
"Hmm!"
He heard her quick step on the companionway.
"Shane."
"Shane, are you there?"
"Shane, Shane, what's wrong?" She came into the shrouded light of the binnacle. "Shane, who—who is this?"
"My name's Flannagan, Miss O'Malley—royal navy—I'm sorry; you can't land."
"What does it mean, Shane?"
"You're beaten, Granya."
"Are we prisoners?"
"No, Miss O'Malley, just you can't land. And I'm very distressed to tell you.... You may not land anywhere, any time, in her Majesty's dominions."
"That doesn't shut out Mr. Campbell, does it?"
"I've no orders against him, Miss O'Malley, barring his landing his cargo or you...."
She laid her hand on Shane's arm....
"I'm sorry, Shane.... I'm very sorry, my dear—dear friend.... You were so good.... There are few—would have sacrificed their time and profession, and everything—to help a woman on a wild-goose ideal!—like mine was.... So please forgive me!"
"There's nothing to forgive, Granya...."
"I want to do this ..." she leaned forward and kissed him.... The lieutenant turned away. "And now good-by."
"Why good-by? I'm not going ashore. I'll stick."
"Dear Shane, you would." She caught his hand, pressed, dropped it. Her voice rang out: "But I'm going ashore...." She had swung over the taffrail and dropped into the water with the soft splash of a fish....
"My God ...!" Shane swore with rage. "Wait. I'll get her. Will you stand by with your boat?"
"Right-o!" Flannagan answered cheerily.
Shane kicked off his shoes, slipped out of his coat.... "This damned woman!" he thought as he dropped astern, came out, began to cast for direction like an otter-hound.... He heard her soft rhythmical strokes ahead.... He tore after her ... caught up ... reached her shoulder....
"Come back, Granya!"
"No, Shane."
He had decided, once he reached her, to turn her back by force, but the strange gentle voice restrained him. All this matter of Ireland, all this expedition of opera bouffe, took on again a strange dimension when she spoke.... All the time he had been foolish, he knew, and, worse, looked like a fool, but some strange magic of her voice made it seem natural ... the naïve brave gestures.... One levitated above common ground.... Even this moon-madness did not seem trivial and a thing for laughter.... A dignity of ancient stories was on it.... The blue Irish hills, soft as down, the little moon, and the tide hurrying out of the lough to the great Atlantic.... A wrench of the will and he gripped her shoulder:
"Shane, please don't!"
"You're coming back, Granya."
"I'm not, Shane, and please don't hold me. I'm getting weak."
"You'll never make it, Granya. And if you did, where would you go on the Donegal hills?"
"I don't know, Shane. But please let me go, I implore you.... Even if I do go down.... Don't you see? There is nothing for me but this, or death.... My life.... O Shane, let me go!"
"Quiet, Granya!" He caught her wrist.
"Please, Shane. Please. I pray of you...." She began to twist.... "O Shane, you hurt."
"Quiet, Granya. Boat—o!"
The lantern of the coast-guards' cutter came nearer.... The measured swish of the oars ... the creak.... She began to struggle fiercely....
"Granya, if you don't keep quiet, I'll have to hit you...."
"O Shane!" she whimpered....
"All right Get her on board. Steady, there. Trim a little. Good!" Flannagan and a great bearded coast-guard had her.... The silence was broken with her little sobs.... He helped her over the waist of the schooner....
"Go below, Granya, and get into some dry clothes.... Mr. Flannagan, I'll take the boat back to St. Petersburg.... If Miss O'Malley doesn't land neither do I. May I send a letter ashore? It's only about business, and the place in the glens...."
"I'll take it and have it sent."
"Another thing; we want to get some provisions and water."
"Of course, sir.... That's all right."
"Do you think one of the country girls could be persuaded to come on board as Miss O'Malley's maid?"
"I think so. We'll ask the local priest."
"Oh, yes, the priest.... Another thing: do you think you could dig out a parson around here somewhere and bring him on board?"
"O Shane, what do you want that for?" She hadn't gone below, but waited in the companionway.
"You don't think you're going wandering around with me, casually, like this?"
"But it's only to St. Petersburg, Shane!"
"And then where do you go? What do you do?"
"I—I—I don't know."
"Better get the parson, Mr. Flannagan."
"Oh, but Shane—" she protested.
"Go below, Granya, and get those wet things off.... And get into women's clothes.... Granya!"
"Yes, Shane.... Very well, Shane...."