"Funny, because it can't be high tide yet," said Noreen. "I looked it up to see if there was any chance of the Team getting splashed in Fishmarket Field. It isn't till 3.40."
"Then it's going to be an extra specially high one," remarked the experienced Gabrielle, looking down at the surging, bankless Mentle.
"I should think they would get some healthy splashes in the field; the spray comes right over the old sea-wall in a really rough tide."
"Oh, never mind the old tide—let's get on to Mote!" urged Joey.
And just as she said it, the thing happened.
There was a sudden appalling roar—a long, crashing roar. The river gave a sort of shuddering sigh, and then, far off along its brimming level, something seemed to rise up—a great grey wall, foam-tipped. Joey stared at it, fascinated, but not frightened.
But Gabrielle knew the fens. She grasped Joey roughly by the arm, Gabrielle, who was always so gentle in her ways.
"Come on! Run! Run back from the river," she screamed. "That's an Eigre!"
Joey hadn't a notion what an Eigre might be, but there was urgency in Gabrielle's tone. They all three turned and ran back along the road that they had come. Only Joey looked over her shoulder, and thought she never would forget what she saw as long as she lived.