“I’m going on to Curraunbeg,” said Priscilla, “I’ll steer with an oar.”
“Is it steer with an oar, Miss?”
“Haven’t you often done it yourself, Jimmy?”
“Not that one,” said Jimmy, pointing to the Tortoise.
“Sure my da’s said to me many’s the time how that one is pretty near as giddy as yourself.”
“Your da talks too much,” said Priscilla. “Come on, Cousin Frank. What about you, Miss Rutherford? Are you coming?”
“You’ll not go,” said Jimmy, “or if you do, you’ll walk.”
Priscilla looked out at the sea. The tide was falling rapidly. Through the opening of the passage which led into Finilaun roadstead there was no more than a trickle of water running like a brook over the stony bottom.
“It’ll be as much as you’ll do this minute,” said Jimmy, “to get back the way you came, and you’ll only do that same by taking the sails off of her and poling her along with an oar.”
Priscilla surrendered. It is, after all, impossible to sail a boat without water. The Tortoise lay afloat in a pool, but the Finilaun end of the passage was hardly better than a lane-way of wet stones. At the other end there was still high water, but very little of it. Priscilla acted promptly in the emergency. She had no desire to lie imprisoned for hours on Craggeen, she had lain the day before on the bank off Inishark. She took the sails off the Tortoise and, standing on the thwart amidships, began poling the boat back into the open water at the south-eastern end of the passage. Jimmy, also poling, followed in his boat.