Perhaps it would have been useless if they had. The fish themselves may well have been lying, in search of coolness among the weedy stones at the bottom of the sea. Of all living creatures the jelly fish alone seemed to retain any spirit. Immense crowds of them drifted past the Tortoise, swelling out and closing again their concave bodies, revolving slowly round, dragging long purple tendrils deliriously through the warm water. They swept past Priscilla’s drooping hands, touching them with their yielding bodies and brushing them softly with their tendrils. Now and then she lifted one from the water, watched it lie flaccid on the palm of her hand and then dropped it into the sea again.
A faint air of wind stole across from Inishbawn. The Tortoise, utterly without steerage way, felt it and turned slowly towards it. It was as if she stretched her head out for another such gentle kiss as the wind gave her. Priscilla felt it, and with returning animation made a plunge for an unusually large jelly fish, captured it and held it up triumphantly.
“It’s a pity you’re not out after jelly fish, Miss Rutherford,” she said, “instead of sponges. There are thousands and thousands of them. We could fill the boat with them in half an hour.”
Miss Rutherford made no reply. She had succeeded in wriggling herself into such a position that her head rested on the thwart of the boat. Her face was extremely red, and, owing perhaps to the twisted position of her neck, she was snoring. Priscilla looked at Frank and smiled.
“I wonder,” she said, “if we ought to wake her up. She won’t like it, of course, but it may be the kindest thing to do. It wouldn’t be at all nice for her if she smothered in her sleep.”
Frank blinked lazily. He was very nearly asleep.
“You’re a nice pair,” said Priscilla. “What on earth is the point of dropping off like that in the middle of the day? Ghastly laziness I call it.”
Another puff of wind and then another came from the west. The Tortoise began to move through the water. Frank woke up and paid serious attention to his steering. Priscilla looked round the sea and then the sky. The thunder storm was breaking over Rosnacree, five miles to the east, and a heavy bank of dark clouds was piled up across the sky.
“It looks uncommonly queer,” said Priscilla, “rather magnificent in some ways, but I wish I knew exactly what it’s going to do. I don’t understand this breeze coming in from the west. It’s freshening too.”
A long deep growl reached them from the east.