“They’re trying the passage through Craggeen,” said Priscilla, with her eyes on Flanagan’s old boat. “That shows they’re pretty desperate. Hand me the peppermint creams. There’s jolly little water there at this time of the tide. It’ll be sheer luck if they get through.”
“Take five or six peppermints,” said Miss Rutherford, “if you feel that they’ll steady your nerves. You’ll want something of the sort. I feel thrills down to the tips of my fingers.”
Flanagan’s old boat ran on. Seen from the Tortoise she seemed to pass through an unbroken line of rocks. She twisted and turned now southwards, now west, now northwards. The Tortoise sped after her.
“Now, Cousin Frank,” said Priscilla, “get hold of the centreboard rope and haul when I tell you. There’ll be barely water to float us, if there’s that. We’ll never get through with the centreboard down.”
She headed the boat straight for a gravelly spit of land past which the tide swept in a rapid stream. A narrow passage opened suddenly. Priscilla put the tiller down and the Tortoise swept through. A mass of floating seaweed met them. The Tortoise fell off from the wind and slipped inside it. A heavy bump followed.
“Up centreboard,” said Priscilla. “I knew it was shallow.”
Frank pulled vigorously. Another bump followed.
“Bother!” said Priscilla. “We’re done now.”
The Tortoise swept up into the wind. Her sails flapped helplessly.
“What’s the matter?” said Miss Rutherford.