“If any man can climb that cliff it is Dermot,” declared Finn.
Dermot looked at the face of the precipice and noted a rocky shelf about half way up. From that on there seemed to be footholds.
“I think I can scale it,” he said.
He had the Fenians clear off the length of the deck. Then taking his sword and holding it in front of him like a pole, he ran from stern to prow. He used the sword as a lever and sprang lightly to the rocky shelf. The Fenians set up a cheer at the splendid feat. Dermot waved to them and soon disappeared from view.
Once over the rocks he found himself in a pleasant country of trees and little brooks. He could see neither houses nor people. He walked on and on without seeing a living thing. At last, tired and thirsty, he stopped to drink from a well of clear water beside the road. As he touched his lips to the water a man appeared beside him.
“How dare you drink from my well?” he demanded.
“I could see no harm in taking a drink from an open well,” said Dermot.
“Then you are little better than a thief,” declared the newcomer.
“You are very uncivil to say so,” answered Dermot. “I shall not leave this place until I have had satisfaction for that insult.”
He grappled with the man and wrestled with him for a decision. When it seemed that he must win the victory, the man rolled into the well and disappeared.