“Amen!” said the sailors, and returned to their duties.
It was a terrible night, and, to make matters worse, as black as pitch. We should not even have the help of daylight for meeting our doom.
“Barry,” said Tim, “I don’t think we shall both perish. If it’s I, promise me you will fight for Ireland till she is free.”
“If you die, Tim, I don’t care what I do. I promise. And if I die, promise me—”
“Not to go near that girl?”
“No,” said I, with a groan.
“What, then?”
“Search below the great hearth at Kilgorman, and do whatever the message you will find there bids you. It is not my message, but our mother’s.”
“I promise that. But hold on now,” said he, catching me by the arm, “the old ship’s beforehand with us. She’s going to pieces before we reach shore.”
Sure enough she was. The rough water into which we were plunging loosened her already warped timbers, and she gradually ceased to rise on the waves, but settled down doggedly and sullenly as the water poured in on this side and that and filled her hold. Captain Keogh, suddenly roused to his senses, staggered on deck, and took the helm, not for any good he could do, but from the sailor’s instinct to be at his post at the end.