He had almost succeeded, when there was a crash and
rush of water round us. I felt as if I had been struck upon the back
with knotted ropes. White foam gurgled round my knees and eyes. The
curagh reared up, swaying and trembling for a moment, and then fell
safely into the furrow.
This was our worst moment, though more than once, when several waves
came so closely together that we had no time to regain control of
the canoe between them, we had some dangerous work. Our lives
depended upon the skill and courage of the men, as the life of the
rider or swimmer is often in his own hands, and the excitement was
too great to allow time for fear.
I enjoyed the passage. Down in this shallow trough of canvas that
bent and trembled with the motion of the men, I had a far more
intimate feeling of the glory and power of the waves than I have
ever known in a steamer.
Old Mourteen is keeping me company again, and I am now able to
understand the greater part of his Irish.
He took me out to-day to show me the remains of some cloghauns, or
beehive dwellings, that are left near the central ridge of the
island. After I had looked at them we lay down in the corner of a
little field, filled with the autumn sunshine and the odour of
withering flowers, while he told me a long folk-tale which took more
than an hour to narrate.
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