After a while there was a pause. The whole slip was covered with a
mass of sobbing animals, with here and there a terrified woman
crouching among the bodies, and patting some special favourite to
keep it quiet while the curaghs were being launched.
Then the screaming began again while the pigs were carried out and
laid in their places, with a waistcoat tied round their feet to keep
them from damaging the canvas. They seemed to know where they were
going, and looked up at me over the gunnel with an ignoble
desperation that made me shudder to think that I had eaten of this
whimpering flesh. When the last curagh went out I was left on the
slip with a band of women and children, and one old boar who sat
looking out over the sea.
The women were over-excited, and when I tried to talk to them they
crowded round me and began jeering and shrieking at me because I am
not married. A dozen screamed at a time, and so rapidly that I could
not understand all that they were saying, yet I was able to make out
that they were taking advantage of the absence of their husbands to
give me the full volume of their contempt. Some little boys who were
listening threw themselves down, writhing with laughter among the
seaweed, and the young girls grew red with embarrassment and stared
down into the surf.
For a moment I was in confusion.
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