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Updated: May 23, 2025
She hesitated and looked round. "Thank goodness," she said, "here's Jimmy Kinsella coming in the other boat. He'll get the rudder." Beyond the rock-strewn passage of Craggeen lies the wide roadstead of Finilaun. Here the water is deep, and the shelter, from every quarter, almost complete. Across the western end of it stretches like a bent bow, the long island of Finilaun.
They reached the passage past Craggeen when the tide was at the full and threaded their way among the rocks successfully. They passed into the wide water of Finilaun roads. A long reach lay before them and the wind had begun to die down as the tide turned. Priscilla, leaving Frank to steer, settled herself comfortably on the weather side of the boat between the centreboard case and the gunwale.
He used to look round and then turn no more his head, because he knew a frightful fiend did close behind him tread. That's exactly what those two spies did today when they were sailing across Finilaun; so you see poetry is some use after all. I used to think it wasn't; but it is. It's frightfully silly to make up your mind that anything in the world is no use.
On the south, reaching almost to the point of Finilaun, is Craggeen, and between the two is a shallow strait. On the east is the mainland, broken and bitten into with long creeks and bays. On the north lies a chain of islands, Ilaunure, Curraunbeg and Curraunmor, separated from each other by narrow channels, through which the tide runs strongly in and out of the roadstead.
Through the opening of the passage which led into Finilaun roadstead there was no more than a trickle of water running like a brook over the stony bottom. "It'll be as much as you'll do this minute," said Jimmy, "to get back the way you came, and you'll only do that same by taking the sails off of her and poling her along with an oar." Priscilla surrendered.
I could see that when they were escaping across Finilaun harbour." "By the expression of their faces?" said Miss Rutherford. "Not exactly. It was more the way they were going on. Sylvia Courtney was once learning off a poem called 'The Ancient Mariner. That was when she was going in for the prize in English literature.
It is, after all, impossible to sail a boat without water. The Tortoise lay afloat in a pool, but the Finilaun end of the passage was hardly better than a lane-way of wet stones. At the other end there was still high water, but very little of it Priscilla acted promptly in the emergency.
You never can tell until you've tried and that may not be for years." "The spies," said Miss Rutherford, "are, I suppose, encamped somewhere on the far side of Finilaun harbour." "On Curraunbeg," said Prisdlla. "I saw the tents." "I may be going in that direction myself tomorrow," said Miss Rutherford. Priscilla got up and stepped across to the place where Frank was sitting.
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