It
must be brought down gently - a difficult task for our strained and
aching muscles - and sometimes as the gunnel reaches the slip I lose
my balance and roll in among the seats.
Yesterday we went out in the curagh that had been damaged on the day
of my visit to Kilronan, and as we were putting in the oars the
freshly-tarred patch stuck to the slip which was heated with the
sunshine. We carried up water in the bailer - the 'supeen,' a shallow
wooden vessel like a soup-plate - and with infinite pains we got free
and rode away. In a few minutes, however, I found the water spouting
up at my feet.
The patch had been misplaced, and this time we had no sacking.
Michael borrowed my pocket scissors, and with admirable rapidity cut
a square of flannel from the tail of his shirt and squeezed it into
the hole, making it fast with a splint which he hacked from one of
the oars.
During our excitement the tide had carried us to the brink of the
rocks, and I admired again the dexterity with which he got his oars
into the water and turned us out as we were mounting on a wave that
would have hurled us to destruction.
