Grania, The Story of an Island; vol. 2/2Lawless, Emily
General
Grania, The Story of an Island; vol. 2/2
Lawless, Emily
Ireland -- Fiction
At last she knew by the general look and touch of the rocks that she
must be getting close to the narrow tongue of land which led to the
smaller islet. This was the most dangerous part of the way, and she
stood still a moment, therefore, to make sure of her bearings, before
clambering down to the shore and thence on to the tongue of land.
The fog was absolutely impervious now. It was impossible to see more
than a few inches ahead. Every now and then a puff of wind would come
and partially clear it for a moment, when the whirling vapour would give
her the sense of being surrounded by smoke, so wildly did it fly around
her. Then all would close up again, and a sense of suffocation encompass
her, through which colder breaths blew fitfully, coming from where rain
pools lay amongst the rocks, or where some draught, caught from the sea
and entangled in the surf, rose to the upper levels.
Making her way cautiously to the edge of the step, she let herself drop
on to the next below. She was now upon the second of the eight steps or
platforms of which Inishmaan consists, and there was therefore only one
more between her and high-water mark. This one, however, was much more
broken and littered with fallen blocks than the upper ones, so that it
took her a long time to cross it and longer still to make sure of where
she was. At last she got to the edge, and having scrambled down, not
without several slips, from not knowing where to set her feet, she
reached the bottom, and was thus upon the actual shore at last.
The tide, she calculated, was by this time half-way in, so that it was
necessary to make haste in order to secure Teige, and bring him back to
where the curragh was kept. The tongue of rock, at all times narrow and
slippery, was to-day all but impassable. Twice she fell, and found
herself clinging by her hands to the weed-covered top, her feet and
nearly her whole body dangling over the edge, where there was no
foothold whatever, and where she could just discern the hungry greenish
swell rising noiselessly up, up, up, rising stealthily, as if determined
to catch her unawares.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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