Summary

Portrait of Talbot Baines Reed Talbot Baines Reed Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

In the midst of my trouble and ill-humour I smiled to think what a poor figure his honour would have cut trying to make Fanad in that wind. My father could sail in the teeth of anything, and some day folk would be able to say the same of his son Barry.
It was a long, desolate drive over stony hills and roads whose ruts swallowed half my wheels, with now and then a waste of bog to cross, and now and then a stream to ford. For hours I met not a soul nor saw a sign of life except the cattle huddling on the hillside, or the smoke of some far-away cabin.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Talbot Baines Reed Talbot Baines Reed Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

At the bedside stood Tim with a scowl on his face as he glared, first, on the noisy mourners, and then looked down on the white face on the pillow. At the fireplace sat his honour, buried in thought, and not heeding the talk of the jovial priest who sat and stirred his cup beside him. There, too, among the crowd of dirge-singing, laughing, whisky-drinking neighbours, I could see the outlandish-looking skipper of the Cigale.
It was a weird, woeful spectacle, and made me long more than ever for the pure, fresh breezes of the lonely headland.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Talbot Baines Reed Talbot Baines Reed Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

I cared not much where the tide took me after that, till presently the tossing of my boat warned me that I must be on the reef off Kilgorman cliffs. In the darkness I could see nothing, but my memory was strong enough to serve for moon and compass both. On this tide and with this wind ten minutes would bring me into the creek.
Why not? Why not now as well as any other time? I was a man, and feared ghosts no longer. Love had been warned away from Knockowen; duty should welcome me at Kilgorman. So I put down my helm, let out my sheet, commended myself to my Maker, and made for the black rocks.
Source: Gutenberg

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