There's not a boat on the coast that
could get through them breakers."
"There she goes."
Even above the noise of the storm, a loud cry was heard, and the crash of
breaking timber as, with the shock, the main and mizzen masts, weakened
by the loss of the foremast, went over the sides. The next great wave
drove the vessel forward two or three fathoms.
"That's her last move," Considine said. "The rocks will be through her
bottom, now."
"They are off," a boy shouted, running up.
"Who are off?" Considine asked.
"The young squire and Larry Doolan."
"Off where?" Mr. Davenant exclaimed.
"Off in the curragh, yer honour. Me and Tim Connolly helped them carry it
round the Nose, and they launched her there. There they are. Sure you can
see them for yourself."
The party rushed out from the shelter, and there, a quarter of a mile
along on the right, a small boat was seen, making its way over the waves.
"Be jabers, yer honour, and they have done it," the boatmen said, as Mr.
Davenant gave a cry of alarm.
"I didn't think of the curragh, and if I had, she could not have been
launched here. Mr. Walter has hit on the only place where there was a
chance. Under the shelter of the Nose it might be done, but nowhere
else.
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