to drift, with no more than four feet of
water under her at the critical moment The _Tortoise_, having no ballast
in her and depending entirely for stability on her fin-like centreboard
was not, as Peter Walsh knew very well, in the smallest danger of
sinking. He climbed quietly on her gunwale as she finally lay down and
sat there, stride-legs, not even wet below the waist, until she grounded
on the curved point of the island. The performance was a triumphant
demonstration of Peter Walsh's unmatched skill.

In one matter only did he miscalculate. Lord Torrington knew something
about boats, possessed that little knowledge which is in all great arts,
theology, medicine and boat-sailing, a dangerous thing. He knew, after
the first immersion of the gunwale, when the water flowed in, that the
boat was sure to upset. He knew that the greatest risk on such occasions
lies in being entangled in some rope and perhaps pinned under the sail.
He seized the moment when the _Tortoise_ righted after her first plunge,
grasped a life buoy and flung himself overboard. He was just too soon.
A moment later and he would have drifted ashore as the boat did on the
point of Inishlean. If he had let go his life buoy and struck out at
once he might have reached it. But the sudden immersion in cold water
bewildered him. He clung to the life buoy and was drifted past the
point.

Then he regained his self-possession and looked round him. As a young
man he had been a fine swimmer and even at the age of fifty-five, with
the cares of an imperial War Office weighing heavily on him, he had
enough presence of mind to realise his situation. A few desperate
strokes convinced him of the impossibility of swimming back to Inishlean
against the wind and tide. In front of him lay a quarter of a mile of
broken water. Beyond that was Inishbawn. It was a long swim, too long
for a fully dressed man with no support. But Lord Torrington had a life
buoy, guaranteed by its maker to keep two men safely afloat. He had a
strong wind behind him and a tide drifting him down towards the island.
The water was not cold. He realised that all that was absolutely
necessary was to cling to the life buoy, but that he might, if he liked,
slightly accelerate his progress by kicking. He kicked hard.

Joseph Antony Kinsella wanted no more visitors on Inishbawn. Least
of all did he want one whom he knew to be a "high-up gentleman" and
suspected of being a government official of the mo