ishing for mackerel we were in autumn; it is now more than forty years ago. It was a very fine night with no clouds to obscure the stars; it was in no wise dark. There were three of us—two of ourselves and another Murphy from the village, a son of the man called Uibh Rathac, he was a youth. It was past midnight, one or two o'clock perhaps, and we had set the mouth of Cuas na Ceannaine, east of the Ceanna itself.

he six nets were stretched westwards and out to sea and we were at the inner end. The three of us saw her together—a large ship in full sail. She lay between us and Mionan about fifty spades away (about a hundred paces)—like a jet-black tower (of cloud). She was not far from the cliff as the point of the Mionan ran farther out than we were. We were afraid, naturally, and said to each other that we had better haul the nets and run. Another man said to leave them, for we would be moving towards the ship in the hauling, which we did not wish to do. She was nearer the tail nets than the inboard ones.

e did not know what to do and young Murphy was very much afraid. Another canoe had cast north of us, between us and Binn Point, and he was screaming and shouting at them.






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