The light wind was not enough to fill our sail, and we were forced to put out the oars and row.

I think the exercise did us good, and warmed our hearts as well as our bodies.
As we came under Kilgorman, I could see the mast of the _Cigale_ peeping over the rocks, and wondered if she would be discovered by all the company.

His honour, to my surprise, steered straight for the creek.
The _Cigale_ flew the English flag, and very smart and trim she looked in the morning light, with her white sails bleaching on the deck and the brass nozzles of her guns gleaming at the port-holes.

We loitered a little to admire her, and, seaman-like, to discuss her points.

Then, when our followers began to crowd after us into the creek, we pulled to the landing and disburdened our boat of her precious freight.
The burying-ground of Kilgorman was a little enclosure on the edge of the cliff surrounding the ruin of the old church, of which only a few weed-covered piles of stone remained.