Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

THE   ISLET.                                  133
"Yes, yes-yes, yes," says he, and then he looked at
the other men, as much as to say, "I told you I spoke
English," and began again as hard as ever in the
Gaelic.
This time I picked out another word, "tide." Then
I had a flash of hope. I remembered he was always
waving his hand towards the mainland of the Ross.
"Do you mean when the tide is out------?" I cried,
and could not finish.
"Yes, yes," said he.    "Tide."
At that I turned tail upon their boat (where my ad-
viser had once more begun to tee-hee with laughter)
leaped back the way I had come, from one stone to
another, and set off running across the isle as I had never
run before. In about half an hour I came out upon the
shores of the creek; and, sure enough, it was shrunk
into a little trickle of water, through which I dashed,
not above my knees, and landed with a shout on the
main island.
A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on
Earraid; which is only what they call a tidal islet, and
except in the bottom of the neaps, can be entered and
left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod,
or at the most by wading. Even I, who had the tide
going out and in before me in the bay, and even watched
for the ebbs, the better to get my shell-fish-even I (I
say) if I had sat down to think, instead of raging at my
fate, must have soon guessed the secret, and got free. It
was no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The