THEY called them the Summer Sailors. They made the
warm days in spring--that had ever before been a joy to Irish hearts
--a period of apprehension or terror. No one could say where or
when they would appear but all knew that, year by year, some section
of the coast would be visited by barbarian heathens.

In some quiet dawn the warm sea breaking along the shore would
be sending up thin veils of mist to hide the harbor cove and the little
town along its shore that lived by fishing in the sea and grazing
cattle in fields that sloped seaward. It might be that Ilah, who had
gone into the fields to milk the kine, would be looking up to see the
early sun shining on the mist and instead, there over the mist her
eyes would fasten in horror on the grotesque head of a sea serpent.
For a space all would be silent while she helplessly watched the
horns, bright eyes and the red mouth move steadily and silently into
the cove. Then, faintly over the sound of the waves along the shore,
she could hear from the ship beneath the dragon head the muffled
movement of the oars in the tholes, the creak of the steering oar as
it turned a little on its boss, and low gruff voices. She couldn't decide
whether she should scream to warn the village or keep quiet and
try to save herself. Then she realized she was already screaming and
it was too late. The ship had grated to a stop on the shingle beach,
the big men dropping and jumping from her high prow and spread-
ing out into the fields. The girls who had come into the field would

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