Tras-scríbhinn

Chuir sé misneach... Chuir an t-arán buidhe misneach bheag ionainn. Agus chuaigh muid a mharbhadh na mbraeisíní[1] go faobharach, láidireach, á marbhadh go rabh sé ag teannadh déanach insa tráthnóna. Agus bhí mo chromrádaí-sa[2] ag iascaireacht le mo thaobh. Agus tchím an dath éadain ag athrú. Arsa seisean liomsa, "Tá mé ag éirí lag."

"Bhuel, má tá," arsa fear den tseanbhunadh, "beidh muid ag tarraingt ar an bhaile."

"Tá tú mall," arsa mé féin.

Chuaigh muid ar aghaidhe[3], ocrach, lag, fliuch, fuar, agus chuir muid amach na rámhaí agus chuaigh muid a tharraingt, ag treabhadh ar an bhaile. Agus bhí muid ag treabhadh, ag goil ar aghaidhe go dtáinig muid comhgarach don talamh athuair.

"Bhuel," arsa fear den tseanbhunadh, "tá sibh ag déanamh cúis mhaith go fóill."

"Bhuel," arsa mé féin ag labhairt, "beidh an cladach... an baile trom go leor a'inn a ghoil ar aghaidhe."

Fuaigh muid a bhroslú agus a chuideáil bhuaileacha[4] le chéile le teannadh ar na rámhaí go bhfuair muid 'na[5] chladaigh ins an áit[6] a d'fhág muid. Agus buaileadh isteach an bád ar an chladach agus cuireadh amach an rópa. Agus le sin, chuaigh mo chromrádaí-sa, chuaigh sé a thuitim agus fuair mise mo lámh roimhis[7] agus choinnigh mé greim air go dtáinig an sean-nduine[8] aniar gur thug sé é amach as an bhád. Agus nuair a chuaigh sé 'na chladaigh, "Tá tú mall," arsa mé féin.

"Níl, a chladhaire," arsa seisean. "(Dh)á bhfaghadh sé deoch bhainne mhilis bhéarfadh sé é ar aghaidhe go fóill."

Chuaigh mé féin amach as an bhád agus rug mé greim air agus théaltaigh muid suas[9] 'na bhaile. Agus d'fhág muid slán agus beannacht ag an dá shean-nduine.

Aistriúchán

It cheered... The yellow bread cheered us up a bit. And we went killing breams keenly and strongly until it was getting late in the evening. And my companion was fishing by my side. And I saw the colour in his face changing. He said to me, "I'm getting weak."

"Well, if you are," said one of the old men, "we will head for home."

"You are late," I said.

We went on, hungry, weak, wet and cold, and we put out the oars and we began pulling, ploughing towards home. And we were ploughing, going on until we neared land again.

"Well," said one of the old men, "you are doing well for now."

"Well," I said, "the shore... home will be severe enough for us yet (?)."

We began to make haste and pull strokes together, tightening on the oars until we reached the shore from which we had left. And the boat was put ashore and the rope was put out. And with that, my companion began to fall and I put my hand in front of him and I held onto him until the old man came back and brought him out of the boat. And when he went ashore, "You are late," I said.

"I am not, you rogue," he said. "If he got a drink of sweet milk it would keep him going still."

I got out of the boat and I caught hold of him and crept up home. And we bade farewell to the two old men.

Fonótaí

Tráchtaireacht

Is cosúil nach bhfuil aon mhóitífeanna béaloidis sa scéal seo agus nach bhfuil sé bunaithe ar fhinscéal ná ar scéal béaloidis, agus is dócha gurb éard atá ann ná scéilín pearsanta, bunaithe ar thaithí an údair féin.