Chapter 13

           Itwasalreadylateatnight,andasdarkasiteverwouldbeatthatseasonoftheyear(andthatistosay,itwasstillprettybright),whenHoseasonclappedhisheadintotheround-housedoor.

           “Here,”saidhe,“comeoutandseeifyecanpilot.”

           “Isthisoneofyourtricks?”askedAlan.

           “DoIlookliketricks?”criesthecaptain.“Ihaveotherthingstothinkof—mybrig’sindanger!”

           Bytheconcernedlookofhisface,and,aboveall,bythesharptonesinwhichhespokeofhisbrig,itwasplaintobothofushewasindeadlyearnest;andsoAlanandI,withnogreatfearoftreachery,steppedondeck.

           Theskywasclear;itblewhard,andwasbittercold;agreatdealofdaylightlingered;andthemoon,whichwasnearlyfull,shonebrightly.Thebrigwasclosehauled,soastoroundthesouthwestcorneroftheIslandofMull,thehillsofwhich(andBenMoreabovethemall,withawispofmistuponthetopofit)layfulluponthelar-boardbow.ThoughitwasnogoodpointofsailingfortheCovenant,shetorethroughtheseasatagreatrate,pitchingandstraining,andpursuedbythewesterlyswell.

           Altogetheritwasnosuchillnighttokeeptheseasin;andIhadbeguntowonderwhatitwasthatsatsoheavilyuponthecaptain,whenthebrigrisingsuddenlyonthetopofahighswell,hepointedandcriedtoustolook.Awayontheleebow,athinglikeafountainroseoutofthemoonlitsea,andimmediatelyafterweheardalowsoundofroaring.

           “Whatdoyecallthat?”askedthecaptain,gloomily.