Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

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CHAPTER   XIII.
THE   LOSS    OF   THE   BRIG.
IT was already late at night, and as dark as it ever
would be at that season of the year (and that is to say,
it was still pretty bright), when Hoseason clapped his
head into the round-house door.
"Here," said he, "come out and see if ye can
pilot."
"Is this one of your tricks?" asked Alan.
"Do I look like tricks?" cries the captain. "I
have other things to think of-my brig's in danger!"
By the concerned look of his face, and, above all, by
the sharp tones in which he spoke of his brig, it was
plain to both of us he was in deadly earnest; and so
Alan and I, with no great fear of treachery, stepped
on deck.
The sky was clear; it blew hard, and was bitter
cold; a great deal of daylight lingered; and the moon,
which was nearly full, shone brightly. The brig was
close hauled, so as to round the south-west corner of the
Island of Mull; the hills of which (and Ben More above
them all, with a wisp of mist upon the top of it) lay
full upon the larboard bow. Though it was no good
point of sailing for the Covenant, she tore through the