THE   LOSS   OF   THE   BRIG.                           117
was so close on the brig's weather board that when a
sea burst upon it the lighter sprays fell upon her deck
and wetted us like rain.
The brightness of the night showed us these perils as
clearly as by day, which was, perhaps, the more alarm-
ing. It showed me, too, the face of the captain as he
stood by the steersman, now on one foot, now on the
other, and sometimes blowing in his hands, but still
listening and looking and as steady as steel. Neither
he nor Mr. Riach had shown well in the fighting; but
I saw they were brave in their own trade, and admired
them all the more because I found Alan very white.
"Ochone, David," says he, "this is no the kind of
death I fancy."
"What, Alan!" I cried, "you're not afraid?"
"No," said he, wetting his lips, "but you'll allow
yourself, it's a cold ending."
By this time, now and then sheering to one side or
the other to avoid a reef, but still hugging the wind and
the land, we had got round Iona and begun to come
alongside Mull. The tide at the tail of the land ran
very strong, and threw the brig about. Two hands
were put to the helm, and Hoseason himself would some-
times lend a help; and it was strange to see three strong
men throw their weight upon the tiller, and it (like a
living thing) struggle against and drive them back.
This would have been the greater danger, had not the sea
been for some while free of obstacles. Mr. Riach, besides,
announced from the top that he saw clear water ahead.