Chapter XIII. The Loss of the Brig

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　It was already late at night, and as dark as it ever would be atthat season of the year (and that is to say, it was still prettybright), when Hoseason clapped his head into the round-housedoor."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 thingsto think of -- my brig's in danger!"By the concerned look of his face, and, above all, by the sharptones in which he spoke of his brig, it was plain to both of ushe was in deadly earnest; and so Alan and I, with no great fearof treachery, stepped on deck.The sky was clear; it blew hard, and was bitter cold; a greatdeal of daylight lingered; and the moon, which was nearly full,shone brightly. The brig was close hauled, so as to round thesouthwest corner of the Island of Mull, the hills of which (andBen More above them all, with a wisp of mist upon the top of it)lay full upon the lar-board bow. Though it was no good point ofsailing for the Covenant, she tore through the seas at a greatrate, pitching and straining, and pursued by the westerly swell.Altogether it was no such ill night to keep the seas in; and Ihad begun to wonder what it was that sat so heavily upon thecaptain, when the brig rising suddenly on the top of a highswell, he pointed and cried to us to look. Away on the lee bow,a thing like a fountain rose out of the moonlit sea, andimmediately after we heard a low sound of roaring."What do ye call that?" asked the captain, gloomily."The sea breaking on a reef," said Alan. "And now ye ken whereit is; and what better would ye have?""Ay," said Hoseason, "if it was the only one."And sure enough, just as he spoke there came a second fountainfarther to the south."There!" said Hoseason. "Ye see for yourself. If I had kent ofthese reefs, if I had had a chart, or if Shuan had been spared,it's not sixty guineas, no, nor six hundred, would have made merisk my brig in sic a stoneyard! But you, sir, that was to pilotus, have ye never a word?""I'm thinking," said Alan, "these'll be what they call the TorranRocks.""Are there many of them?" says the captain."Truly, sir, I am nae pilot," said Alan; "but it sticks in mymind there are ten miles of them."Mr. Riach and the captain looked at each other."There's a way through them, I suppose?" said the captain."Doubtless," said Alan, "but where? But it somehow runs in mymind once more that it is clearer under the land.""So?" said Hoseason. "We'll have to haul our wind then, Mr.Riach; we'll have to come as near in about the end of Mull as wecan take her, sir; and even then we'll have the land to kep thewind off us, and that stoneyard on our lee. Well, we're in forit now, and may as well crack on."With that he gave an order to the steersman, and sent Riach tothe foretop. There were only five men on deck, counting theofficers; these being all that were fit (or, at least, both fitand willing) for their work. So, as I say, it fell to Mr. Riachto go aloft, and he sat there looking out and hailing the deckwith news of all he saw."The sea to the south is thick," he cried; and then, after awhile, "it does seem clearer in by the land.""Well, sir," said Hoseason to Alan, "we'll try your way of it.But I think I might as well trust to a blind fiddler. Pray Godyou're right.""Pray God I am!" says Alan to me. "But where did I hear it?Well, well, it will be as it must."As we got nearer to the turn of the land the reefs began to besown here and there on our very path; and Mr. Riach sometimescried down to us to change the course. Sometimes, indeed, nonetoo soon; for one reef was so close on the brig's weather boardthat when a sea burst upon it the lighter sprays fell upon herdeck and wetted us like rain.The brightness of the night showed us these perils as clearly asby day, which was, perhaps, the more alarming. It showed me,too, the face of the captain as he stood by the steersman, now onone foot, now on the other, and sometimes blowing in his hands,but still listening and looking and as steady as steel. Neitherhe nor Mr. Riach had shown well in the fighting; but I saw theywere brave in their own trade, and admired them all the morebecause 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 toavoid a reef, but still hugging the wind and the land, we had gotround Iona and begun to come alongside Mull. The tide at thetail of the land ran very strong, and threw the brig about. Twohands were put to the helm, and Hoseason himself would sometimeslend a help; and it was strange to see three strong men throwtheir weight upon the tiller, and it (like a living thing)struggle against and drive them back. This would have been thegreater danger had not the sea been for some while free ofobstacles. Mr. Riach, besides, announced from the top that hesaw clear water ahead."Ye were right," said Hoseason to Alan. "Ye have saved the brig,sir. I'll mind that when we come to clear accounts." And Ibelieve he not only meant what he said, but would have done it;so high a place did the Covenant hold in his affections.But this is matter only for conjecture, things having goneotherwise than he forecast."Keep her away a point," sings out Mr. Riach. "Reef towindward!"And just at the same time the tide caught the brig, and threw thewind out of her sails. She came round into the wind like a top,and the next moment struck the reef with such a dunch as threw usall flat upon the deck, and came near to shake Mr. Riach from hisplace upon the mast.I was on my feet in a minute. The reef on which we had struckwas close in under the southwest end of Mull, off a little islethey call Earraid, which lay low and black upon the larboard.Sometimes the swell broke clean over us; sometimes it only groundthe poor brig upon the reef, so that we could hear her beatherself to pieces; and what with the great noise of the sails,and the singing of the wind, and the flying of the spray in themoonlight, and the sense of danger, I think my head must havebeen partly turned, for I could scarcely understand the things Isaw.Presently I observed Mr. Riach and the seamen busy round theskiff, and, still in the same blank, ran over to assist them; andas soon as I set my hand to work, my mind came clear again. Itwas no very easy task, for the skiff lay amidships and was fullof hamper, and the breaking of the heavier seas continuallyforced us to give over and hold on; but we all wrought likehorses while we could.Meanwhile such of the wounded as could move came clambering outof the fore-scuttle and began to help; while the rest that layhelpless in their bunks harrowed me with screaming and begging tobe saved.The captain took no part. It seemed he was struck stupid. Hestood holding by the shrouds, talking to himself and groaning outaloud whenever the ship hammered on the rock. His brig was likewife and child to him; he had looked on, day by day, at themishandling of poor Ransome; but when it came to the brig, heseemed to suffer along with her.All the time of our working at the boat, I remember only oneother thing: that I asked Alan, looking across at the shore, whatcountry it was; and he answered, it was the worst possible forhim, for it was a land of the Campbells.We had one of the wounded men told off to keep a watch upon theseas and cry us warning. Well, we had the boat about ready to belaunched, when this man sang out pretty shrill: "For God's sake,hold on!" We knew by his tone that it was something more thanordinary; and sure enough, there followed a sea so huge that itlifted the brig right up and canted her over on her beam.Whether the cry came too late, or my hold was too weak, I knownot; but at the sudden tilting of the ship I was cast clean overthe bulwarks into the sea.I went down, and drank my fill, and then came up, and got a blinkof the moon, and then down again. They say a man sinks a thirdtime for good. I cannot be made like other folk, then; for Iwould not like to write how often I went down, or how often Icame up again. All the while, I was being hurled along, andbeaten upon and choked, and then swallowed whole; and the thingwas so distracting to my wits, that I was neither sorry norafraid.Presently, I found I was holding to a spar, which helped mesomewhat. And then all of a sudden I was in quiet water, andbegan to come to myself.It was the spare yard I had got hold of, and I was amazed to seehow far I had travelled from the brig. I hailed her, indeed; butit was plain she was already out of cry. She was still holdingtogether; but whether or not they had yet launched the boat, Iwas too far off and too low down to see.While I was hailing the brig, I spied a tract of water lyingbetween us where no great waves came, but which yet boiled whiteall over and bristled in the moon with rings and bubbles.Sometimes the whole tract swung to one side, like the tail of alive serpent; sometimes, for a glimpse, it would all disappearand then boil up again. What it was I had no guess, which forthe time increased my fear of it; but I now know it must havebeen the roost or tide race, which had carried me away so fastand tumbled me about so cruelly, and at last, as if tired of thatplay, had flung out me and the spare yard upon its landwardmargin.I now lay quite becalmed, and began to feel that a man can die ofcold as well as of drowning. The shores of Earraid were closein; I could see in the moonlight the dots of heather and thesparkling of the mica in the rocks."Well," thought I to myself, "if I cannot get as far as that,it's strange!"I had no skill of swimming, Essen Water being small in ourneighbourhood; but when I laid hold upon the yard with both arms,and kicked out with both feet, I soon begun to find that I wasmoving. Hard work it was, and mortally slow; but in about anhour of kicking and splashing, I had got well in between thepoints of a sandy bay surrounded by low hills.The sea was here quite quiet; there was no sound of any surf; themoon shone clear; and I thought in my heart I had never seen aplace so desert and desolate. But it was dry land; and when atlast it grew so shallow that I could leave the yard and wadeashore upon my feet, I cannot tell if I was more tired or moregrateful. Both, at least, I was: tired as I never was beforethat night; and grateful to God as I trust I have been often,though never with more cause.