sweeping over the counter. The helmsman groaned and bade him
desist, and almost at the same instant their mast crashed over the bow,
breaking the back of one seaman, and the galley broached to.

With that the O'Malleys ceased praying and fell to work with a will,
getting out the sweeps and bailing. The mingling of snow, shrieking
wind, and black fog had been too much for their superstitious natures,
but made no impression on Brian, for the simple reason that he did not
see why fog and wind should not come together. After he understood their
fears better he shamed them into savage energy by his laughter, and
since the broken-backed man had gone overboard, took his sweep and set
his muscles to work.

They made shift to keep the craft before the wind, but presently Brian
found that half the men's fear sprang from the fact that the fog and
snow blinded them, shutting out the land, and that the shifting wind had
completely bewildered them. When he asked for their compass, their
leader grunted:

"No need have we for a compass on this boat, Brian Buidh, save when
warlocks turn the fog and wind upon us. I warrant that were it not for
the fog, we would be safe in port ere now. As it is, the Virgin alone
knows where we are or whither going."

"This is some of the Dark Master's wizardry," growled out another.
"Before we hung those men of his last night, they said that the winds
would bear word of it to the dark one, _cead mile mollaght_ on him!"

"Add another thousand curses for me," ordered Brian, "but keep to the
bailing, or I'll give you a taste of my foot! And no more talk of
warlocks."

The five men fell silent, and indeed they needed all their breath, for
the struggle was a desperate one. Instead of lessening, the fog only
increased with time, and even Brian began to perceive the marvel in it
as swirl after swirl of darkness swept over them. Yet, since the wind
was from the east, he reasoned, it would naturally blow out the fog from
the bogs and low lands. But this explanation was received in dour
silence by the men, so he said no more.

There was no doubt that Cathbarr had reached home safely, since the
night had been fair enough for the winter season. An hour passed, and
then another, still without a lessening of the eery storm; and the nerve
of the seamen was beginning to give way under the strain, when the
helmsman let out a wild yell:

"A light ahead! A beacon!"

The rowers twisted about with shouts of joy, a