of a loose charge of powder, and by instinct my right hand
sought the handle of the mate's hanger. The beldame saw the motion.

"An' hae ye murder't MacMuir, John Paul, an' gien's claw to a Buckskin
gowk?"

The knot stirred with an angry murmur: in truth they meant violence,
--nothing less. But they had counted without their man, for Paul was born
to ride greater crises. With his lips set in a line he stepped lightly
out of the boat into their very midst, and they looked into his eyes to
forget time and place. MacMuir had told me how those eyes could conquer
mutiny, but I had not believed had I trot been thereto see the pack of
them give back in sullen wonder. And so we walked through and on to the
little street beyond, and never a word from the captain until we came
opposite the sign of the Hurcheon."

"Do you await me here, Richard," he said quite calmly; "I mast seek Mr.
Currie, and make my report."

I have still the remembrance of that pitiful day in the clean little
village. I went into the inn and sat down upon an oak settle in a corner
of the bar, under the high lattice, and thought of the bitterness of this
home-coming. If I was amongst strangers, he was amongst worse: verily,
to have one's own people set against one is heaviness of heart to a man
whose love of Scotland was great as John Paul's. After a while the place
began to fill, Willie and Robbie and Jamie arriving to discuss Paul's
return over their nappy. The little I could make of their talk was not
to my liking, but for the captain's sake I kept my anger under as best I
could, for I had the sense to know that brawling with a lot of alehouse
frequenters would not advance his cause. At length, however, came in the
same sneering fellow I had marked on the wharf, calling loudly for swats.
"Ay, Captain Paul was noo at Mr. Curries, syne banie Alan seed him gang
forbye the kirk." The speaker's name, I learned, was Davie, and he had
been talking with each and every man in the long-boat. Yes, Mungo
Maxwell had been cat-o'-ninetailed within an inch of his life; and that
was the truth; for a trifling offence, too; and cruelly discharged at
some outlandish port because, forsooth, he would not accept the gospel
of the divinity of Captain Paul. He would as soon sign papers with the
devil.

This Davie was gifted with a dangerous kind of humour which I have heard
called innuendo, and he soon had the bar packed with listeners who
laughed and cursed turn about, fil