exchequer could not bribe a man to inform against him. If any such
rascal were to cast up, why, he would miss his ears next morning, or
be sent to seek them in the Solway. He is a statesman, [A small landed
proprietor.] though he keeps a public; but, indeed, that is only for
convenience and to excuse his having cellarage and folk about him; his
wife's a canny woman--and his daughter Doll too. Gad, you'll be in port
there till you get round again; and I'll keep my word with you, and
bring you to speech of the laird.

Gad, the only trouble I shall have is to get you out of the house;
for Doll is a rare wench, and my dame a funny old one, and Father
Crackenthorp the rarest companion! He'll drink you a bottle of rum or
brandy without starting, but never wet his lips with the nasty Scottish
stuff that the canting old scoundrel Turnpenny has brought into fashion.
He is a gentleman, every inch of him, old Crackenthorp; in his own way,
that is; and besides, he has a share in the JUMPING JENNY, and many a
moonlight outfit besides. He can give Doll a pretty penny, if he likes
the tight fellow that would turn in with her for life.'

In the midst of this prolonged panegyric on Father Crackenthorp, the
boat touched the beach, the rowers backed their oars to keep her afloat,
whilst the other fellows lumped into the surf, and, with the most rapid
dexterity, began to hand the barrels ashore.

'Up with them higher on the beach, my hearties,' exclaimed Nanty
Ewart--'High and dry--high and dry--this gear will not stand wetting.
Now, out with our spare hand here--high and dry with him too.
What's that?--the galloping of horse! Oh, I hear the jingle of the
packsaddles--they are our own folk.'

By this time all the boat's load was ashore, consisting of the little
barrels; and the boat's crew, standing to their arms, ranged themselves
in front, waiting the advance of the horses which came clattering along
the beach. A man, overgrown with corpulence, who might be distinguished
in the moonlight panting with his own exertions, appeared at the head
of the cavalcade, which consisted of horses linked together, and
accommodated with packsaddles, and chains for securing the kegs which
made a dreadful clattering.

'How now, Father Crackenthorp?' said Ewart--'Why this hurry with your
horses? We mean to stay a night with you, and taste your old brandy, and
my dame's homebrewed. The signal is up, man, and all is right.'

'All is wrong, Captain Nant