High up on the skerry stood a pile of stones which the fishermen had set there as a mark. Christian was prepared to defend himself. "I am not a pirate," he said.
"Ah, do you contradict the King's sheriff," said his father. "Beware! and do not make us all miserable."
"I make no one miserable," answered Christian, "but I defend myself when I see that people wish me ill. What do you want from me?"
"You have here a hiding-place for goods which you have stolen from peaceful traders," said the sheriff. "We have seen all."
"I have stolen nothing from anyone," said Christian. "All that is here I have earned by hard work."
"Nonsense! Do you think we shall believe that one can collect so many skins and all this down here in these bare skerries. Come down, for the last time, or we will take you."
They began to climb the cliff, but then Christian began to hurl down blocks of stone, which bounded over the heads of his assailants, knocked splinters out of the rocks, and plumped into the water, without however striking anyone.
"Wretched boy!" cried his father. "You were born for my ruin!"
"Who begot me?" answered Christian, and threw the last stone.
Now the besiegers had a prospect of success, and soon Christian felt his legs caught in a noose; and he was soon wound up like a ball, rolled down the hill, and laid in the bottom of the boat.