“She's a good boat, then, to stand that,” said Billy, as he struck a light for his pipe, with all the coolness of one perfectly at his ease; and Craggs, from that very moment, conceived a favorable opinion of the little hunchback.
“Now we're in the smooth water, Corporal,” cried Billy; “let her go a little free.”
And, obedient to the advice, he ran the boat swiftly along till she entered a small creek, so sheltered by the highlands that the water within was still as a mountain tarn.
“You never made the passage on a worse night, I 'll be bound,” said Craggs, as he sprang on shore.
“Indeed and I did, then,” replied Billy. “I remember—it was two days before Christmas—we were blown out to say in a small boat, not more than the half of this, and we only made the west side of Arran Island after thirty-six hours' beating and tacking. I wrote an account of it for the 'Tyrawly Regenerator,' commencing with—
“'The elemential conflict that with tremendious violence raged, ravaged, and ruined the adamantine foundations of our western coast, on Tuesday, the 23rd of December—'”
“Come along, come along,” said Craggs; “we've something else to think of.”
And with this admonition, very curtly bestowed, he stepped out briskly on the path towards Glencore.