"Is there any one coming?"
"Yo ho!—heave to, or port your helm," cried Wad, who was already some "sheets in the wind;" and he added, "the channel's narrow, whereby I've to mak' short tacks, ye ken."
"Then keep to your left hand," said Borthwick, who having some idea of using his poniard, wished his right hand free; but then, on a moment's reflection, he feared to encounter a man so stout as Wad, and therefore altered his plan, and came roughly and rudely against him in the dark.
"Damn ye! did I no shout 'Port your helm?'" asked the gunner, angrily; "whereby we would baith have had sea-room enough to clear each other."
"Upon my faith, I believe it is my good friend Master Wad!—Master Wad, good morrow," said Borthwick, with well affected surprise and satisfaction.
"Yes, I'm Willie Wad, the Laird of Largo's gunner," replied the seaman, rather sulkily; "I never sail under false colours, or cheat the king's collectors of dock dues or haven siller, so I value nane a rope-yarn. But yo-ho, brother, I have seen you before," he added, as a light shone through a shutter and showed the gay dress of Borthwick; so Wad therefore became more suspicious than pleased by his familiarity, and scrutinized him closely, although various drams he had imbibed rendered his faculties rather obscure, and his temper somewhat fractious.
"You have seen me! indeed—and where?" asked Borthwick, who was ready to assume any character Wad might assign him; for old habit and experience made him aware that it was safer to be any other person than himself; but Wad dissipated this idea by saying—
"You boarded us off Broughty, when last we came from Holland?"
"True; I had a message from the king to the admiral."
"From the king!" reiterated Wad, dubiously; "and the Admiral—ken ye him?"