"How long run we on through these great blubbering waves ere we end our voyage? This night wind is worse than a Robin Hood's thaw."
"We will hoist signals shortly," was the reply; "if the ship is within sight, she will answer and bring to."
"Have ye any prog[iv] aboard?" inquired the officer.
A bottle was handed to him. He drank eagerly of the liquor, and gave the remainder to his assistants.
"I wish with all my heart," said he, "the prisoner were safe out of my custody, and I on my way back. I had as lief trot a hundred miles on land bare-back as sit in this confounded swing for a minute. How my head reels!"
He leaned against one of the benches, to all appearance squeamish and indisposed.
A faint light now flickered on the horizon and disappeared. Again. It seemed to rise above the deep. They were evidently approaching towards it, and the stranger spoke something in a low tone to the steersman.
"Yonder it be, I reckon," said the jailer, lifting up his head on hearing an unusual bustle amongst the crew. "I am fain to see it, for I am waundy qualmish dancing to this up-an'-down tune, wi' nought but the wind for my fiddle."
"And who pays the piper?" asked a wavering voice from below.
"Thee Simon Catterall, bumbailiff, catchpole, thieftaker, and"——