"Easy, starbo'd; easy, all," and then the scrunch of a keel on sand, and after a little time I heard a boat being shoved off and the thrust of oars, and then the same voice again—
"Give way together," and it came to me that the quick command had the ring of a Government ship, and I was wondering if the Gull was making for her home port, for my heart somehow warmed to the Gull, and McNeilage, when I would be looking at the loom of that raking black schooner, and hearing the quick short strokes of the oars of the row-boat with no singing or any laughter. We had a good catch of fish when we got started to row back to the place where we beached the little boat, and it would be the best of an hour's rowing to get there. Little we spoke passing round the Point, except maybe to voice a wonder that a boat should come in there. And never another word was said till such times as we would be going gently, feeling, as it were, for the little gut in the rock, where we made a habit of coming ashore.
The sky was clearing to the eastward, the light giving a droll shape to the bushes, and showing a little mist hanging low when the keel grated on the gravel, and there on the shore-head was a man standing, a sea-coat, as I think they name it, round him. The eeriness of the dim light, the wild squawks of the sea-birds in the ears, and that great dark figure standing motionless, put a dread on the serving-man.
"In the name of God," said he, "cho-sin (who is it)?"
"If he is Finn himself," said I, trying to be bold, "he will be giving us a hand with the skiff whatever."
There came a ringing laugh from the stranger.
"Well done, Hamish; ye'll aye make good your putt—a bonny lan' tack they would make wanting you."
"It is he," cried the serving-man.
"Bryde," I cried, "what is it makes you come back this way and at this time of the night?"
These were the daftlike words I had for him, and me holding his hand and clapping him on the back, as if he were a wean again.