"I'm very sorry for what I said, Mr. Syddall," rejoined the wharf-master, apologetically—"very sorry, indeed."
"Enough. I can afford to be magnanimous, Sharrocks. I forgive the remarks. But you will find you were wrong, sir—you will find that I shall avenge my father."
"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Syddall," rejoined Sharrocks. "But in the meantime, save the storehouse from plunder, and you shall have my good word with the boroughreeve."
"I don't want your good word, Sharrocks," said Tom, disdainfully.
With Atherton's assistance he then once more mounted the cask, and the crowd seeing he was about to address them became silent.
"I have a few words to say to you, my friends," he cried, in a voice that all could hear. "Don't spoil the good work you have done by committing any excesses. Don't let the Hanoverians and Presbyterians have the power of casting reproach upon us. Don't disgrace the good cause. Our royal prince shoots every Highlander who pillages. He won't shoot any of you, but he'll think better of you if you abstain from plunder."
The commencement of this address was received with some murmurs, but these ceased as the speaker went on, and at the close he was loudly cheered, and it was evident from their altered demeanour that the crowd intended to follow his advice.
"I am glad to find you mean to behave like good Jacobites and honest men. Now let us go home quietly, and unless we're assaulted we won't break the peace."
"We'll carry you home safely," shouted several of the bystanders. "A chair! a chair! Give us a chair!"
These demands were promptly complied with by Sharrocks, who brought out a large arm-chair, in which Tom being installed, was immediately hoisted aloft by four sturdy individuals.