d bats (for these, of
course, were the authors of all this disturbance), Johnstone fixed his
eyes on the sea to note the first entrance of the fishing boats into the
harbour. He then went down to the shore and began to make the bargain as
directed by Salmon, and the fishermen agreed to land him at Leith for
half-a-crown. But alas! once more his hopes were blighted. He was in the
act of stepping into the boat, when Salmon's wife appeared on the scene,
and forbade her husband to go to Leith that day, still less to take a
stranger there. Neither Salmon nor Johnstone dared insist, for fear of
rousing the woman's suspicions, and after a short retreat in the cave in
order to collect his thoughts, he returned to the tavern at Wemyss, to
consult with the friendly landlady. Thanks to her, and with the help of
one or two people to whom she introduced him, Johnstone at last arrived
at the house of one Mr. Seton, whose son had formerly served with
Johnstone in the army of the Prince. Here he remained eight days, vainly
seeking to find a second man who could aid the fisherman who had already
promised to put him across, though it does not appear why Johnstone,
who had already observed[22] that he was able to row, did not take an
oar when his own head was at stake.

[Illustration]

At last affairs were brought to a crisis, by rumours having got abroad
of the presence of a fugitive on the coast. Things seemed in a desperate
condition, when young Seton threw himself into the breach, and agreed to
help Cousselain, the fisherman, to take the Chevalier to Leith. They
were actually launching the boat when the inhabitants of the village,
alarmed by the noise they made, raised a cry that a rebel was escaping,
and the two oarsmen had barely time to conceal themselves without being
discovered. However, in flat defiance of everyone's advice, and, as it
turned out, in spite of the drunken state of Cousselain, Johnstone
resolved to repeat the attempt in an hour's time, taking in the end, as
he might have done at the beginning, his place at the oar. For a few
moments they breathed freely; then the wind got up, and the waves, and,
what was perhaps more dangerous, the drunken Cousselain, who had been
placed in the bottom of the boat. 'We were obliged to kick him most
unmercifully in order to keep him quiet,' observes Johnstone, 'and to
threaten to throw him overboard if he made the least movement. Seton and
myself rowed like galley slaves. We succee