we met people plodding along, some of them nodding uncertainly,
others abruptly taking the far side of the pike, and every encounter
drove the poison deeper into his soul. But after we had travelled some
way, up hill and down dale, he vouchsafed the intelligence that we were
making for Arbigland, Mr. Craik's seat near Dumfries, which lies on the
Nith twenty miles or so up the Solway from Kirkcudbright. On that estate
stood the cottage where John Paul was born, and where his mother and
sisters still dwelt.

"I'll juist be saying guidbye, Richard," he said; "and leave them a
bit siller I hae saved, an' syne we'll be aff to London thegither, for
Scotland's no but a cauld kintra."

"You are going to London with me?" I cried.

"Ay," answered he; "this is hame nae mair for John Paul."

I made bold to ask how the John's owners had treated him.

"I have naught to complain of, laddie," he answered; "both Mr. Beck and
Mr. Currie bore the matter of the admiralty court and the delay like the
gentlemen they are. They well know that I am hard driven when I resort
to the lash. They were both sore at losing me, and says Mr. Beck: I
We'll not soon get another to keep the brigantine like a man-o'-war, as
did you, John Paul.' I thanked him, and told him I had sworn never to
take another merchantman out of the Solway. And I will keep that oath."

He sighed, and added that he never hoped for better owners. In token
of which he drew a certificate of service from his pocket, signed by
Messrs. Currie and Beck, proclaiming him the best master and supercargo
they had ever had in their service. I perceived that talk lightened him,
and led him on. I inquired how he had got the 'John'.

"I took passage on her from Kingston, laddie. On the trip both Captain
Macadam and the chief mate died of the fever. And it was I, the
passenger, who sailed her into Kirkcudbright, tho' I had never been more
than a chief mate before. That is scarce three years gone, when I was
just turned one and twenty. And old Mr. Currie, who had known my father,
was so pleased that he gave me the ship. I had been chief mate of the
'Two Friends', a slaver out of Kingston."

"And so you were in that trade!" I exclaimed.

He seemed to hesitate.

"Yes," he replied, "and sorry I am to say it. But a man must live. It
was no place for a gentleman, and I left of my own accord. Before that,
I was on a slaver out of Whitehaven."

"You must know Whitehaven, then."

I said it o