CHAPTER III

FORTH AND TWEED The wind was already shaking in the sails when he clambered aboard, and the windlass groaned with the lifting anchor. Mr. Berritch cried a cheery greeting from the bow, as Francis, heavy with sleep, tumbled down below to bed. The moon was up, the night airs were fine, and in a little the lugger was heading by the south end of Inchkeith for the swell of the North Ocean. At dawn Francis was up and sniffing the salt air over the bulwarks. A landsman born, he had little acquaintance with the going down …