At first it was my thought to row up the river-mouth, land, and make across the marshes and fields to our house at Pitcullo.  But I bethought me that my father was an austere man, whom I had vexed beyond bearing with my late wicked follies, into which, since the death of my mother, I had fallen.  And now I was bringing him no college prize, but a blood-feud, which he was like to find an ill heritage enough, even without an evil and thankless son.  My stepmother, too, who loved me little, would inflame his anger against me.  Many daughters he had, and of gear and goods no more than enough.  Robin, my elder brother, he had let pass to France, where he served among the men of John Kirkmichael, Bishop of Orleans—­he that smote the Duke of Clarence in fair fight at Bauge.

Thinking of my father, and of my stepmother’s ill welcome, and of Robin, abroad in the wars against our old enemy of England, it may be that I fell into a kind of half dream, the boat lulling me by its movement on the waters.  Suddenly I felt a crashing blow on my head.  It was as if the powder used for artillery had exploded in my mouth, with flash of light and fiery taste, and I knew nothing.  Then, how long after I could not tell, there was water on my face, the blue sky and the blue tide were spinning round—­they spun swiftly, then slowly, then stood still.  There was a fierce pain stounding in my head, and a voice said—­

“That good oar-stroke will learn you to steal boats!”

I knew the voice; it was that of a merchant sailor-man with whom, on the day before, I had quarrelled in the market-place.  Now I was lying at the bottom of a boat which four seamen, who had rowed up to me and had broken my head as I meditated, were pulling towards a merchant-vessel, or carrick, in the Eden-mouth.  Her sails were being set; the boat wherein I lay was towing that into which I had leaped after striking down Melville.  For two of the ship’s men, being on shore, had hailed their fellows in the carrick, and they had taken vengeance upon me.

“You scholar lads must be taught better than your masters learn you,” said my enemy.

And therewith they carried me on board the vessel, the “St. Margaret,” of Berwick, laden with a cargo of dried salmon from Eden-mouth.  They meant me no kindness, for there was an old feud between the scholars and the sailors; but it seemed to me, in my foolishness, that now I was in luck’s way.  I need not go back, with blood on my hands, to Pitcullo and my father.  I had money in my pouch, my mother’s gold chain about my neck, a ship’s deck under my foot, and the seas before me.  It was not hard for me to bargain with the shipmaster for a passage to Berwick, whence I might put myself aboard a vessel that traded to Bordeaux for wine from that country.  The sailors I made my friends at no great cost, for indeed they were the conquerors, and could afford to show clemency, and hold me to slight ransom as a prisoner of war.