theirsels up for a night o’ waiting.  Saturday morn—­yo’ll mind Saturday morn, it were stormy and gusty, downreet dirty weather—­theere stood t’ folk again by daylight, a watching an’ a straining, and by that tide t’ Good Fortune came o’er t’ bar.  But t’ excisemen had sent back her news by t’ boat as took ’em there.  They’d a deal of oil, and a vast o’ blubber.  But for all that her flag was drooping i’ t’ rain, half mast high, for mourning and sorrow, an’ they’d a dead man aboard—­a dead man as was living and strong last sunrise.  An’ there was another as lay between life an’ death, and there was seven more as should ha’ been theere as wasn’t, but was carried off by t’ gang.  T’ frigate as we ‘n a’ heard tell on, as lying off Hartlepool, got tidings fra’ t’ tender as captured t’ seamen o’ Thursday:  and t’ Aurora, as they ca’ed her, made off for t’ nor’ard; and nine leagues off St Abb’s Head, t’ Resolution thinks she were, she see’d t’ frigate, and knowed by her build she were a man-o’-war, and guessed she were bound on king’s kidnapping.  I seen t’ wounded man mysen wi’ my own eyes; and he’ll live! he’ll live!  Niver a man died yet, wi’ such a strong purpose o’ vengeance in him.  He could barely speak, for he were badly shot, but his colour coome and went, as t’ master’s mate an’ t’ captain telled me and some others how t’ Aurora fired at ’em, and how t’ innocent whaler hoisted her colours, but afore they were fairly run up, another shot coome close in t’ shrouds, and then t’ Greenland ship being t’ windward, bore down on t’ frigate; but as they knew she were an oud fox, and bent on mischief, Kinraid (that’s he who lies a-dying, only he’ll noane die, a’se bound), the specksioneer, bade t’ men go down between decks, and fasten t’ hatches well, an’ he’d stand guard, he an’ captain, and t’ oud master’s mate, being left upo’ deck for t’ give a welcome just skin-deep to t’ boat’s crew fra’ t’ Aurora, as they could see coming t’wards them o’er t’ watter, wi’ their reg’lar man-o’-war’s rowing——­’

’Damn ’em!’ said Daniel, in soliloquy, and under his breath.

Sylvia stood, poising her iron, and listening eagerly, afraid to give Donkin the hot iron for fear of interrupting the narrative, unwilling to put it into the fire again, because that action would perchance remind him of his work, which now the tailor had forgotten, so eager was he in telling his story.

‘Well! they coome on over t’ watters wi’ great bounds, and up t’ sides they coome like locusts, all armed men; an’ t’ captain says he saw Kinraid hide away his whaling knife under some tarpaulin’, and he knew he meant mischief, an’ he would no more ha’ stopped him wi’ a word nor he would ha’ stopped him fra’ killing a whale.  And when t’ Aurora’s men were aboard, one on ’em runs to t’ helm; and at that t’ captain says, he felt as if his wife were kissed afore his face; but says he, “I bethought me on t’ men as were shut up below hatches, an’ I remembered t’