corner of England is a very hotbed of enemies to the government. Bo'sun, you will serve out an extra allowance of rum at once, for we must drink together."
The rum was served and the captain raised his pannikin:
"To the swift avenging of poor Will Rudrum, to the quick regaining of our dignity, and to the speedy hanging of his Majesty's foes!"
The men drank, and then Joe Dickinson shouted: "And to our captain, God bless him, and blast them as does him dirty tricks!"
This toast was drunk greedily, and then the bo'sun led three cheers—three cheers which went echoing out of the old barn across the Marsh with a strength that made many a smuggler turn in his bed uneasily.
When they opened the barn door at daybreak to let the captain go forth, they found there a neat pile of weapons: his Majesty's pistols and his Majesty's cutlasses were all returned.
"Aye, but there's some honour amongst thieves, sir!" exclaimed the bo'sun.
"Devil a bit of it!" said the captain. "The rascals know that we can soon get substitutes, and they've no wish to have such telltale things discovered on their premises. There's more good sense than honour in it, I'm thinking, Job Mallet."
At ten o'clock that morning a coach rolled up to the door of the Ship Inn and out stepped Antony Whyllie,
