We were by this time abreast of the Ness and entering Stromness
Bay. Notwithstanding the continued falling of snow, several boats
put out from the jetties of the harbour when the Clasper was seen
sailing in with her prize; and as the chains, rattled over her bow
and she came to an anchorage close inshore, she was surrounded by
inquiring fisher folk.
In one of the first boats that came alongside sat Bailie Duke
wrapped in a great gray plaid. He hailed one of the petty officers
of the cutter, and Mr. Fox came forward and asked him aboard.
"What's all this about?" said Mr. Duke, addressing the lieutenant
as he stepped on the deck. "I see ye've made a prisoner of our
pilot."
"I've made prisoner of a smuggler, sir, pilot or not pilot," said
Mr. Fox.
"But on whose authority have you taken the St. Magnus? Do you not
know that she is our pilot boat?" asked the bailie.
"On the highest authority, Mr. Duke--the Queen's," replied the
lieutenant. "If Kinlay was your pilot, then all the greater was his
offence. His men must suffer the penalty for their crime, and I
suppose the port must just appoint another pilot, that's all."
"His men must suffer, you say?" said Mr. Duke, not understanding.
"Then you do not accuse Carver Kinlay himself of smuggling?"
"I should certainly have done that, Mr.
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