“No,” continued Alan, “that’ll no do. Ye’ll just have to set me ashore as we agreed.”
“Ay,” said Hoseason, “but my first officer is dead—ye ken best how. There’s none of the rest of us acquaint with this coast, sir; and it’s one very dangerous to ships.”
“I give ye your choice,” says Alan. “Set me on dry ground in Appin, or Ardgour, or in Morven, or Arisaig, or Morar; or, in brief, where ye please, within thirty miles of my own country; except in a country of the Campbells. That’s a broad target. If ye miss that, ye must be as feckless at the sailoring as I have found ye at the fighting. Why, my poor country people in their bit cobles[[16]] pass from island to island in all weathers, ay, and by night too, for the matter of that.”
[16] Coble: a small boat used in fishing.
“A coble’s not a ship, sir,” said the captain. “It has nae draught of water.”
“Well, then, to Glasgow if ye list!” says Alan. “We’ll have the laugh of ye at the least.”
“My mind runs little upon laughing,” said the captain. “But all this will cost money, sir.”
“Well, sir,” says Alan, “I am nae weathercock. Thirty guineas, if ye land me on the sea-side; and sixty, if ye put me in the Linnhe Loch.”
“But see, sir, where we lie, we are but a few hours’ sail from Ardnamurchan,” said Hoseason. “Give me sixty, and I’ll set ye there.”
“And I’m to wear my brogues and run jeopardy of the red-coats to please you?” cries Alan. “No, sir; if ye want sixty guineas earn them, and set me in my own country.”