prompt:
Chapter: For a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. We had the
porridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night; porridge and
small beer was my uncle's diet. He spoke but little, and that in the
same way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence; and
when I sought to lead him to talk about my future, slipped out of it
again. In a room next door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go,
I found a great number of books, both Latin and English, in which I took
great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed, the time passed so lightly in
this good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to my residence
at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playing
hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust.

One thing I discovered, which put me in some doubt. This was an entry on
the fly-leaf of a chap-book (one of Patrick Walker's) plainly written
by my father's hand and thus conceived: "To my brother Ebenezer on his
fifth birthday." Now, what puzzled me was this: That, as my father was of
course the younger brother, he must either have made some strange error,
or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear
manly hand of writing.

I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down many
interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and story-book, this
notion of my father's hand of writing stuck to me; and when at length I
went back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and small
beer, the first thing I said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my
father had not been very quick at his book.

"Alexander? No him!" was the reply. "I was far quicker mysel'; I was a
clever chappie when I was young. Why, I could read as soon as he could."

This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I asked if
he and my father had been twins.

He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon
the floor. "What gars ye ask that?" he said, and he caught me by the
breast of the jacket, and looked this time straight into my eyes:
his own were little and light, and bright like a bird's, blinking and
winking strangely.

"What do you mean?" I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger than
he, and not easily frightened. "Take your hand from my jacket. This is
no way to behave."

My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. "Dod man, David,"
he said, "ye should-nae speak to me about your father. That's where the
mistake is." He sat awhile and shook, blinking in his plate: "He was all
the brother that ever I had," he added, but with no heart in his voice;
and then he caught up his spoon and fell to supper again, but still
shaking.

Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and
sudden profession of love for my dead father, went so clean beyond my
comprehension that it put me into both fear and hope. On the one hand,
I began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous;
on the other, there came up into my mind (quite unbidden by me and even
discouraged) a story like some ballad I had heard folk singing, of a
poor lad that was a rightful heir and a wicked kinsman that tried
to keep him from his own. For why should my uncle play a part with a
relative that came, almost a beggar, to his door, unless in his heart he
had some cause to fear him?

With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly
settled in my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks; so that
we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing the
other. Not another word had he to say to me, black or white, but was
busy turning something secretly over in his mind; and the longer we
sat and the more I looked at him, the more certain I became that the
something was unfriendly to myself.

When he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipeful of tobacco,
just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the chimney corner,
and sat awhile smoking, with his back to me.

"Davie," he said, at length, "I've been thinking;" then he paused, and
said it again. "There's a wee bit siller that I half promised ye before
ye were born," he continued; "promised it to your father. O, naething
legal, ye understand; just gentlemen daffing at their wine. Well, I
keepit that bit money separate--it was a great expense, but a promise
is a promise--and it has grown by now to be a matter of just
precisely--just exactly"--and here he paused and stumbled--"of just
exactly forty pounds!" This last he rapped out with a sidelong glance
over his shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream,
"Scots!"

The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shilling, the
difference made by this second thought was considerable; I could see,
besides, that the whole story was a lie, invented with some end which
it puzzled me to guess; and I made no attempt to conceal the tone of
raillery in which I answered--

"O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!"

"That's what I said," returned my uncle: "pounds sterling! And if you'll
step out-by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night it
is, I'll get it out to ye and call ye in again."

I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think I
was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with a few stars low
down; and as I stood just outside the door, I heard a hollow moaning
of wind far off among the hills. I said to myself there was something
thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vast
importance that should prove to me before the evening passed.

When I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven and
thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand, in small gold and
silver; but his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change into
his pocket.

"There," said he, "that'll show you! I'm a queer man, and strange wi'
strangers; but my word is my bond, and there's the proof of it."

Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck dumb by this sudden
generosity, and could find no words in which to thank him.

"No a word!" said he. "Nae thanks; I want nae thanks. I do my duty. I'm
no saying that everybody would have done it; but for my part (though
I'm a careful body, too) it's a pleasure to me to do the right by my
brother's son; and it's a pleasure to me to think that now we'll agree
as such near friends should."

I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was able; but all the while
I was wondering what would come next, and why he had parted with his
precious guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a baby would have
refused it.

Presently he looked towards me sideways.

"And see here," says he, "tit for tat."

I told him I was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree,
and then waited, looking for some monstrous demand. And yet, when
at last he plucked up courage to speak, it was only to tell me (very
properly, as I thought) that he was growing old and a little broken, and
that he would expect me to help him with the house and the bit garden.

I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.

"Well," he said, "let's begin." He pulled out of his pocket a rusty key.
"There," says he, "there's the key of the stair-tower at the far end of
the house. Ye can only win into it from the outside, for that part of
the house is no finished. Gang ye in there, and up the stairs, and bring
me down the chest that's at the top. There's papers in't," he added.

"Can I have a light, sir?" said I.

"Na," said he, very cunningly. "Nae lights in my house."

"Very well, sir," said I. "Are the stairs good?"

"They're grand," said he; and then, as I was going, "Keep to the wall,"
he added; "there's nae bannisters. But the stairs are grand underfoot."

Out I went into the night. The wind was still moaning in the distance,
though never a breath of it came near the house of Shaws. It had fallen
blacker than ever; and I was glad to feel along the wall, till I came
the length of the stairtower door at the far end of the unfinished wing.
I had got the key into the keyhole and had just turned it, when all upon
a sudden, without sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky lighted up
with wild fire and went black again. I had to put my hand over my eyes
to get back to the colour of the darkness; and indeed I was already half
blinded when I stepped into the tower.

It was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe; but I
pushed out with foot and hand, and presently struck the wall with the
one, and the lowermost round of the stair with the other. The wall, by
the touch, was of fine hewn stone; the steps too, though somewhat steep
and narrow, were of polished masonwork, and regular and solid underfoot.
Minding my uncle's word about the bannisters, I kept close to the tower
side, and felt my way in the pitch darkness with a beating heart.

The house of Shaws stood some five full storeys high, not counting
lofts. Well, as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and a
thought more lightsome; and I was wondering what might be the cause of
this change, when a second blink of the summer lightning came and went.
If I did not cry out, it was because fear had me by the throat; and if I
did not fall, it was more by Heaven's mercy than my own strength. It was
not only that the flash shone in on every side through breaches in the
wall, so that I seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, but
the same passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length,
and that one of my feet rested that moment within two inches of the
well.

This was the grand stair! I thought; and with the thought, a gust of
a kind of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here,
certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I would settle
that "perhaps," if I should break my neck for it; got me down upon my
hands and knees; and as slowly as a snail, feeling before me every
inch, and testing the solidity of every stone, I continued to ascend
the stair. The darkness, by contrast with the flash, appeared to have
redoubled; nor was that all, for my ears were now troubled and my mind
confounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and the
foul beasts, flying downwards, sometimes beat about my face and body.

The tower, I should have said, was square; and in every corner the step
was made of a great stone of a different shape to join the flights.
Well, I had come close to one of these turns, when, feeling forward
as usual, my hand slipped upon an edge and found nothing but emptiness
beyond it. The stair had been carried no higher; to set a stranger
mounting it in the darkness was to send him straight to his death; and
(although, thanks to the lightning and my own precautions, I was safe
enough) the mere thought of the peril in which I might have stood, and
the dreadful height I might have fallen from, brought out the sweat upon
my body and relaxed my joints.

But I knew what I wanted now, and turned and groped my way down again,
with a wonderful anger in my heart. About half-way down, the wind sprang
up in a clap and shook the tower, and died again; the rain followed; and
before I had reached the ground level it fell in buckets. I put out my
head into the storm, and looked along towards the kitchen. The door,
which I had shut behind me when I left, now stood open, and shed a
little glimmer of light; and I thought I could see a figure standing
in the rain, quite still, like a man hearkening. And then there came
a blinding flash, which showed me my uncle plainly, just where I had
fancied him to stand; and hard upon the heels of it, a great tow-row of
thunder.

Now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my fall, or
whether he heard in it God's voice denouncing murder, I will leave you
to guess. Certain it is, at least, that he was seized on by a kind of
panic fear, and that he ran into the house and left the door open behind
him. I followed as softly as I could, and, coming unheard into the
kitchen, stood and watched him.

He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case
bottle of aqua vitae, and now sat with his back towards me at the table.
Ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering and
groan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the raw
spirits by the mouthful.

I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenly
clapping my two hands down upon his shoulders--"Ah!" cried I.

My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep's bleat, flung up his
arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was somewhat shocked
at this; but I had myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitate
to let him lie as he had fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard;
and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should
come again to his senses and the power of devising evil. In the cupboard
were a few bottles, some apparently of medicine; a great many bills and
other papers, which I should willingly enough have rummaged, had I had
the time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to my purpose. Thence
I turned to the chests. The first was full of meal; the second of
moneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with many
other things (and these for the most part clothes) I found a rusty,
ugly-looking Highland dirk without the scabbard. This, then, I concealed
inside my waistcoat, and turned to my uncle.

He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one arm
sprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemed
to have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was dead; then I
got water and dashed it in his face; and with that he seemed to come a
little to himself, working his mouth and fluttering his eyelids. At last
he looked up and saw me, and there came into his eyes a terror that was
not of this world.

"Come, come," said I; "sit up."

"Are ye alive?" he sobbed. "O man, are ye alive?"

"That am I," said I. "Small thanks to you!"

He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs. "The blue phial,"
said he--"in the aumry--the blue phial." His breath came slower still.

I ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a blue phial
of medicine, with the dose written on it on a paper, and this I
administered to him with what speed I might.

"It's the trouble," said he, reviving a little; "I have a trouble,
Davie. It's the heart."

I set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt some pity for
a man that looked so sick, but I was full besides of righteous anger;
and I numbered over before him the points on which I wanted explanation:
why he lied to me at every word; why he feared that I should leave him;
why he disliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins--"Is
that because it is true?" I asked; why he had given me money to which I
was convinced I had no claim; and, last of all, why he had tried to kill
me. He heard me all through in silence; and then, in a broken voice,
begged me to let him go to bed.

"I'll tell ye the morn," he said; "as sure as death I will."

And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent. I locked him
into his room, however, and pocketed the key, and then returning to
the kitchen, made up such a blaze as had not shone there for many a long
year, and wrapping myself in my plaid, lay down upon the chests and fell
asleep.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: I Run a Great Danger in the House of Shaws David spends most of the day hanging around the House of Shaws. He finds a book in the library, signed by his father and dedicated to his Uncle Ebenezer on his fifth birthday. This confuses David, since he feels sure that Uncle Ebenezer must be much older than his father. It confuses him so much that he wonders whether perhaps his father was quick to learn to write, and so he asks Ebenezer if he and David's father were brothers. This enrages Ebenezer. But the uncle stops himself, and he pretends that he is so upset by his brother's death that he cannot bear to hear him spoken about. All of this only confuses David even more. But it does make him suspicious. He begins to think that perhaps there is some great fortune due to him, by inheritance, that his uncle is trying to keep him from. So he becomes suspicious himself. But then Ebenezer gives him forty pounds sterling, supposedly a present he has held for David since his birth. This act of generosity, coming from such a miser, impresses David, and his heart melts slightly. Ebenezer asks David to bring down a chest from the side-tower of the house. David agrees, but finds the stairway pitch-dark. He goes forward anyway, while a storm rages outside. By the lightning, he sees that there are hardly any steps; he could easily have fallen to his death. He goes back down the stairs and outside and discovers his uncle waiting, miserably. He sneaks up behind his uncle and nearly frightens him to death. David tries to interrogate his uncle, but Ebenezer only says he will tell him everything in the morning


prompt:
Chapter: Much rain fell in the night; and the next morning there blew a bitter
wintry wind out of the north-west, driving scattered clouds. For all
that, and before the sun began to peep or the last of the stars had
vanished, I made my way to the side of the burn, and had a plunge in a
deep whirling pool. All aglow from my bath, I sat down once more
beside the fire, which I replenished, and began gravely to consider my
position.

There was now no doubt about my uncle's enmity; there was no doubt I
carried my life in my hand, and he would leave no stone unturned that
he might compass my destruction. But I was young and spirited, and
like most lads that have been country-bred, I had a great opinion of my
shrewdness. I had come to his door no better than a beggar and little
more than a child; he had met me with treachery and violence; it would
be a fine consummation to take the upper hand, and drive him like a herd
of sheep.

I sat there nursing my knee and smiling at the fire; and I saw myself in
fancy smell out his secrets one after another, and grow to be that man's
king and ruler. The warlock of Essendean, they say, had made a mirror in
which men could read the future; it must have been of other stuff than
burning coal; for in all the shapes and pictures that I sat and gazed
at, there was never a ship, never a seaman with a hairy cap, never a big
bludgeon for my silly head, or the least sign of all those tribulations
that were ripe to fall on me.

Presently, all swollen with conceit, I went up-stairs and gave my
prisoner his liberty. He gave me good-morning civilly; and I gave the
same to him, smiling down upon him, from the heights of my sufficiency.
Soon we were set to breakfast, as it might have been the day before.

"Well, sir," said I, with a jeering tone, "have you nothing more to say
to me?" And then, as he made no articulate reply, "It will be time,
I think, to understand each other," I continued. "You took me for
a country Johnnie Raw, with no more mother-wit or courage than a
porridge-stick. I took you for a good man, or no worse than others at
the least. It seems we were both wrong. What cause you have to fear me,
to cheat me, and to attempt my life--"

He murmured something about a jest, and that he liked a bit of fun; and
then, seeing me smile, changed his tone, and assured me he would make
all clear as soon as we had breakfasted. I saw by his face that he had
no lie ready for me, though he was hard at work preparing one; and I
think I was about to tell him so, when we were interrupted by a knocking
at the door.

Bidding my uncle sit where he was, I went to open it, and found on the
doorstep a half-grown boy in sea-clothes. He had no sooner seen me than
he began to dance some steps of the sea-hornpipe (which I had never
before heard of far less seen), snapping his fingers in the air and
footing it right cleverly. For all that, he was blue with the cold; and
there was something in his face, a look between tears and laughter, that
was highly pathetic and consisted ill with this gaiety of manner.

"What cheer, mate?" says he, with a cracked voice.

I asked him soberly to name his pleasure.

"O, pleasure!" says he; and then began to sing:

     "For it's my delight, of a shiny night,
     In the season of the year."

"Well," said I, "if you have no business at all, I will even be so
unmannerly as to shut you out."

"Stay, brother!" he cried. "Have you no fun about you? or do you want
to get me thrashed? I've brought a letter from old Heasyoasy to Mr.
Belflower." He showed me a letter as he spoke. "And I say, mate," he
added, "I'm mortal hungry."

"Well," said I, "come into the house, and you shall have a bite if I go
empty for it."

With that I brought him in and set him down to my own place, where he
fell-to greedily on the remains of breakfast, winking to me between
whiles, and making many faces, which I think the poor soul considered
manly. Meanwhile, my uncle had read the letter and sat thinking; then,
suddenly, he got to his feet with a great air of liveliness, and pulled
me apart into the farthest corner of the room.

"Read that," said he, and put the letter in my hand.

Here it is, lying before me as I write:

"The Hawes Inn, at the Queen's Ferry.

"Sir,--I lie here with my hawser up and down, and send my cabin-boy to
informe. If you have any further commands for over-seas, to-day will be
the last occasion, as the wind will serve us well out of the firth.
I will not seek to deny that I have had crosses with your doer,* Mr.
Rankeillor; of which, if not speedily redd up, you may looke to see some
losses follow. I have drawn a bill upon you, as per margin, and am, sir,
     your most obedt., humble servant, "ELIAS HOSEASON."* Agent.

"You see, Davie," resumed my uncle, as soon as he saw that I had done,
"I have a venture with this man Hoseason, the captain of a trading brig,
the Covenant, of Dysart. Now, if you and me was to walk over with
yon lad, I could see the captain at the Hawes, or maybe on board the
Covenant if there was papers to be signed; and so far from a loss of
time, we can jog on to the lawyer, Mr. Rankeillor's. After a' that's
come and gone, ye would be swier* to believe me upon my naked word; but
ye'll believe Rankeillor. He's factor to half the gentry in these parts;
an auld man, forby: highly respeckit, and he kenned your father."

     * Unwilling.

I stood awhile and thought. I was going to some place of shipping, which
was doubtless populous, and where my uncle durst attempt no violence,
and, indeed, even the society of the cabin-boy so far protected me. Once
there, I believed I could force on the visit to the lawyer, even if my
uncle were now insincere in proposing it; and, perhaps, in the bottom
of my heart, I wished a nearer view of the sea and ships. You are to
remember I had lived all my life in the inland hills, and just two days
before had my first sight of the firth lying like a blue floor, and the
sailed ships moving on the face of it, no bigger than toys. One thing
with another, I made up my mind.

"Very well," says I, "let us go to the Ferry."

My uncle got into his hat and coat, and buckled an old rusty cutlass on;
and then we trod the fire out, locked the door, and set forth upon our
walk.

The wind, being in that cold quarter the north-west, blew nearly in our
faces as we went. It was the month of June; the grass was all white with
daisies, and the trees with blossom; but, to judge by our blue nails
and aching wrists, the time might have been winter and the whiteness a
December frost.

Uncle Ebenezer trudged in the ditch, jogging from side to side like an
old ploughman coming home from work. He never said a word the whole
way; and I was thrown for talk on the cabin-boy. He told me his name was
Ransome, and that he had followed the sea since he was nine, but could
not say how old he was, as he had lost his reckoning. He showed me
tattoo marks, baring his breast in the teeth of the wind and in spite
of my remonstrances, for I thought it was enough to kill him; he swore
horribly whenever he remembered, but more like a silly schoolboy than a
man; and boasted of many wild and bad things that he had done: stealthy
thefts, false accusations, ay, and even murder; but all with such a
dearth of likelihood in the details, and such a weak and crazy swagger
in the delivery, as disposed me rather to pity than to believe him.

I asked him of the brig (which he declared was the finest ship that
sailed) and of Captain Hoseason, in whose praises he was equally loud.
Heasyoasy (for so he still named the skipper) was a man, by his account,
that minded for nothing either in heaven or earth; one that, as people
said, would "crack on all sail into the day of judgment;" rough, fierce,
unscrupulous, and brutal; and all this my poor cabin-boy had taught
himself to admire as something seamanlike and manly. He would only admit
one flaw in his idol. "He ain't no seaman," he admitted. "That's Mr.
Shuan that navigates the brig; he's the finest seaman in the trade, only
for drink; and I tell you I believe it! Why, look'ere;" and turning down
his stocking he showed me a great, raw, red wound that made my blood run
cold. "He done that--Mr. Shuan done it," he said, with an air of pride.

"What!" I cried, "do you take such savage usage at his hands? Why, you
are no slave, to be so handled!"

"No," said the poor moon-calf, changing his tune at once, "and so he'll
find. See'ere;" and he showed me a great case-knife, which he told me
was stolen. "O," says he, "let me see him try; I dare him to; I'll do
for him! O, he ain't the first!" And he confirmed it with a poor, silly,
ugly oath.

I have never felt such pity for any one in this wide world as I felt for
that half-witted creature, and it began to come over me that the brig
Covenant (for all her pious name) was little better than a hell upon the
seas.

"Have you no friends?" said I.

He said he had a father in some English seaport, I forget which.

"He was a fine man, too," he said, "but he's dead."

"In Heaven's name," cried I, "can you find no reputable life on shore?"

"O, no," says he, winking and looking very sly, "they would put me to a
trade. I know a trick worth two of that, I do!"

I asked him what trade could be so dreadful as the one he followed,
where he ran the continual peril of his life, not alone from wind and
sea, but by the horrid cruelty of those who were his masters. He said
it was very true; and then began to praise the life, and tell what a
pleasure it was to get on shore with money in his pocket, and spend it
like a man, and buy apples, and swagger, and surprise what he called
stick-in-the-mud boys. "And then it's not all as bad as that," says he;
"there's worse off than me: there's the twenty-pounders. O, laws!
you should see them taking on. Why, I've seen a man as old as you, I
dessay"--(to him I seemed old)--"ah, and he had a beard, too--well, and
as soon as we cleared out of the river, and he had the drug out of his
head--my! how he cried and carried on! I made a fine fool of him, I tell
you! And then there's little uns, too: oh, little by me! I tell you, I
keep them in order. When we carry little uns, I have a rope's end of
my own to wollop'em." And so he ran on, until it came in on me what
he meant by twenty-pounders were those unhappy criminals who were
sent over-seas to slavery in North America, or the still more unhappy
innocents who were kidnapped or trepanned (as the word went) for private
interest or vengeance.

Just then we came to the top of the hill, and looked down on the Ferry
and the Hope. The Firth of Forth (as is very well known) narrows at this
point to the width of a good-sized river, which makes a convenient ferry
going north, and turns the upper reach into a landlocked haven for all
manner of ships. Right in the midst of the narrows lies an islet with
some ruins; on the south shore they have built a pier for the service
of the Ferry; and at the end of the pier, on the other side of the road,
and backed against a pretty garden of holly-trees and hawthorns, I could
see the building which they called the Hawes Inn.

The town of Queensferry lies farther west, and the neighbourhood of the
inn looked pretty lonely at that time of day, for the boat had just gone
north with passengers. A skiff, however, lay beside the pier, with some
seamen sleeping on the thwarts; this, as Ransome told me, was the brig's
boat waiting for the captain; and about half a mile off, and all
alone in the anchorage, he showed me the Covenant herself. There was a
sea-going bustle on board; yards were swinging into place; and as the
wind blew from that quarter, I could hear the song of the sailors as
they pulled upon the ropes. After all I had listened to upon the way, I
looked at that ship with an extreme abhorrence; and from the bottom of
my heart I pitied all poor souls that were condemned to sail in her.

We had all three pulled up on the brow of the hill; and now I marched
across the road and addressed my uncle. "I think it right to tell
you, sir," says I, "there's nothing that will bring me on board that
Covenant."

He seemed to waken from a dream. "Eh?" he said. "What's that?"

I told him over again.

"Well, well," he said, "we'll have to please ye, I suppose. But what
are we standing here for? It's perishing cold; and if I'm no mistaken,
they're busking the Covenant for sea."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: I Go to the Queen's Ferry David sleeps a restless night, aware of his uncle's great dislike, even hatred of him. But, in his youth, David thinks himself the better man, and makes plans to trick his uncle and get the upper hand of him, and eventually to control him. When he confronts his uncle the next morning, the uncle mumbles that having David climb the stairs was "a little joke. There is a knock at the door, and a cabin-boy is there, with a note for Ebenezer from Captain Hoseason. Hoseason is waiting at Queen's Ferry harbor with his ship, the Covenant, and Hoseason is awaiting any further orders from Ebenezer before he sets sail. It seems that Ebenezer has interests overseas, and they are not doing so well. Ebenezer decides to go see Hoseason with David and the cabin boy. On the way, David enters conversation with the cabin-boy and discovers his name is Ransome. Ransome describes life on the Covenant; particularly terrible is Mr. Shuan, the navigator, who abuses Ransome to the point of causing wounds. David decides life on the Covenant must be a living hell


prompt:
Chapter: As soon as we came to the inn, Ransome led us up the stair to a small
room, with a bed in it, and heated like an oven by a great fire of coal.
At a table hard by the chimney, a tall, dark, sober-looking man sat
writing. In spite of the heat of the room, he wore a thick sea-jacket,
buttoned to the neck, and a tall hairy cap drawn down over his ears; yet
I never saw any man, not even a judge upon the bench, look cooler, or
more studious and self-possessed, than this ship-captain.

He got to his feet at once, and coming forward, offered his large hand
to Ebenezer. "I am proud to see you, Mr. Balfour," said he, in a fine
deep voice, "and glad that ye are here in time. The wind's fair, and the
tide upon the turn; we'll see the old coal-bucket burning on the Isle of
May before to-night."

"Captain Hoseason," returned my uncle, "you keep your room unco hot."

"It's a habit I have, Mr. Balfour," said the skipper. "I'm a cold-rife
man by my nature; I have a cold blood, sir. There's neither fur,
nor flannel--no, sir, nor hot rum, will warm up what they call
the temperature. Sir, it's the same with most men that have been
carbonadoed, as they call it, in the tropic seas."

"Well, well, captain," replied my uncle, "we must all be the way we're
made."

But it chanced that this fancy of the captain's had a great share in my
misfortunes. For though I had promised myself not to let my kinsman out
of sight, I was both so impatient for a nearer look of the sea, and
so sickened by the closeness of the room, that when he told me to "run
down-stairs and play myself awhile," I was fool enough to take him at
his word.

Away I went, therefore, leaving the two men sitting down to a bottle
and a great mass of papers; and crossing the road in front of the inn,
walked down upon the beach. With the wind in that quarter, only little
wavelets, not much bigger than I had seen upon a lake, beat upon the
shore. But the weeds were new to me--some green, some brown and long,
and some with little bladders that crackled between my fingers. Even so
far up the firth, the smell of the sea-water was exceedingly salt and
stirring; the Covenant, besides, was beginning to shake out her sails,
which hung upon the yards in clusters; and the spirit of all that I
beheld put me in thoughts of far voyages and foreign places.

I looked, too, at the seamen with the skiff--big brown fellows, some in
shirts, some with jackets, some with coloured handkerchiefs about their
throats, one with a brace of pistols stuck into his pockets, two or
three with knotty bludgeons, and all with their case-knives. I passed
the time of day with one that looked less desperate than his fellows,
and asked him of the sailing of the brig. He said they would get under
way as soon as the ebb set, and expressed his gladness to be out of
a port where there were no taverns and fiddlers; but all with such
horrifying oaths, that I made haste to get away from him.

This threw me back on Ransome, who seemed the least wicked of that gang,
and who soon came out of the inn and ran to me, crying for a bowl of
punch. I told him I would give him no such thing, for neither he nor I
was of an age for such indulgences. "But a glass of ale you may have,
and welcome," said I. He mopped and mowed at me, and called me names;
but he was glad to get the ale, for all that; and presently we were
set down at a table in the front room of the inn, and both eating and
drinking with a good appetite.

Here it occurred to me that, as the landlord was a man of that county,
I might do well to make a friend of him. I offered him a share, as was
much the custom in those days; but he was far too great a man to sit
with such poor customers as Ransome and myself, and he was leaving the
room, when I called him back to ask if he knew Mr. Rankeillor.

"Hoot, ay," says he, "and a very honest man. And, O, by-the-by," says
he, "was it you that came in with Ebenezer?" And when I had told him
yes, "Ye'll be no friend of his?" he asked, meaning, in the Scottish
way, that I would be no relative.

I told him no, none.

"I thought not," said he, "and yet ye have a kind of gliff* of Mr.
Alexander."

     * Look.

I said it seemed that Ebenezer was ill-seen in the country.

"Nae doubt," said the landlord. "He's a wicked auld man, and there's
many would like to see him girning in the tow*. Jennet Clouston and mony
mair that he has harried out of house and hame. And yet he was ance
a fine young fellow, too. But that was before the sough** gaed abroad
about Mr. Alexander, that was like the death of him."

     * Rope.

     ** Report.

"And what was it?" I asked.

"Ou, just that he had killed him," said the landlord. "Did ye never hear
that?"

"And what would he kill him for?" said I.

"And what for, but just to get the place," said he.

"The place?" said I. "The Shaws?"

"Nae other place that I ken," said he.

"Ay, man?" said I. "Is that so? Was my--was Alexander the eldest son?"

"'Deed was he," said the landlord. "What else would he have killed him
for?"

And with that he went away, as he had been impatient to do from the
beginning.

Of course, I had guessed it a long while ago; but it is one thing to
guess, another to know; and I sat stunned with my good fortune, and
could scarce grow to believe that the same poor lad who had trudged in
the dust from Ettrick Forest not two days ago, was now one of the rich
of the earth, and had a house and broad lands, and might mount his horse
tomorrow. All these pleasant things, and a thousand others, crowded into
my mind, as I sat staring before me out of the inn window, and paying
no heed to what I saw; only I remember that my eye lighted on Captain
Hoseason down on the pier among his seamen, and speaking with some
authority. And presently he came marching back towards the house, with
no mark of a sailor's clumsiness, but carrying his fine, tall figure
with a manly bearing, and still with the same sober, grave expression on
his face. I wondered if it was possible that Ransome's stories could
be true, and half disbelieved them; they fitted so ill with the man's
looks. But indeed, he was neither so good as I supposed him, nor quite
so bad as Ransome did; for, in fact, he was two men, and left the better
one behind as soon as he set foot on board his vessel.

The next thing, I heard my uncle calling me, and found the pair in the
road together. It was the captain who addressed me, and that with an air
(very flattering to a young lad) of grave equality.

"Sir," said he, "Mr. Balfour tells me great things of you; and for my
own part, I like your looks. I wish I was for longer here, that we might
make the better friends; but we'll make the most of what we have. Ye
shall come on board my brig for half an hour, till the ebb sets, and
drink a bowl with me."

Now, I longed to see the inside of a ship more than words can tell; but
I was not going to put myself in jeopardy, and I told him my uncle and I
had an appointment with a lawyer.

"Ay, ay," said he, "he passed me word of that. But, ye see, the boat'll
set ye ashore at the town pier, and that's but a penny stonecast from
Rankeillor's house." And here he suddenly leaned down and whispered in
my ear: "Take care of the old tod;* he means mischief. Come aboard till
I can get a word with ye." And then, passing his arm through mine, he
continued aloud, as he set off towards his boat: "But, come, what can I
bring ye from the Carolinas? Any friend of Mr. Balfour's can command.
A roll of tobacco? Indian feather-work? a skin of a wild beast? a stone
pipe? the mocking-bird that mews for all the world like a cat? the
cardinal bird that is as red as blood?--take your pick and say your
pleasure."

     * Fox.

By this time we were at the boat-side, and he was handing me in. I did
not dream of hanging back; I thought (the poor fool!) that I had found
a good friend and helper, and I was rejoiced to see the ship. As soon as
we were all set in our places, the boat was thrust off from the pier
and began to move over the waters: and what with my pleasure in this new
movement and my surprise at our low position, and the appearance of the
shores, and the growing bigness of the brig as we drew near to it, I
could hardly understand what the captain said, and must have answered
him at random.

As soon as we were alongside (where I sat fairly gaping at the ship's
height, the strong humming of the tide against its sides, and the
pleasant cries of the seamen at their work) Hoseason, declaring that he
and I must be the first aboard, ordered a tackle to be sent down from
the main-yard. In this I was whipped into the air and set down again on
the deck, where the captain stood ready waiting for me, and instantly
slipped back his arm under mine. There I stood some while, a little
dizzy with the unsteadiness of all around me, perhaps a little afraid,
and yet vastly pleased with these strange sights; the captain meanwhile
pointing out the strangest, and telling me their names and uses.

"But where is my uncle?" said I suddenly.

"Ay," said Hoseason, with a sudden grimness, "that's the point."

I felt I was lost. With all my strength, I plucked myself clear of him
and ran to the bulwarks. Sure enough, there was the boat pulling for the
town, with my uncle sitting in the stern. I gave a piercing cry--"Help,
help! Murder!"--so that both sides of the anchorage rang with it, and
my uncle turned round where he was sitting, and showed me a face full of
cruelty and terror.

It was the last I saw. Already strong hands had been plucking me back
from the ship's side; and now a thunderbolt seemed to strike me; I saw a
great flash of fire, and fell senseless.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: What Befell at the Queen's Ferry David and Ebenezer meet Hoseason, who is staying in an inn. Ebenezer sends David down to amuse himself while he and the captain speak. David goes and speaks to the sailors of the Covenant, whom he finds to be rather dirty and rude. He talks with the bartender of the inn, who informs him that Many hate Ebenezer and they claim that he murdered David's father to get the House of Shaws. He also discovers that his own father was in fact the elder brother. David meets with his uncle and Hoseason, and Hoseason invites him to take a look around the Covenant while he finishes his discussion with Ebenezer. David agrees, wanting to see more of the ship, but as soon as he gets on the ship he sees his uncle pulling away, and then he is knocked unconscious.


prompt:
Chapter: I came to myself in darkness, in great pain, bound hand and foot, and
deafened by many unfamiliar noises. There sounded in my ears a roaring
of water as of a huge mill-dam, the thrashing of heavy sprays, the
thundering of the sails, and the shrill cries of seamen. The whole world
now heaved giddily up, and now rushed giddily downward; and so sick and
hurt was I in body, and my mind so much confounded, that it took me a
long while, chasing my thoughts up and down, and ever stunned again by
a fresh stab of pain, to realise that I must be lying somewhere bound in
the belly of that unlucky ship, and that the wind must have strengthened
to a gale. With the clear perception of my plight, there fell upon me a
blackness of despair, a horror of remorse at my own folly, and a passion
of anger at my uncle, that once more bereft me of my senses.

When I returned again to life, the same uproar, the same confused and
violent movements, shook and deafened me; and presently, to my other
pains and distresses, there was added the sickness of an unused landsman
on the sea. In that time of my adventurous youth, I suffered many
hardships; but none that was so crushing to my mind and body, or lit by
so few hopes, as these first hours aboard the brig.

I heard a gun fire, and supposed the storm had proved too strong for us,
and we were firing signals of distress. The thought of deliverance, even
by death in the deep sea, was welcome to me. Yet it was no such matter;
but (as I was afterwards told) a common habit of the captain's, which
I here set down to show that even the worst man may have his kindlier
side. We were then passing, it appeared, within some miles of Dysart,
where the brig was built, and where old Mrs. Hoseason, the captain's
mother, had come some years before to live; and whether outward or
inward bound, the Covenant was never suffered to go by that place by
day, without a gun fired and colours shown.

I had no measure of time; day and night were alike in that ill-smelling
cavern of the ship's bowels where I lay; and the misery of my situation
drew out the hours to double. How long, therefore, I lay waiting to hear
the ship split upon some rock, or to feel her reel head foremost into
the depths of the sea, I have not the means of computation. But sleep at
length stole from me the consciousness of sorrow.

I was awakened by the light of a hand-lantern shining in my face. A
small man of about thirty, with green eyes and a tangle of fair hair,
stood looking down at me.

"Well," said he, "how goes it?"

I answered by a sob; and my visitor then felt my pulse and temples, and
set himself to wash and dress the wound upon my scalp.

"Ay," said he, "a sore dunt*. What, man? Cheer up! The world's no done;
you've made a bad start of it but you'll make a better. Have you had any
meat?"

     * Stroke.

I said I could not look at it: and thereupon he gave me some brandy and
water in a tin pannikin, and left me once more to myself.

The next time he came to see me, I was lying betwixt sleep and waking,
my eyes wide open in the darkness, the sickness quite departed, but
succeeded by a horrid giddiness and swimming that was almost worse
to bear. I ached, besides, in every limb, and the cords that bound me
seemed to be of fire. The smell of the hole in which I lay seemed to
have become a part of me; and during the long interval since his last
visit I had suffered tortures of fear, now from the scurrying of the
ship's rats, that sometimes pattered on my very face, and now from the
dismal imaginings that haunt the bed of fever.

The glimmer of the lantern, as a trap opened, shone in like the heaven's
sunlight; and though it only showed me the strong, dark beams of the
ship that was my prison, I could have cried aloud for gladness. The man
with the green eyes was the first to descend the ladder, and I noticed
that he came somewhat unsteadily. He was followed by the captain.
Neither said a word; but the first set to and examined me, and dressed
my wound as before, while Hoseason looked me in my face with an odd,
black look.

"Now, sir, you see for yourself," said the first: "a high fever, no
appetite, no light, no meat: you see for yourself what that means."

"I am no conjurer, Mr. Riach," said the captain.

"Give me leave, sir," said Riach; "you've a good head upon your
shoulders, and a good Scotch tongue to ask with; but I will leave you no
manner of excuse; I want that boy taken out of this hole and put in the
forecastle."

"What ye may want, sir, is a matter of concern to nobody but yoursel',"
returned the captain; "but I can tell ye that which is to be. Here he
is; here he shall bide."

"Admitting that you have been paid in a proportion," said the other, "I
will crave leave humbly to say that I have not. Paid I am, and none too
much, to be the second officer of this old tub, and you ken very well if
I do my best to earn it. But I was paid for nothing more."

"If ye could hold back your hand from the tin-pan, Mr. Riach, I would
have no complaint to make of ye," returned the skipper; "and instead
of asking riddles, I make bold to say that ye would keep your breath to
cool your porridge. We'll be required on deck," he added, in a sharper
note, and set one foot upon the ladder.

But Mr. Riach caught him by the sleeve.

"Admitting that you have been paid to do a murder----" he began.

Hoseason turned upon him with a flash.

"What's that?" he cried. "What kind of talk is that?"

"It seems it is the talk that you can understand," said Mr. Riach,
looking him steadily in the face.

"Mr. Riach, I have sailed with ye three cruises," replied the captain.
"In all that time, sir, ye should have learned to know me: I'm a stiff
man, and a dour man; but for what ye say the now--fie, fie!--it comes
from a bad heart and a black conscience. If ye say the lad will die----"

"Ay, will he!" said Mr. Riach.

"Well, sir, is not that enough?" said Hoseason. "Flit him where ye
please!"

Thereupon the captain ascended the ladder; and I, who had lain silent
throughout this strange conversation, beheld Mr. Riach turn after him
and bow as low as to his knees in what was plainly a spirit of derision.
Even in my then state of sickness, I perceived two things: that the
mate was touched with liquor, as the captain hinted, and that (drunk or
sober) he was like to prove a valuable friend.

Five minutes afterwards my bonds were cut, I was hoisted on a man's
back, carried up to the forecastle, and laid in a bunk on some
sea-blankets; where the first thing that I did was to lose my senses.

It was a blessed thing indeed to open my eyes again upon the daylight,
and to find myself in the society of men. The forecastle was a roomy
place enough, set all about with berths, in which the men of the watch
below were seated smoking, or lying down asleep. The day being calm and
the wind fair, the scuttle was open, and not only the good daylight, but
from time to time (as the ship rolled) a dusty beam of sunlight shone
in, and dazzled and delighted me. I had no sooner moved, moreover, than
one of the men brought me a drink of something healing which Mr. Riach
had prepared, and bade me lie still and I should soon be well again.
There were no bones broken, he explained: "A clour* on the head was
naething. Man," said he, "it was me that gave it ye!"

     * Blow.

Here I lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and not only got
my health again, but came to know my companions. They were a rough lot
indeed, as sailors mostly are: being men rooted out of all the kindly
parts of life, and condemned to toss together on the rough seas, with
masters no less cruel. There were some among them that had sailed with
the pirates and seen things it would be a shame even to speak of; some
were men that had run from the king's ships, and went with a halter
round their necks, of which they made no secret; and all, as the saying
goes, were "at a word and a blow" with their best friends. Yet I had
not been many days shut up with them before I began to be ashamed of my
first judgment, when I had drawn away from them at the Ferry pier, as
though they had been unclean beasts. No class of man is altogether bad,
but each has its own faults and virtues; and these shipmates of mine
were no exception to the rule. Rough they were, sure enough; and bad, I
suppose; but they had many virtues. They were kind when it occurred to
them, simple even beyond the simplicity of a country lad like me, and
had some glimmerings of honesty.

There was one man, of maybe forty, that would sit on my berthside for
hours and tell me of his wife and child. He was a fisher that had lost
his boat, and thus been driven to the deep-sea voyaging. Well, it is
years ago now: but I have never forgotten him. His wife (who was "young
by him," as he often told me) waited in vain to see her man return; he
would never again make the fire for her in the morning, nor yet keep
the bairn when she was sick. Indeed, many of these poor fellows (as the
event proved) were upon their last cruise; the deep seas and cannibal
fish received them; and it is a thankless business to speak ill of the
dead.

Among other good deeds that they did, they returned my money, which had
been shared among them; and though it was about a third short, I was
very glad to get it, and hoped great good from it in the land I was
going to. The ship was bound for the Carolinas; and you must not suppose
that I was going to that place merely as an exile. The trade was even
then much depressed; since that, and with the rebellion of the colonies
and the formation of the United States, it has, of course, come to
an end; but in those days of my youth, white men were still sold into
slavery on the plantations, and that was the destiny to which my wicked
uncle had condemned me.

The cabin-boy Ransome (from whom I had first heard of these atrocities)
came in at times from the round-house, where he berthed and served, now
nursing a bruised limb in silent agony, now raving against the cruelty
of Mr. Shuan. It made my heart bleed; but the men had a great respect
for the chief mate, who was, as they said, "the only seaman of the whole
jing-bang, and none such a bad man when he was sober." Indeed, I found
there was a strange peculiarity about our two mates: that Mr. Riach was
sullen, unkind, and harsh when he was sober, and Mr. Shuan would not
hurt a fly except when he was drinking. I asked about the captain; but I
was told drink made no difference upon that man of iron.

I did my best in the small time allowed me to make some thing like a
man, or rather I should say something like a boy, of the poor creature,
Ransome. But his mind was scarce truly human. He could remember nothing
of the time before he came to sea; only that his father had made clocks,
and had a starling in the parlour, which could whistle "The North
Countrie;" all else had been blotted out in these years of hardship
and cruelties. He had a strange notion of the dry land, picked up from
sailor's stories: that it was a place where lads were put to some kind
of slavery called a trade, and where apprentices were continually lashed
and clapped into foul prisons. In a town, he thought every second person
a decoy, and every third house a place in which seamen would be drugged
and murdered. To be sure, I would tell him how kindly I had myself been
used upon that dry land he was so much afraid of, and how well fed and
carefully taught both by my friends and my parents: and if he had been
recently hurt, he would weep bitterly and swear to run away; but if
he was in his usual crackbrain humour, or (still more) if he had had a
glass of spirits in the roundhouse, he would deride the notion.

It was Mr. Riach (Heaven forgive him!) who gave the boy drink; and
it was, doubtless, kindly meant; but besides that it was ruin to his
health, it was the pitifullest thing in life to see this unhappy,
unfriended creature staggering, and dancing, and talking he knew not
what. Some of the men laughed, but not all; others would grow as black
as thunder (thinking, perhaps, of their own childhood or their own
children) and bid him stop that nonsense, and think what he was doing.
As for me, I felt ashamed to look at him, and the poor child still comes
about me in my dreams.

All this time, you should know, the Covenant was meeting continual
head-winds and tumbling up and down against head-seas, so that the
scuttle was almost constantly shut, and the forecastle lighted only by a
swinging lantern on a beam. There was constant labour for all hands; the
sails had to be made and shortened every hour; the strain told on the
men's temper; there was a growl of quarrelling all day long from berth
to berth; and as I was never allowed to set my foot on deck, you
can picture to yourselves how weary of my life I grew to be, and how
impatient for a change.

And a change I was to get, as you shall hear; but I must first tell of
a conversation I had with Mr. Riach, which put a little heart in me to
bear my troubles. Getting him in a favourable stage of drink (for indeed
he never looked near me when he was sober), I pledged him to secrecy,
and told him my whole story.

He declared it was like a ballad; that he would do his best to help
me; that I should have paper, pen, and ink, and write one line to Mr.
Campbell and another to Mr. Rankeillor; and that if I had told the
truth, ten to one he would be able (with their help) to pull me through
and set me in my rights.

"And in the meantime," says he, "keep your heart up. You're not the only
one, I'll tell you that. There's many a man hoeing tobacco over-seas
that should be mounting his horse at his own door at home; many and
many! And life is all a variorum, at the best. Look at me: I'm a laird's
son and more than half a doctor, and here I am, man-Jack to Hoseason!"

I thought it would be civil to ask him for his story.

He whistled loud.

"Never had one," said he. "I like fun, that's all." And he skipped out
of the forecastle.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: I Go to Sea in the Brig "Covenant" of Dysart David awakens in the brig of the Covenant, in pain and bound by ropes on his hands and feet. He is suffering from seasickness as well, and each lurch of the ship brings a fresh batch of pains. Several days and nights pass as David wanders in and out of consciousness and he is beginning to get a fever. A man visits David briefly, gives him some brandy and water, and dresses his scalp wound. Then he is left in darkness again, and the rats scurry over his face. Mr. Riach, the ship's second officer, brings Captain Hoseason down into David's room to show the captain how poorly the young man is doing. Hoseason is unsympathetic, and seems inclined to leave the boy to rot and die, but Riach asks to move David to the healthier area of the forecastle, with the other sailors. When the captain refuses, Riach accuses him of being a party to murder, and the captain relents. David rests in the forecastle for several days as Riach nurses him back to health. He comes to know the sailors, who he finds less rough than he did before. They even give him some of his money back. Ransome often visits him, always with a new wound from Mr. Shuan. David tells Riach the story of his uncle and how he came to the Covenant, and Riach claims he will send a letter to David's father's lawyer, Mr. Rankeillor, as well as Mr. Campbell, if he gets the chance


prompt:
Chapter: One night, about eleven o'clock, a man of Mr. Riach's watch (which was
on deck) came below for his jacket; and instantly there began to go
a whisper about the forecastle that "Shuan had done for him at last."
There was no need of a name; we all knew who was meant; but we had
scarce time to get the idea rightly in our heads, far less to speak of
it, when the scuttle was again flung open, and Captain Hoseason came
down the ladder. He looked sharply round the bunks in the tossing light
of the lantern; and then, walking straight up to me, he addressed me, to
my surprise, in tones of kindness.

"My man," said he, "we want ye to serve in the round-house. You and
Ransome are to change berths. Run away aft with ye."

Even as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying Ransome
in their arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great sheer into the
sea, and the lantern swinging, the light fell direct on the boy's face.
It was as white as wax, and had a look upon it like a dreadful smile.
The blood in me ran cold, and I drew in my breath as if I had been
struck.

"Run away aft; run away aft with ye!" cried Hoseason.

And at that I brushed by the sailors and the boy (who neither spoke nor
moved), and ran up the ladder on deck.

The brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long, cresting
swell. She was on the starboard tack, and on the left hand, under the
arched foot of the foresail, I could see the sunset still quite bright.
This, at such an hour of the night, surprised me greatly; but I was too
ignorant to draw the true conclusion--that we were going north-about
round Scotland, and were now on the high sea between the Orkney and
Shetland Islands, having avoided the dangerous currents of the Pentland
Firth. For my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and knew
nothing of head-winds, I thought we might be half-way or more across the
Atlantic. And indeed (beyond that I wondered a little at the lateness of
the sunset light) I gave no heed to it, and pushed on across the decks,
running between the seas, catching at ropes, and only saved from going
overboard by one of the hands on deck, who had been always kind to me.

The round-house, for which I was bound, and where I was now to sleep and
serve, stood some six feet above the decks, and considering the size of
the brig, was of good dimensions. Inside were a fixed table and bench,
and two berths, one for the captain and the other for the two mates,
turn and turn about. It was all fitted with lockers from top to bottom,
so as to stow away the officers' belongings and a part of the ship's
stores; there was a second store-room underneath, which you entered by a
hatchway in the middle of the deck; indeed, all the best of the meat and
drink and the whole of the powder were collected in this place; and all
the firearms, except the two pieces of brass ordnance, were set in a
rack in the aftermost wall of the round-house. The most of the cutlasses
were in another place.

A small window with a shutter on each side, and a skylight in the roof,
gave it light by day; and after dark there was a lamp always burning.
It was burning when I entered, not brightly, but enough to show Mr.
Shuan sitting at the table, with the brandy bottle and a tin pannikin
in front of him. He was a tall man, strongly made and very black; and he
stared before him on the table like one stupid.

He took no notice of my coming in; nor did he move when the captain
followed and leant on the berth beside me, looking darkly at the mate.
I stood in great fear of Hoseason, and had my reasons for it; but
something told me I need not be afraid of him just then; and I whispered
in his ear: "How is he?" He shook his head like one that does not know
and does not wish to think, and his face was very stern.

Presently Mr. Riach came in. He gave the captain a glance that meant the
boy was dead as plain as speaking, and took his place like the rest
of us; so that we all three stood without a word, staring down at Mr.
Shuan, and Mr. Shuan (on his side) sat without a word, looking hard upon
the table.

All of a sudden he put out his hand to take the bottle; and at that Mr.
Riach started forward and caught it away from him, rather by surprise
than violence, crying out, with an oath, that there had been too much of
this work altogether, and that a judgment would fall upon the ship.
And as he spoke (the weather sliding-doors standing open) he tossed the
bottle into the sea.

Mr. Shuan was on his feet in a trice; he still looked dazed, but he
meant murder, ay, and would have done it, for the second time that
night, had not the captain stepped in between him and his victim.

"Sit down!" roars the captain. "Ye sot and swine, do ye know what ye've
done? Ye've murdered the boy!"

Mr. Shuan seemed to understand; for he sat down again, and put up his
hand to his brow.

"Well," he said, "he brought me a dirty pannikin!"

At that word, the captain and I and Mr. Riach all looked at each other
for a second with a kind of frightened look; and then Hoseason walked
up to his chief officer, took him by the shoulder, led him across to his
bunk, and bade him lie down and go to sleep, as you might speak to a bad
child. The murderer cried a little, but he took off his sea-boots and
obeyed.

"Ah!" cried Mr. Riach, with a dreadful voice, "ye should have interfered
long syne. It's too late now."

"Mr. Riach," said the captain, "this night's work must never be kennt
in Dysart. The boy went overboard, sir; that's what the story is; and I
would give five pounds out of my pocket it was true!" He turned to the
table. "What made ye throw the good bottle away?" he added. "There was
nae sense in that, sir. Here, David, draw me another. They're in the
bottom locker;" and he tossed me a key. "Ye'll need a glass yourself,
sir," he added to Riach. "Yon was an ugly thing to see."

So the pair sat down and hob-a-nobbed; and while they did so, the
murderer, who had been lying and whimpering in his berth, raised himself
upon his elbow and looked at them and at me.

That was the first night of my new duties; and in the course of the next
day I had got well into the run of them. I had to serve at the meals,
which the captain took at regular hours, sitting down with the officer
who was off duty; all the day through I would be running with a dram
to one or other of my three masters; and at night I slept on a blanket
thrown on the deck boards at the aftermost end of the round-house, and
right in the draught of the two doors. It was a hard and a cold bed;
nor was I suffered to sleep without interruption; for some one would be
always coming in from deck to get a dram, and when a fresh watch was
to be set, two and sometimes all three would sit down and brew a bowl
together. How they kept their health, I know not, any more than how I
kept my own.

And yet in other ways it was an easy service. There was no cloth to lay;
the meals were either of oatmeal porridge or salt junk, except twice a
week, when there was duff: and though I was clumsy enough and (not being
firm on my sealegs) sometimes fell with what I was bringing them, both
Mr. Riach and the captain were singularly patient. I could not but fancy
they were making up lee-way with their consciences, and that they
would scarce have been so good with me if they had not been worse with
Ransome.

As for Mr. Shuan, the drink or his crime, or the two together, had
certainly troubled his mind. I cannot say I ever saw him in his proper
wits. He never grew used to my being there, stared at me continually
(sometimes, I could have thought, with terror), and more than once drew
back from my hand when I was serving him. I was pretty sure from the
first that he had no clear mind of what he had done, and on my second
day in the round-house I had the proof of it. We were alone, and he had
been staring at me a long time, when all at once, up he got, as pale as
death, and came close up to me, to my great terror. But I had no cause
to be afraid of him.

"You were not here before?" he asked.

"No, sir," said I."

"There was another boy?" he asked again; and when I had answered him,
"Ah!" says he, "I thought that," and went and sat down, without another
word, except to call for brandy.

You may think it strange, but for all the horror I had, I was still
sorry for him. He was a married man, with a wife in Leith; but whether
or no he had a family, I have now forgotten; I hope not.

Altogether it was no very hard life for the time it lasted, which (as
you are to hear) was not long. I was as well fed as the best of them;
even their pickles, which were the great dainty, I was allowed my share
of; and had I liked I might have been drunk from morning to night, like
Mr. Shuan. I had company, too, and good company of its sort. Mr. Riach,
who had been to the college, spoke to me like a friend when he was not
sulking, and told me many curious things, and some that were informing;
and even the captain, though he kept me at the stick's end the most part
of the time, would sometimes unbuckle a bit, and tell me of the fine
countries he had visited.

The shadow of poor Ransome, to be sure, lay on all four of us, and on
me and Mr. Shuan in particular, most heavily. And then I had another
trouble of my own. Here I was, doing dirty work for three men that I
looked down upon, and one of whom, at least, should have hung upon a
gallows; that was for the present; and as for the future, I could only
see myself slaving alongside of negroes in the tobacco fields. Mr.
Riach, perhaps from caution, would never suffer me to say another word
about my story; the captain, whom I tried to approach, rebuffed me like
a dog and would not hear a word; and as the days came and went, my heart
sank lower and lower, till I was even glad of the work which kept me
from thinking.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Round-House Ransome is brought into the forecastle; Mr. Shuan has killed him. Hoseason orders David to become the new cabin boy. He sends him to the Round-House, the officers' cabin. Shuan is a wreck; killing the boy has ruined his already tenuous sanity. David becomes used to his duties, and finds it not so bad a life. Riach does not abuse David, his wits being gone. David tries to speak to Riach and the captain about their plans for him, and his plight, but they won't listen, and David has visions of himself slaving in the colonies of North America


prompt:
Chapter: But now our time of truce was come to an end. Those on deck had waited
for my coming till they grew impatient; and scarce had Alan spoken, when
the captain showed face in the open door.

"Stand!" cried Alan, and pointed his sword at him. The captain stood,
indeed; but he neither winced nor drew back a foot.

"A naked sword?" says he. "This is a strange return for hospitality."

"Do ye see me?" said Alan. "I am come of kings; I bear a king's name. My
badge is the oak. Do ye see my sword? It has slashed the heads off mair
Whigamores than you have toes upon your feet. Call up your vermin to
your back, sir, and fall on! The sooner the clash begins, the sooner
ye'll taste this steel throughout your vitals."

The captain said nothing to Alan, but he looked over at me with an ugly
look. "David," said he, "I'll mind this;" and the sound of his voice
went through me with a jar.

Next moment he was gone.

"And now," said Alan, "let your hand keep your head, for the grip is
coming."

Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case they should run
in under his sword. I, on my part, clambered up into the berth with
an armful of pistols and something of a heavy heart, and set open the
window where I was to watch. It was a small part of the deck that I
could overlook, but enough for our purpose. The sea had gone down, and
the wind was steady and kept the sails quiet; so that there was a
great stillness in the ship, in which I made sure I heard the sound of
muttering voices. A little after, and there came a clash of steel upon
the deck, by which I knew they were dealing out the cutlasses and one
had been let fall; and after that, silence again.

I do not know if I was what you call afraid; but my heart beat like a
bird's, both quick and little; and there was a dimness came before my
eyes which I continually rubbed away, and which continually returned. As
for hope, I had none; but only a darkness of despair and a sort of anger
against all the world that made me long to sell my life as dear as I was
able. I tried to pray, I remember, but that same hurry of my mind, like
a man running, would not suffer me to think upon the words; and my chief
wish was to have the thing begin and be done with it.

It came all of a sudden when it did, with a rush of feet and a roar, and
then a shout from Alan, and a sound of blows and some one crying out
as if hurt. I looked back over my shoulder, and saw Mr. Shuan in the
doorway, crossing blades with Alan.

"That's him that killed the boy!" I cried.

"Look to your window!" said Alan; and as I turned back to my place, I
saw him pass his sword through the mate's body.

It was none too soon for me to look to my own part; for my head was
scarce back at the window, before five men, carrying a spare yard for
a battering-ram, ran past me and took post to drive the door in. I had
never fired with a pistol in my life, and not often with a gun; far less
against a fellow-creature. But it was now or never; and just as they
swang the yard, I cried out: "Take that!" and shot into their midst.

I must have hit one of them, for he sang out and gave back a step, and
the rest stopped as if a little disconcerted. Before they had time to
recover, I sent another ball over their heads; and at my third shot
(which went as wide as the second) the whole party threw down the yard
and ran for it.

Then I looked round again into the deck-house. The whole place was full
of the smoke of my own firing, just as my ears seemed to be burst with
the noise of the shots. But there was Alan, standing as before; only
now his sword was running blood to the hilt, and himself so swelled
with triumph and fallen into so fine an attitude, that he looked to be
invincible. Right before him on the floor was Mr. Shuan, on his hands
and knees; the blood was pouring from his mouth, and he was sinking
slowly lower, with a terrible, white face; and just as I looked, some of
those from behind caught hold of him by the heels and dragged him bodily
out of the round-house. I believe he died as they were doing it.

"There's one of your Whigs for ye!" cried Alan; and then turning to me,
he asked if I had done much execution.

I told him I had winged one, and thought it was the captain.

"And I've settled two," says he. "No, there's not enough blood let;
they'll be back again. To your watch, David. This was but a dram before
meat."

I settled back to my place, re-charging the three pistols I had fired,
and keeping watch with both eye and ear.

Our enemies were disputing not far off upon the deck, and that so loudly
that I could hear a word or two above the washing of the seas.

"It was Shuan bauchled* it," I heard one say.

     * Bungled.

And another answered him with a "Wheesht, man! He's paid the piper."

After that the voices fell again into the same muttering as before. Only
now, one person spoke most of the time, as though laying down a plan,
and first one and then another answered him briefly, like men taking
orders. By this, I made sure they were coming on again, and told Alan.

"It's what we have to pray for," said he. "Unless we can give them a
good distaste of us, and done with it, there'll be nae sleep for either
you or me. But this time, mind, they'll be in earnest."

By this, my pistols were ready, and there was nothing to do but listen
and wait. While the brush lasted, I had not the time to think if I was
frighted; but now, when all was still again, my mind ran upon nothing
else. The thought of the sharp swords and the cold steel was strong in
me; and presently, when I began to hear stealthy steps and a brushing
of men's clothes against the round-house wall, and knew they were taking
their places in the dark, I could have found it in my mind to cry out
aloud.

All this was upon Alan's side; and I had begun to think my share of the
fight was at an end, when I heard some one drop softly on the roof above
me.

Then there came a single call on the sea-pipe, and that was the signal.
A knot of them made one rush of it, cutlass in hand, against the door;
and at the same moment, the glass of the skylight was dashed in a
thousand pieces, and a man leaped through and landed on the floor.
Before he got his feet, I had clapped a pistol to his back, and might
have shot him, too; only at the touch of him (and him alive) my whole
flesh misgave me, and I could no more pull the trigger than I could have
flown.

He had dropped his cutlass as he jumped, and when he felt the pistol,
whipped straight round and laid hold of me, roaring out an oath; and at
that either my courage came again, or I grew so much afraid as came to
the same thing; for I gave a shriek and shot him in the midst of the
body. He gave the most horrible, ugly groan and fell to the floor. The
foot of a second fellow, whose legs were dangling through the skylight,
struck me at the same time upon the head; and at that I snatched another
pistol and shot this one through the thigh, so that he slipped through
and tumbled in a lump on his companion's body. There was no talk of
missing, any more than there was time to aim; I clapped the muzzle to
the very place and fired.

I might have stood and stared at them for long, but I heard Alan shout
as if for help, and that brought me to my senses.

He had kept the door so long; but one of the seamen, while he was
engaged with others, had run in under his guard and caught him about the
body. Alan was dirking him with his left hand, but the fellow clung like
a leech. Another had broken in and had his cutlass raised. The door was
thronged with their faces. I thought we were lost, and catching up my
cutlass, fell on them in flank.

But I had not time to be of help. The wrestler dropped at last; and
Alan, leaping back to get his distance, ran upon the others like a
bull, roaring as he went. They broke before him like water, turning, and
running, and falling one against another in their haste. The sword
in his hands flashed like quicksilver into the huddle of our fleeing
enemies; and at every flash there came the scream of a man hurt. I was
still thinking we were lost, when lo! they were all gone, and Alan was
driving them along the deck as a sheep-dog chases sheep.

Yet he was no sooner out than he was back again, being as cautious as he
was brave; and meanwhile the seamen continued running and crying out as
if he was still behind them; and we heard them tumble one upon another
into the forecastle, and clap-to the hatch upon the top.

The round-house was like a shambles; three were dead inside, another
lay in his death agony across the threshold; and there were Alan and I
victorious and unhurt.

He came up to me with open arms. "Come to my arms!" he cried, and
embraced and kissed me hard upon both cheeks. "David," said he, "I love
you like a brother. And O, man," he cried in a kind of ecstasy, "am I no
a bonny fighter?"

Thereupon he turned to the four enemies, passed his sword clean through
each of them, and tumbled them out of doors one after the other. As he
did so, he kept humming and singing and whistling to himself, like a man
trying to recall an air; only what HE was trying was to make one. All
the while, the flush was in his face, and his eyes were as bright as a
five-year-old child's with a new toy. And presently he sat down upon the
table, sword in hand; the air that he was making all the time began to
run a little clearer, and then clearer still; and then out he burst with
a great voice into a Gaelic song.

I have translated it here, not in verse (of which I have no skill) but
at least in the king's English.

He sang it often afterwards, and the thing became popular; so that I
have heard it and had it explained to me, many's the time.

"This is the song of the sword of Alan; The smith made it, The fire set
it; Now it shines in the hand of Alan Breck.

"Their eyes were many and bright, Swift were they to behold, Many the
hands they guided: The sword was alone.

"The dun deer troop over the hill, They are many, the hill is one; The
dun deer vanish, The hill remains.

"Come to me from the hills of heather, Come from the isles of the sea. O
far-beholding eagles, Here is your meat."

Now this song which he made (both words and music) in the hour of our
victory, is something less than just to me, who stood beside him in
the tussle. Mr. Shuan and five more were either killed outright or
thoroughly disabled; but of these, two fell by my hand, the two that
came by the skylight. Four more were hurt, and of that number, one (and
he not the least important) got his hurt from me. So that, altogether,
I did my fair share both of the killing and the wounding, and might have
claimed a place in Alan's verses. But poets have to think upon their
rhymes; and in good prose talk, Alan always did me more than justice.

In the meanwhile, I was innocent of any wrong being done me. For not
only I knew no word of the Gaelic; but what with the long suspense of
the waiting, and the scurry and strain of our two spirts of fighting,
and more than all, the horror I had of some of my own share in it, the
thing was no sooner over than I was glad to stagger to a seat. There was
that tightness on my chest that I could hardly breathe; the thought
of the two men I had shot sat upon me like a nightmare; and all upon a
sudden, and before I had a guess of what was coming, I began to sob and
cry like any child.

Alan clapped my shoulder, and said I was a brave lad and wanted nothing
but a sleep.

"I'll take the first watch," said he. "Ye've done well by me, David,
first and last; and I wouldn't lose you for all Appin--no, nor for
Breadalbane."

So I made up my bed on the floor; and he took the first spell, pistol
in hand and sword on knee, three hours by the captain's watch upon the
wall. Then he roused me up, and I took my turn of three hours; before
the end of which it was broad day, and a very quiet morning, with a
smooth, rolling sea that tossed the ship and made the blood run to and
fro on the round-house floor, and a heavy rain that drummed upon the
roof. All my watch there was nothing stirring; and by the banging of the
helm, I knew they had even no one at the tiller. Indeed (as I learned
afterwards) there were so many of them hurt or dead, and the rest in so
ill a temper, that Mr. Riach and the captain had to take turn and turn
like Alan and me, or the brig might have gone ashore and nobody the
wiser. It was a mercy the night had fallen so still, for the wind had
gone down as soon as the rain began. Even as it was, I judged by the
wailing of a great number of gulls that went crying and fishing round
the ship, that she must have drifted pretty near the coast or one of
the islands of the Hebrides; and at last, looking out of the door of the
round-house, I saw the great stone hills of Skye on the right hand, and,
a little more astern, the strange isle of Rum.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Siege of the Round-House Captain Hoseason enters the Round-House to discover Alan and David prepared for battle. A few moments later, the battle begins as the Captain and his men attack Alan, while David guards the rear of the Round-House. Several men attempt to break the rear door down with a battle-ram; David fires at them in response, wounding the Captain in the arm. Meanwhile, Alan has killed Mr. Shuan, and one other sailor. As they wait for the second attack, David tries to hold back his fear. The second attack arrives, and Alan kills several more sailors, while David shoots two attackers that come in through the skylight. Alan finishes off his attackers at the main door, and the battle ends with the victory of Alan and David. Alan is quite pleased with his accomplishments, and makes up a Gaelic song about the battle, which does not mention David at all. They take turns at the watch, awaiting negotiations from the Captain


prompt:
Chapter: Alan and I sat down to breakfast about six of the clock. The floor was
covered with broken glass and in a horrid mess of blood, which took away
my hunger. In all other ways we were in a situation not only agreeable
but merry; having ousted the officers from their own cabin, and having
at command all the drink in the ship--both wine and spirits--and all the
dainty part of what was eatable, such as the pickles and the fine sort
of bread. This, of itself, was enough to set us in good humour, but the
richest part of it was this, that the two thirstiest men that ever came
out of Scotland (Mr. Shuan being dead) were now shut in the fore-part of
the ship and condemned to what they hated most--cold water.

"And depend upon it," Alan said, "we shall hear more of them ere long.
Ye may keep a man from the fighting, but never from his bottle."

We made good company for each other. Alan, indeed, expressed himself
most lovingly; and taking a knife from the table, cut me off one of the
silver buttons from his coat.

"I had them," says he, "from my father, Duncan Stewart; and now give ye
one of them to be a keepsake for last night's work. And wherever ye go
and show that button, the friends of Alan Breck will come around you."

He said this as if he had been Charlemagne, and commanded armies; and
indeed, much as I admired his courage, I was always in danger of smiling
at his vanity: in danger, I say, for had I not kept my countenance, I
would be afraid to think what a quarrel might have followed.

As soon as we were through with our meal he rummaged in the captain's
locker till he found a clothes-brush; and then taking off his coat,
began to visit his suit and brush away the stains, with such care and
labour as I supposed to have been only usual with women. To be sure, he
had no other; and, besides (as he said), it belonged to a king and so
behoved to be royally looked after.

For all that, when I saw what care he took to pluck out the threads
where the button had been cut away, I put a higher value on his gift.

He was still so engaged when we were hailed by Mr. Riach from the deck,
asking for a parley; and I, climbing through the skylight and sitting on
the edge of it, pistol in hand and with a bold front, though inwardly in
fear of broken glass, hailed him back again and bade him speak out. He
came to the edge of the round-house, and stood on a coil of rope, so
that his chin was on a level with the roof; and we looked at each other
awhile in silence. Mr. Riach, as I do not think he had been very forward
in the battle, so he had got off with nothing worse than a blow upon the
cheek: but he looked out of heart and very weary, having been all night
afoot, either standing watch or doctoring the wounded.

"This is a bad job," said he at last, shaking his head.

"It was none of our choosing," said I.

"The captain," says he, "would like to speak with your friend. They
might speak at the window."

"And how do we know what treachery he means?" cried I.

"He means none, David," returned Mr. Riach, "and if he did, I'll tell ye
the honest truth, we couldnae get the men to follow."

"Is that so?" said I.

"I'll tell ye more than that," said he. "It's not only the men; it's me.
I'm frich'ened, Davie." And he smiled across at me. "No," he continued,
"what we want is to be shut of him."

Thereupon I consulted with Alan, and the parley was agreed to and
parole given upon either side; but this was not the whole of Mr. Riach's
business, and he now begged me for a dram with such instancy and such
reminders of his former kindness, that at last I handed him a pannikin
with about a gill of brandy. He drank a part, and then carried the rest
down upon the deck, to share it (I suppose) with his superior.

A little after, the captain came (as was agreed) to one of the windows,
and stood there in the rain, with his arm in a sling, and looking stern
and pale, and so old that my heart smote me for having fired upon him.

Alan at once held a pistol in his face.

"Put that thing up!" said the captain. "Have I not passed my word, sir?
or do ye seek to affront me?"

"Captain," says Alan, "I doubt your word is a breakable. Last night ye
haggled and argle-bargled like an apple-wife; and then passed me your
word, and gave me your hand to back it; and ye ken very well what was
the upshot. Be damned to your word!" says he.

"Well, well, sir," said the captain, "ye'll get little good by
swearing." (And truly that was a fault of which the captain was quite
free.) "But we have other things to speak," he continued, bitterly.
"Ye've made a sore hash of my brig; I haven't hands enough left to work
her; and my first officer (whom I could ill spare) has got your sword
throughout his vitals, and passed without speech. There is nothing left
me, sir, but to put back into the port of Glasgow after hands; and there
(by your leave) ye will find them that are better able to talk to you."

"Ay?" said Alan; "and faith, I'll have a talk with them mysel'! Unless
there's naebody speaks English in that town, I have a bonny tale for
them. Fifteen tarry sailors upon the one side, and a man and a halfling
boy upon the other! O, man, it's peetiful!"

Hoseason flushed red.

"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* pass from island to island in
all weathers, ay, and by night too, for the matter of that."

     *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."

"It's to risk the brig, sir," said the captain, "and your own lives
along with her."

"Take it or want it," says Alan.

"Could ye pilot us at all?" asked the captain, who was frowning to
himself.

"Well, it's doubtful," said Alan. "I'm more of a fighting man (as ye
have seen for yoursel') than a sailor-man. But I have been often enough
picked up and set down upon this coast, and should ken something of the
lie of it."

The captain shook his head, still frowning.

"If I had lost less money on this unchancy cruise," says he, "I would
see you in a rope's end before I risked my brig, sir. But be it as ye
will. As soon as I get a slant of wind (and there's some coming, or I'm
the more mistaken) I'll put it in hand. But there's one thing more. We
may meet in with a king's ship and she may lay us aboard, sir, with no
blame of mine: they keep the cruisers thick upon this coast, ye ken who
for. Now, sir, if that was to befall, ye might leave the money."

"Captain," says Alan, "if ye see a pennant, it shall be your part to
run away. And now, as I hear you're a little short of brandy in the
fore-part, I'll offer ye a change: a bottle of brandy against two
buckets of water."

That was the last clause of the treaty, and was duly executed on both
sides; so that Alan and I could at last wash out the round-house and be
quit of the memorials of those whom we had slain, and the captain and
Mr. Riach could be happy again in their own way, the name of which was
drink.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Captain Knuckles Under Alan and David are now in control of the Round-House, which has most of the food and all of the liquor. Alan seems certain that the Captain and his first mate Riach will surrender soon, primarily due to their lack of alcohol. In honor of David's brave performance, and for saving Alan's life, Alan cuts a silver button off his jacket and gives it to David, telling him that "wherever ye go and show that button, the friends of Alan Breck will come around you. Riach hails the two men and speaks to David. The Captain is now willing to negotiate. Before he leaves, Riach begs for some brandy, and they give him a little. Alan and the Captain negotiate; Alan offers sixty guineas if the captain will put him down at Linnhe Loch. The captain reluctantly agrees, though it will be a dangerous trip