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: Awash with sickness, David awoke in a hole of overwhelming darkness. He was being thrashed about in a rocking motion and was bruised all over his body. He soon realized that he lay in the underbelly of the ship, Covenant. Furious at his uncle and at his own foolishness, his senses overcame him. When he awoke, David was met with the same confusion, pain, and tossing he had first experienced. In his desperation, he hoped the boat would meet destruction, setting him free from his prison even if in death. Lost between sorrow, sickness, and sleep, David finally encountered another human when a man with a lantern woke him. The man tried to give him some meat but David could not eat it and so he fixed brandy and water. Then, the man washed his head wound. The next time he came, David lay with a giddiness spread through his body which was hard to bear. The man entered with the Captain and addressed Hoseason with reproach regarding the boy's condition. Hoseason seemed unconcerned, refused to have the boy moved, and turned to climb back to the deck. The other man, identified as Mr. Riach, retorted that if Hoseason wanted to be a paid murderer then he would have nothing to do with it. Outraged at this claim, Hoseason bid him do as he pleased. Riach, a bit drunk, defiantly cut David from his shackles and brought him to a bunk in the forecastle. Here, daylight shone in and other men were often present. David was joyous. He was forbidden to go on deck but did reclaim his health, thanks to Riach, and was visited by many of the men of the ship. Some would bring medicine or food, one would sit and tell of his wife and children, and many of them returned David's money which had been stolen upon his kidnapping. They were far from the beasts David had at first imagined. David was also able to spend some time with young Ransome who proved to be as tainted a boy as he had seemed on land. He could not believe the stories David would tell him of good parents and happy times on land, believing instead the sea fables he had heard from sailors. Riach would sometimes give him drink which only made him more foolish and shamed many of the sailors. The Covenant moved steadily toward the Carolinas where David's uncle had given him to be sold into slavery. David's only hope was a conversation he had with Riach while Riach was drunk. After hearing David's story, Riach promised to help him write a letter to Campbell and Rankeillor in hope of getting help.


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: One night at midnight a man came down from his deck duty to the forecastle, whispering that he had finally done it. David and the others knew at once that he was referring to Mr. Shuan and poor Ransome. Moments later Hoseason came into the forecastle commanding that David run to the round-house as he and Ransome were to change jobs. Seamen entered carrying Ransome's limp and pale body and David quickly ran past and across the the deck to the round-house. Mr. Shuan sat at the table staring blankly as David and then the Captain entered. Shuan was the other officer below Hoseason besides Riach and was naturally kind except when drinking, which was common. Riach entered with a look that said that Ransome was dead. They stood staring at Shuan until Shuan reached for the bottle of liquor on the table. Riach intercepted the bottle, yelling that he had done enough damage, and threw it over the side of the boat. Shuan stood up as if to murder him as well but Hoseason stepped between them, demanding to know if Shuan realized he had killed the boy. Shuan sat down, exclaiming that Ransome had brought him a dirty container. Hoseason led the man to a bunk and bade him to lie down and sleep. Riach cried that Hoseason should have done something earlier to which Hoseason replied that Riach must never speak of the murder on land but must say that Ransome had fallen overboard. He then chastised Riach for throwing away a good bottle of liquor and asked David to retrieve another for them. After this night, David continuously served meals for the three men. He slept in the round-house on a cold, hard bed where he was constantly interrupted. Still, the work was not difficult and he was often fed quite well. He rather appreciated working more than thinking because it gave him less time to be discouraged about his upcoming future.


prompt:
Chapter: More than a week went by, in which the ill-luck that had hitherto
pursued the Covenant upon this voyage grew yet more strongly marked.
Some days she made a little way; others, she was driven actually back.
At last we were beaten so far to the south that we tossed and tacked to
and fro the whole of the ninth day, within sight of Cape Wrath and the
wild, rocky coast on either hand of it. There followed on that a council
of the officers, and some decision which I did not rightly understand,
seeing only the result: that we had made a fair wind of a foul one and
were running south.

The tenth afternoon there was a falling swell and a thick, wet, white
fog that hid one end of the brig from the other. All afternoon, when
I went on deck, I saw men and officers listening hard over the
bulwarks--"for breakers," they said; and though I did not so much as
understand the word, I felt danger in the air, and was excited.

Maybe about ten at night, I was serving Mr. Riach and the captain at
their supper, when the ship struck something with a great sound, and we
heard voices singing out. My two masters leaped to their feet.

"She's struck!" said Mr. Riach.

"No, sir," said the captain. "We've only run a boat down."

And they hurried out.

The captain was in the right of it. We had run down a boat in the fog,
and she had parted in the midst and gone to the bottom with all her crew
but one. This man (as I heard afterwards) had been sitting in the stern
as a passenger, while the rest were on the benches rowing. At the moment
of the blow, the stern had been thrown into the air, and the man (having
his hands free, and for all he was encumbered with a frieze overcoat
that came below his knees) had leaped up and caught hold of the brig's
bowsprit. It showed he had luck and much agility and unusual strength,
that he should have thus saved himself from such a pass. And yet, when
the captain brought him into the round-house, and I set eyes on him for
the first time, he looked as cool as I did.

He was smallish in stature, but well set and as nimble as a goat; his
face was of a good open expression, but sunburnt very dark, and heavily
freckled and pitted with the small-pox; his eyes were unusually light
and had a kind of dancing madness in them, that was both engaging and
alarming; and when he took off his great-coat, he laid a pair of fine
silver-mounted pistols on the table, and I saw that he was belted with
a great sword. His manners, besides, were elegant, and he pledged the
captain handsomely. Altogether I thought of him, at the first sight,
that here was a man I would rather call my friend than my enemy.

The captain, too, was taking his observations, but rather of the man's
clothes than his person. And to be sure, as soon as he had taken off
the great-coat, he showed forth mighty fine for the round-house of a
merchant brig: having a hat with feathers, a red waistcoat, breeches
of black plush, and a blue coat with silver buttons and handsome silver
lace; costly clothes, though somewhat spoiled with the fog and being
slept in.

"I'm vexed, sir, about the boat," says the captain.

"There are some pretty men gone to the bottom," said the stranger, "that
I would rather see on the dry land again than half a score of boats."

"Friends of yours?" said Hoseason.

"You have none such friends in your country," was the reply. "They would
have died for me like dogs."

"Well, sir," said the captain, still watching him, "there are more men
in the world than boats to put them in."

"And that's true, too," cried the other, "and ye seem to be a gentleman
of great penetration."

"I have been in France, sir," says the captain, so that it was plain he
meant more by the words than showed upon the face of them.

"Well, sir," says the other, "and so has many a pretty man, for the
matter of that."

"No doubt, sir," says the captain, "and fine coats."

"Oho!" says the stranger, "is that how the wind sets?" And he laid his
hand quickly on his pistols.

"Don't be hasty," said the captain. "Don't do a mischief before ye
see the need of it. Ye've a French soldier's coat upon your back and a
Scotch tongue in your head, to be sure; but so has many an honest fellow
in these days, and I dare say none the worse of it."

"So?" said the gentleman in the fine coat: "are ye of the honest party?"
(meaning, Was he a Jacobite? for each side, in these sort of civil
broils, takes the name of honesty for its own).

"Why, sir," replied the captain, "I am a true-blue Protestant, and I
thank God for it." (It was the first word of any religion I had ever
heard from him, but I learnt afterwards he was a great church-goer while
on shore.) "But, for all that," says he, "I can be sorry to see another
man with his back to the wall."

"Can ye so, indeed?" asked the Jacobite. "Well, sir, to be quite plain
with ye, I am one of those honest gentlemen that were in trouble about
the years forty-five and six; and (to be still quite plain with ye) if
I got into the hands of any of the red-coated gentry, it's like it would
go hard with me. Now, sir, I was for France; and there was a French ship
cruising here to pick me up; but she gave us the go-by in the fog--as I
wish from the heart that ye had done yoursel'! And the best that I can
say is this: If ye can set me ashore where I was going, I have that upon
me will reward you highly for your trouble."

"In France?" says the captain. "No, sir; that I cannot do. But where ye
come from--we might talk of that."

And then, unhappily, he observed me standing in my corner, and packed
me off to the galley to get supper for the gentleman. I lost no time,
I promise you; and when I came back into the round-house, I found the
gentleman had taken a money-belt from about his waist, and poured out
a guinea or two upon the table. The captain was looking at the guineas,
and then at the belt, and then at the gentleman's face; and I thought he
seemed excited.

"Half of it," he cried, "and I'm your man!"

The other swept back the guineas into the belt, and put it on again
under his waistcoat. "I have told ye sir," said he, "that not one doit
of it belongs to me. It belongs to my chieftain," and here he touched
his hat, "and while I would be but a silly messenger to grudge some of
it that the rest might come safe, I should show myself a hound indeed if
I bought my own carcase any too dear. Thirty guineas on the sea-side, or
sixty if ye set me on the Linnhe Loch. Take it, if ye will; if not, ye
can do your worst."

"Ay," said Hoseason. "And if I give ye over to the soldiers?"

"Ye would make a fool's bargain," said the other. "My chief, let me tell
you, sir, is forfeited, like every honest man in Scotland. His estate
is in the hands of the man they call King George; and it is his officers
that collect the rents, or try to collect them. But for the honour of
Scotland, the poor tenant bodies take a thought upon their chief lying
in exile; and this money is a part of that very rent for which King
George is looking. Now, sir, ye seem to me to be a man that understands
things: bring this money within the reach of Government, and how much of
it'll come to you?"

"Little enough, to be sure," said Hoseason; and then, "if they knew," he
added, drily. "But I think, if I was to try, that I could hold my tongue
about it."

"Ah, but I'll begowk* ye there!" cried the gentleman. "Play me false,
and I'll play you cunning. If a hand is laid upon me, they shall ken
what money it is."

     *Befool.

"Well," returned the captain, "what must be must. Sixty guineas, and
done. Here's my hand upon it."

"And here's mine," said the other.

And thereupon the captain went out (rather hurriedly, I thought), and
left me alone in the round-house with the stranger.

At that period (so soon after the forty-five) there were many exiled
gentlemen coming back at the peril of their lives, either to see their
friends or to collect a little money; and as for the Highland chiefs
that had been forfeited, it was a common matter of talk how their
tenants would stint themselves to send them money, and their clansmen
outface the soldiery to get it in, and run the gauntlet of our great
navy to carry it across. All this I had, of course, heard tell of; and
now I had a man under my eyes whose life was forfeit on all these counts
and upon one more, for he was not only a rebel and a smuggler of rents,
but had taken service with King Louis of France. And as if all this
were not enough, he had a belt full of golden guineas round his loins.
Whatever my opinions, I could not look on such a man without a lively
interest.

"And so you're a Jacobite?" said I, as I set meat before him.

"Ay," said he, beginning to eat. "And you, by your long face, should be
a Whig?"*

     * Whig or Whigamore was the cant name for those who were
     loyal to King George.

"Betwixt and between," said I, not to annoy him; for indeed I was as
good a Whig as Mr. Campbell could make me.

"And that's naething," said he. "But I'm saying, Mr.
Betwixt-and-Between," he added, "this bottle of yours is dry; and it's
hard if I'm to pay sixty guineas and be grudged a dram upon the back of
it."

"I'll go and ask for the key," said I, and stepped on deck.

The fog was as close as ever, but the swell almost down. They had laid
the brig to, not knowing precisely where they were, and the wind (what
little there was of it) not serving well for their true course. Some of
the hands were still hearkening for breakers; but the captain and the
two officers were in the waist with their heads together. It struck me
(I don't know why) that they were after no good; and the first word I
heard, as I drew softly near, more than confirmed me.

It was Mr. Riach, crying out as if upon a sudden thought: "Couldn't we
wile him out of the round-house?"

"He's better where he is," returned Hoseason; "he hasn't room to use his
sword."

"Well, that's true," said Riach; "but he's hard to come at."

"Hut!" said Hoseason. "We can get the man in talk, one upon each side,
and pin him by the two arms; or if that'll not hold, sir, we can make a
run by both the doors and get him under hand before he has the time to
draw."

At this hearing, I was seized with both fear and anger at these
treacherous, greedy, bloody men that I sailed with. My first mind was to
run away; my second was bolder.

"Captain," said I, "the gentleman is seeking a dram, and the bottle's
out. Will you give me the key?"

They all started and turned about.

"Why, here's our chance to get the firearms!"

Riach cried; and then to me: "Hark ye, David," he said, "do ye ken where
the pistols are?"

"Ay, ay," put in Hoseason. "David kens; David's a good lad. Ye see,
David my man, yon wild Hielandman is a danger to the ship, besides being
a rank foe to King George, God bless him!"

I had never been so be-Davided since I came on board: but I said Yes, as
if all I heard were quite natural.

"The trouble is," resumed the captain, "that all our firelocks, great
and little, are in the round-house under this man's nose; likewise the
powder. Now, if I, or one of the officers, was to go in and take them,
he would fall to thinking. But a lad like you, David, might snap up a
horn and a pistol or two without remark. And if ye can do it cleverly,
I'll bear it in mind when it'll be good for you to have friends; and
that's when we come to Carolina."

Here Mr. Riach whispered him a little.

"Very right, sir," said the captain; and then to myself: "And see here,
David, yon man has a beltful of gold, and I give you my word that you
shall have your fingers in it."

I told him I would do as he wished, though indeed I had scarce breath to
speak with; and upon that he gave me the key of the spirit locker, and I
began to go slowly back to the round-house. What was I to do? They
were dogs and thieves; they had stolen me from my own country; they had
killed poor Ransome; and was I to hold the candle to another murder? But
then, upon the other hand, there was the fear of death very plain before
me; for what could a boy and a man, if they were as brave as lions,
against a whole ship's company?

I was still arguing it back and forth, and getting no great clearness,
when I came into the round-house and saw the Jacobite eating his supper
under the lamp; and at that my mind was made up all in a moment. I have
no credit by it; it was by no choice of mine, but as if by compulsion,
that I walked right up to the table and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Do ye want to be killed?" said I. He sprang to his feet, and looked a
question at me as clear as if he had spoken.

"O!" cried I, "they're all murderers here; it's a ship full of them!
They've murdered a boy already. Now it's you."

"Ay, ay," said he; "but they have n't got me yet." And then looking at me
curiously, "Will ye stand with me?"

"That will I!" said I. "I am no thief, nor yet murderer. I'll stand by
you."

"Why, then," said he, "what's your name?"

"David Balfour," said I; and then, thinking that a man with so fine a
coat must like fine people, I added for the first time, "of Shaws."

It never occurred to him to doubt me, for a Highlander is used to see
great gentlefolk in great poverty; but as he had no estate of his own,
my words nettled a very childish vanity he had.

"My name is Stewart," he said, drawing himself up. "Alan Breck, they
call me. A king's name is good enough for me, though I bear it plain and
have the name of no farm-midden to clap to the hind-end of it."

And having administered this rebuke, as though it were something of a
chief importance, he turned to examine our defences.

The round-house was built very strong, to support the breaching of the
seas. Of its five apertures, only the skylight and the two doors were
large enough for the passage of a man. The doors, besides, could be
drawn close: they were of stout oak, and ran in grooves, and were fitted
with hooks to keep them either shut or open, as the need arose. The
one that was already shut I secured in this fashion; but when I was
proceeding to slide to the other, Alan stopped me.

"David," said he--"for I cannae bring to mind the name of your landed
estate, and so will make so bold as to call you David--that door, being
open, is the best part of my defences."

"It would be yet better shut," says I.

"Not so, David," says he. "Ye see, I have but one face; but so long as
that door is open and my face to it, the best part of my enemies will be
in front of me, where I would aye wish to find them."

Then he gave me from the rack a cutlass (of which there were a few
besides the firearms), choosing it with great care, shaking his head and
saying he had never in all his life seen poorer weapons; and next he set
me down to the table with a powder-horn, a bag of bullets and all the
pistols, which he bade me charge.

"And that will be better work, let me tell you," said he, "for a
gentleman of decent birth, than scraping plates and raxing* drams to a
wheen tarry sailors."

     *Reaching.

Thereupon he stood up in the midst with his face to the door, and
drawing his great sword, made trial of the room he had to wield it in.

"I must stick to the point," he said, shaking his head; "and that's a
pity, too. It doesn't set my genius, which is all for the upper guard.
And, now," said he, "do you keep on charging the pistols, and give heed
to me."

I told him I would listen closely. My chest was tight, my mouth dry, the
light dark to my eyes; the thought of the numbers that were soon to
leap in upon us kept my heart in a flutter: and the sea, which I heard
washing round the brig, and where I thought my dead body would be cast
ere morning, ran in my mind strangely.

"First of all," said he, "how many are against us?"

I reckoned them up; and such was the hurry of my mind, I had to cast the
numbers twice. "Fifteen," said I.

Alan whistled. "Well," said he, "that can't be cured. And now follow me.
It is my part to keep this door, where I look for the main battle. In
that, ye have no hand. And mind and dinnae fire to this side unless they
get me down; for I would rather have ten foes in front of me than one
friend like you cracking pistols at my back."

I told him, indeed I was no great shot.

"And that's very bravely said," he cried, in a great admiration of my
candour. "There's many a pretty gentleman that wouldnae dare to say it."

"But then, sir," said I, "there is the door behind you, which they may
perhaps break in."

"Ay," said he, "and that is a part of your work. No sooner the pistols
charged, than ye must climb up into yon bed where ye're handy at the
window; and if they lift hand against the door, ye're to shoot. But
that's not all. Let's make a bit of a soldier of ye, David. What else
have ye to guard?"

"There's the skylight," said I. "But indeed, Mr. Stewart, I would need
to have eyes upon both sides to keep the two of them; for when my face
is at the one, my back is to the other."

"And that's very true," said Alan. "But have ye no ears to your head?"

"To be sure!" cried I. "I must hear the bursting of the glass!"

"Ye have some rudiments of sense," said Alan, grimly.

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

completion: A week of terrible weather passed where the boat made few strides forward and more than a few backwards. Finally the officers decided to follow the winds further south. Here they met dense fog and swelling waves. Seamen had to listen day and night for breakers so as to not collide with the land. One night, as David served Hoseason and Riach their supper, the ship struck another boat. The boat's crew sunk to the bottom except for one man who had sat as a passenger on the boat. He was a small man dressed in very fine clothes. Beneath his great coat, pistols and a large sword were revealed. He spoke prettily to the Captain who expressed his sympathy toward the sunken boat. The conversation soon progressed to religion as the Captain implied to the man that he could tell from his French coat that he was a Jacobite, and thus not loyal to King George. The Captain and the rest of the sailors were Protestant. The stranger asked if he could be dropped in France, which was his original destination, for which he would highly reward the Captain. Hoseason refused, sending David to retrieve food for the stranger. When David returned, the man had revealed a belt of guineas and was trying to make a deal with the Captain. The stranger repeated to Hoseason that the money was not his but was the property of his chieftain. He offered Hoseason thirty guineas if he was let off seaside and sixty if dropped at Linnhe Loch. The stranger explained that betraying him to the red coats would result in no money for Hoseason. The money was part of a rent which King George was looking for from the stranger's chieftain. Consequently, the Captain agreed on sixty guineas. Once Hoseason left, David asked if the exciting fellow was a Jacobite. The stranger stipulated that David was a Whig. He then sent David to Hoseason for the key to the liquor cabinet. When David neared, he overheard the three officers planning to mug the man of his belt of gold. David was enraged but entered to ask for the key. The men saw their chance and told David to get the pistols in the round-house for them so that the stranger would not be suspicious. He agreed but rushed back to the man to tell him of the Captain's murderous intentions. David did not wish to witness another murder. The stranger, who called himself Alan Breck Stewart, was startled by the news. He and David prepared for the ambush by checking entrances to the round-house and preparing weapons. David had little experience and so Alan placed him in his bunk to watch the back door.


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 Captain and officers had grown tired of waiting for David and so Hoseason presently entered the round-house. Alan drew his sword. The Captain was surprised, mentioning how disappointed he was in David, but soon left. Alan alerted David that the ambush of men might come at any minute. David sat waiting, not sure whether he was scared or angry, until he heard the noise of a weapon falling to the deck above. Alan armed himself and gave David a handful of pistols to use. Suddenly the men entered the room, led by Mr. Shuan who attacked Alan directly. Alan gave him a killing blow. Men rushed past David to try to push the door in, forcing David to shoot a pistol for the first time in his life. His first shot injured one man, possibly the Captain. The next two shots were fired wide but scared the group of men back onto the deck. The men ducked back in momentarily to pull Shuan on deck, though he was already dead. Alan looked victorious but told David to expect more attacks. David became fearful now that he had witnessed the killing. He heard voices on deck made up of a leader barking out orders and subordinates accepting them. He warned Alan that the men were planning another assault. Alan responded that this news was good because otherwise they would have to wait up all night. Soon the men descended upon them again. David heard their noise only near Alan until someone softly dropped on the roof above him. As a man thundered down through the skylight with cutlass in hand, David drew his pistol against the man's back. The man froze and dropped his cutlass but David was too much in a panic to pull the trigger. The man then swung around and grabbed David which forced him to shoot his pistol straight into the man. Another man pushed through the skylight and met with David's angry pistol. Just then, Alan screamed out and David turned to see him surrounded by a group of men. He thought they would certainly be beaten but Alan killed three more of the men and injured most of the others, who ran back onto the deck. Alan and David were victorious. Alan was so ecstatic that he hugged and professed his love for David and then created a poetic song in Gaelic which detailed his glorious victory. David, overcome by exhaustion and fear, burst into tears. Alan let him sleep first and kept the first three hour watch. He then woke David who kept the next watch until morning. Rain began and the wind quieted so that David could hear that the men on deck. They did very little, ignoring even the tiller. The sound of birds informed David that they were near land.


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: When morning came, David and Alan breakfasted. Alan told David to expect more fighting especially since the men had no access to their liquor, as the round-house contained it all. In their location, David and Alan were able to share some of the best food and drink on the boat. As a gift of gratitude, Alan gave David one of the silver buttons on his coat. David was more thankful when he watched Alan meticulously brush his jacket, giving special care to the loose threads from the button. The vanity of Alan's speech also impressed and humored David. It was difficult at times not to smile at his claims. Soon, Mr. Riach contacted the men hoping to arrange a parley with the Captain. David leaned out of the broken skylight to speak with Riach, learning that the rest of the ship's men refused to form any sort of further attacks even if the Captain and Riach wanted it. Riach said they meant no treachery and were more scared of Alan than anything. The parley was agreed to and the Captain and Alan met to speak at one of the windows. Hoseason attempted to make Alan agree to be dropped off in Glasgow. Hoseason's first official was dead and the ship was very difficult to maneuver without him. Alan refused, demanding to be let off in his own land so he would not to meet any red coated Whigs. The Captain then tried to convince Alan that the shore was too difficult to navigate in Alan's part of Scotland. Consequently, Alan suggested a large stretch of shore which would be suitable. Hoseason asked for money. Alan agreed to his old proposition of thirty guineas if he was dropped sea side and sixty if he was dropped in Linnhe Loch. The Captain desired the sixty guineas if he brought Alan to the near spot of Ardnamurchan. Alan again refused, repeating his offer. He also refused to help the ship's men steer the ship, as the Captain requested, and gave the Captain the responsibility of avoiding ships loyal to King George. With an exchange of brandy for buckets of water, the deal was done. The Captain and Riach were able to drink again and David and Alan could clean the blood off their floor.


prompt:
Chapter: Before we had done cleaning out the round-house, a breeze sprang up from
a little to the east of north. This blew off the rain and brought out
the sun.

And here I must explain; and the reader would do well to look at a map.
On the day when the fog fell and we ran down Alan's boat, we had been
running through the Little Minch. At dawn after the battle, we lay
becalmed to the east of the Isle of Canna or between that and Isle
Eriska in the chain of the Long Island. Now to get from there to the
Linnhe Loch, the straight course was through the narrows of the Sound of
Mull. But the captain had no chart; he was afraid to trust his brig so
deep among the islands; and the wind serving well, he preferred to go by
west of Tiree and come up under the southern coast of the great Isle of
Mull.

All day the breeze held in the same point, and rather freshened than
died down; and towards afternoon, a swell began to set in from round the
outer Hebrides. Our course, to go round about the inner isles, was to
the west of south, so that at first we had this swell upon our beam, and
were much rolled about. But after nightfall, when we had turned the end
of Tiree and began to head more to the east, the sea came right astern.

Meanwhile, the early part of the day, before the swell came up, was
very pleasant; sailing, as we were, in a bright sunshine and with
many mountainous islands upon different sides. Alan and I sat in the
round-house with the doors open on each side (the wind being straight
astern), and smoked a pipe or two of the captain's fine tobacco. It was
at this time we heard each other's stories, which was the more important
to me, as I gained some knowledge of that wild Highland country on which
I was so soon to land. In those days, so close on the back of the great
rebellion, it was needful a man should know what he was doing when he
went upon the heather.

It was I that showed the example, telling him all my misfortune; which
he heard with great good-nature. Only, when I came to mention that good
friend of mine, Mr. Campbell the minister, Alan fired up and cried out
that he hated all that were of that name.

"Why," said I, "he is a man you should be proud to give your hand to."

"I know nothing I would help a Campbell to," says he, "unless it was a
leaden bullet. I would hunt all of that name like blackcocks. If I lay
dying, I would crawl upon my knees to my chamber window for a shot at
one."

"Why, Alan," I cried, "what ails ye at the Campbells?"

"Well," says he, "ye ken very well that I am an Appin Stewart, and the
Campbells have long harried and wasted those of my name; ay, and got
lands of us by treachery--but never with the sword," he cried loudly,
and with the word brought down his fist upon the table. But I paid the
less attention to this, for I knew it was usually said by those who have
the underhand. "There's more than that," he continued, "and all in the
same story: lying words, lying papers, tricks fit for a peddler, and the
show of what's legal over all, to make a man the more angry."

"You that are so wasteful of your buttons," said I, "I can hardly think
you would be a good judge of business."

"Ah!" says he, falling again to smiling, "I got my wastefulness from
the same man I got the buttons from; and that was my poor father, Duncan
Stewart, grace be to him! He was the prettiest man of his kindred; and
the best swordsman in the Hielands, David, and that is the same as to
say, in all the world, I should ken, for it was him that taught me.
He was in the Black Watch, when first it was mustered; and, like other
gentlemen privates, had a gillie at his back to carry his firelock for
him on the march. Well, the King, it appears, was wishful to see Hieland
swordsmanship; and my father and three more were chosen out and sent to
London town, to let him see it at the best. So they were had into the
palace and showed the whole art of the sword for two hours at a stretch,
before King George and Queen Carline, and the Butcher Cumberland, and
many more of whom I havenae mind. And when they were through, the King
(for all he was a rank usurper) spoke them fair and gave each man three
guineas in his hand. Now, as they were going out of the palace, they
had a porter's lodge to go by; and it came in on my father, as he was
perhaps the first private Hieland gentleman that had ever gone by that
door, it was right he should give the poor porter a proper notion of
their quality. So he gives the King's three guineas into the man's hand,
as if it was his common custom; the three others that came behind him
did the same; and there they were on the street, never a penny the
better for their pains. Some say it was one, that was the first to fee
the King's porter; and some say it was another; but the truth of it is,
that it was Duncan Stewart, as I am willing to prove with either sword
or pistol. And that was the father that I had, God rest him!"

"I think he was not the man to leave you rich," said I.

"And that's true," said Alan. "He left me my breeks to cover me, and
little besides. And that was how I came to enlist, which was a black
spot upon my character at the best of times, and would still be a sore
job for me if I fell among the red-coats."

"What," cried I, "were you in the English army?"

"That was I," said Alan. "But I deserted to the right side at Preston
Pans--and that's some comfort."

I could scarcely share this view: holding desertion under arms for an
unpardonable fault in honour. But for all I was so young, I was wiser
than say my thought. "Dear, dear," says I, "the punishment is death."

"Ay" said he, "if they got hands on me, it would be a short shrift and
a lang tow for Alan! But I have the King of France's commission in my
pocket, which would aye be some protection."

"I misdoubt it much," said I.

"I have doubts mysel'," said Alan drily.

"And, good heaven, man," cried I, "you that are a condemned rebel, and a
deserter, and a man of the French King's--what tempts ye back into this
country? It's a braving of Providence."

"Tut!" says Alan, "I have been back every year since forty-six!"

"And what brings ye, man?" cried I.

"Well, ye see, I weary for my friends and country," said he. "France is
a braw place, nae doubt; but I weary for the heather and the deer. And
then I have bit things that I attend to. Whiles I pick up a few lads
to serve the King of France: recruits, ye see; and that's aye a
little money. But the heart of the matter is the business of my chief,
Ardshiel."

"I thought they called your chief Appin," said I.

"Ay, but Ardshiel is the captain of the clan," said he, which scarcely
cleared my mind. "Ye see, David, he that was all his life so great a
man, and come of the blood and bearing the name of kings, is now brought
down to live in a French town like a poor and private person. He that
had four hundred swords at his whistle, I have seen, with these eyes
of mine, buying butter in the market-place, and taking it home in a
kale-leaf. This is not only a pain but a disgrace to us of his family
and clan. There are the bairns forby, the children and the hope of
Appin, that must be learned their letters and how to hold a sword, in
that far country. Now, the tenants of Appin have to pay a rent to King
George; but their hearts are staunch, they are true to their chief; and
what with love and a bit of pressure, and maybe a threat or two, the
poor folk scrape up a second rent for Ardshiel. Well, David, I'm the
hand that carries it." And he struck the belt about his body, so that
the guineas rang.

"Do they pay both?" cried I.

"Ay, David, both," says he.

"What! two rents?" I repeated.

"Ay, David," said he. "I told a different tale to yon captain man; but
this is the truth of it. And it's wonderful to me how little pressure
is needed. But that's the handiwork of my good kinsman and my father's
friend, James of the Glens: James Stewart, that is: Ardshiel's
half-brother. He it is that gets the money in, and does the management."

This was the first time I heard the name of that James Stewart, who was
afterwards so famous at the time of his hanging. But I took little heed
at the moment, for all my mind was occupied with the generosity of these
poor Highlanders.

"I call it noble," I cried. "I'm a Whig, or little better; but I call it
noble."

"Ay" said he, "ye're a Whig, but ye're a gentleman; and that's what does
it. Now, if ye were one of the cursed race of Campbell, ye would gnash
your teeth to hear tell of it. If ye were the Red Fox..." And at that
name, his teeth shut together, and he ceased speaking. I have seen many
a grim face, but never a grimmer than Alan's when he had named the Red
Fox.

"And who is the Red Fox?" I asked, daunted, but still curious.

"Who is he?" cried Alan. "Well, and I'll tell you that. When the men of
the clans were broken at Culloden, and the good cause went down, and the
horses rode over the fetlocks in the best blood of the north, Ardshiel
had to flee like a poor deer upon the mountains--he and his lady and his
bairns. A sair job we had of it before we got him shipped; and while he
still lay in the heather, the English rogues, that couldnae come at his
life, were striking at his rights. They stripped him of his powers; they
stripped him of his lands; they plucked the weapons from the hands of
his clansmen, that had borne arms for thirty centuries; ay, and the very
clothes off their backs--so that it's now a sin to wear a tartan plaid,
and a man may be cast into a gaol if he has but a kilt about his legs.
One thing they couldnae kill. That was the love the clansmen bore their
chief. These guineas are the proof of it. And now, in there steps a man,
a Campbell, red-headed Colin of Glenure----"

"Is that him you call the Red Fox?" said I.

"Will ye bring me his brush?" cries Alan, fiercely. "Ay, that's the man.
In he steps, and gets papers from King George, to be so-called King's
factor on the lands of Appin. And at first he sings small, and is
hail-fellow-well-met with Sheamus--that's James of the Glens, my
chieftain's agent. But by-and-by, that came to his ears that I have just
told you; how the poor commons of Appin, the farmers and the crofters
and the boumen, were wringing their very plaids to get a second rent,
and send it over-seas for Ardshiel and his poor bairns. What was it ye
called it, when I told ye?"

"I called it noble, Alan," said I.

"And you little better than a common Whig!" cries Alan. "But when it
came to Colin Roy, the black Campbell blood in him ran wild. He sat
gnashing his teeth at the wine table. What! should a Stewart get a bite
of bread, and him not be able to prevent it? Ah! Red Fox, if ever I
hold you at a gun's end, the Lord have pity upon ye!" (Alan stopped to
swallow down his anger.) "Well, David, what does he do? He declares all
the farms to let. And, thinks he, in his black heart, 'I'll soon get
other tenants that'll overbid these Stewarts, and Maccolls, and Macrobs'
(for these are all names in my clan, David); 'and then,' thinks he,
'Ardshiel will have to hold his bonnet on a French roadside.'"

"Well," said I, "what followed?"

Alan laid down his pipe, which he had long since suffered to go out, and
set his two hands upon his knees.

"Ay," said he, "ye'll never guess that! For these same Stewarts, and
Maccolls, and Macrobs (that had two rents to pay, one to King George
by stark force, and one to Ardshiel by natural kindness) offered him a
better price than any Campbell in all broad Scotland; and far he
sent seeking them--as far as to the sides of Clyde and the cross of
Edinburgh--seeking, and fleeching, and begging them to come, where there
was a Stewart to be starved and a red-headed hound of a Campbell to be
pleasured!"

"Well, Alan," said I, "that is a strange story, and a fine one, too. And
Whig as I may be, I am glad the man was beaten."

"Him beaten?" echoed Alan. "It's little ye ken of Campbells, and less
of the Red Fox. Him beaten? No: nor will be, till his blood's on the
hillside! But if the day comes, David man, that I can find time and
leisure for a bit of hunting, there grows not enough heather in all
Scotland to hide him from my vengeance!"

"Man Alan," said I, "ye are neither very wise nor very Christian to
blow off so many words of anger. They will do the man ye call the Fox no
harm, and yourself no good. Tell me your tale plainly out. What did he
next?"

"And that's a good observe, David," said Alan. "Troth and indeed,
they will do him no harm; the more's the pity! And barring that about
Christianity (of which my opinion is quite otherwise, or I would be nae
Christian), I am much of your mind."

"Opinion here or opinion there," said I, "it's a kent thing that
Christianity forbids revenge."

"Ay" said he, "it's well seen it was a Campbell taught ye! It would be
a convenient world for them and their sort, if there was no such a thing
as a lad and a gun behind a heather bush! But that's nothing to the
point. This is what he did."

"Ay" said I, "come to that."

"Well, David," said he, "since he couldnae be rid of the loyal commons
by fair means, he swore he would be rid of them by foul. Ardshiel was to
starve: that was the thing he aimed at. And since them that fed him in
his exile wouldnae be bought out--right or wrong, he would drive them
out. Therefore he sent for lawyers, and papers, and red-coats to stand
at his back. And the kindly folk of that country must all pack and
tramp, every father's son out of his father's house, and out of the
place where he was bred and fed, and played when he was a callant. And
who are to succeed them? Bare-leggit beggars! King George is to whistle
for his rents; he maun dow with less; he can spread his butter thinner:
what cares Red Colin? If he can hurt Ardshiel, he has his wish; if he
can pluck the meat from my chieftain's table, and the bit toys out of
his children's hands, he will gang hame singing to Glenure!"

"Let me have a word," said I. "Be sure, if they take less rents, be
sure Government has a finger in the pie. It's not this Campbell's fault,
man--it's his orders. And if ye killed this Colin to-morrow, what better
would ye be? There would be another factor in his shoes, as fast as spur
can drive."

"Ye're a good lad in a fight," said Alan; "but, man! ye have Whig blood
in ye!"

He spoke kindly enough, but there was so much anger under his contempt
that I thought it was wise to change the conversation. I expressed my
wonder how, with the Highlands covered with troops, and guarded like
a city in a siege, a man in his situation could come and go without
arrest.

"It's easier than ye would think," said Alan. "A bare hillside (ye see)
is like all one road; if there's a sentry at one place, ye just go by
another. And then the heather's a great help. And everywhere there are
friends' houses and friends' byres and haystacks. And besides, when folk
talk of a country covered with troops, it's but a kind of a byword at
the best. A soldier covers nae mair of it than his boot-soles. I have
fished a water with a sentry on the other side of the brae, and killed a
fine trout; and I have sat in a heather bush within six feet of another,
and learned a real bonny tune from his whistling. This was it," said he,
and whistled me the air.

"And then, besides," he continued, "it's no sae bad now as it was in
forty-six. The Hielands are what they call pacified. Small wonder, with
never a gun or a sword left from Cantyre to Cape Wrath, but what tenty*
folk have hidden in their thatch! But what I would like to ken, David,
is just how long? Not long, ye would think, with men like Ardshiel in
exile and men like the Red Fox sitting birling the wine and oppressing
the poor at home. But it's a kittle thing to decide what folk'll bear,
and what they will not. Or why would Red Colin be riding his horse all
over my poor country of Appin, and never a pretty lad to put a bullet in
him?"

     * Careful.

And with this Alan fell into a muse, and for a long time sate very sad
and silent.

I will add the rest of what I have to say about my friend, that he
was skilled in all kinds of music, but principally pipe-music; was a
well-considered poet in his own tongue; had read several books both in
French and English; was a dead shot, a good angler, and an excellent
fencer with the small sword as well as with his own particular weapon.
For his faults, they were on his face, and I now knew them all. But
the worst of them, his childish propensity to take offence and to pick
quarrels, he greatly laid aside in my case, out of regard for the battle
of the round-house. But whether it was because I had done well myself,
or because I had been a witness of his own much greater prowess, is more
than I can tell. For though he had a great taste for courage in other
men, yet he admired it most in Alan Breck.

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

completion: Soon, the breeze blew off the rain and the sun came out. The ship's course was decided by Hoseason who feared that the boat may be too large to navigate between the smaller isles. Thus, they drove south hoping to come up to Linnhe Loch around the southern coast of the Isle of Mull. Alan and David sat pleasantly in the round-house with doors open so the breeze could blow right through. They smoked pipes and told their stories to each other. David hoped to hear about Alan in order to know what to expect from the Scotland he would soon land upon. Alan was a good listener of David's story until he heard David mention the minister, Mr. Campbell. The name alerted a hatred in Alan who explained that the Campbell family was his worst enemy. He claimed the family had cheated, tricked, and robbed his clan for years, doing the greatest harm after the Jacobite defeat in 1746. Alan spoke also of his father. His father was the first man, Alan claimed proudly, to tip the King's porter. Yet, his generosity left Alan poor which is why he joined the English army. However, at the battle at Preston Pans, he deserted his army and joined the Jacobites. David realized that his desertion was punishable by death. David could not understand why a man who had deserted the English army and worked for the French King would reenter Scotland. Alan explained that he missed his land, family, and friends. Also, he needed to recruit men to serve the King of France. Journeying back into Appin was not very difficult. He could hide with friends or in the heather because the English could not cover all of the Highlands. Moreover, the Highlands were considered pacified five years after the defeat. However, Alan explained that King George demanded rent from the Highlands he had conquered in 1746, an endeavor which was aided by Colin Campbell who was put in charge of the area. The clan chief, Ardshiel, had to flee to France where the people of Appin continued to send him a rent in addition to giving the rent King George demanded. David thought this noble, pleasing Alan. He helped transport the rent from one side of the English Channel to the other, pointing to his belt of gold. Alan further exclaimed how the man referred to as the Red Fox, Colin Campbell, decided to take less rent in order to starve Ardshiel. Here David added that if the Red Fox took less rent than the government must have a hand in the process. But Alan seemed angered so David changed the subject. In addition to these great stories, David learned that his friend was a talented piper, poet, fencer, and angler. Moreover, Alan was a man who liked to pick quarrels, though he rarely fought with David because of their time together in the round-house.