Like all honest Britons, they loved long words, and they knew that if the worst came to the worst, a mere broken head or two would make all straight; so they huddled together in the moonlight waiting, and no one desired to be the outside man. And while they were striving for precedence toward the middle, the coast-guards from either side marched upon them, according to their very best drill and in high discipline, to knock down almost any man with the pommel of the sword. But the smugglers also showed high discipline under the commanding voice of Captain Brown. “Every man ston' with his hands to his sides, and ask of they sojjers for a pinch of bacca.” This made them laugh, till Captain Nettlebones strode up. “In the name of his Majesty, surrender, all you fellows. You are fairly caught in the very act of landing a large run of goods contraband. It is high time to make an example of you. Where is your skipper, lads? Robin Lyth, come forth.” “May it please your good honor and his Majesty's commission,” said Brown, in his full, round voice, as he walked down the broadest of the gangways leisurely, “my name is not Robin Lyth, but James Brown, a family man of Grimsby, and an honest trader upon the high seas. My cargo is medical water and rags, mainly for the use of the revenue men, by reason they han't had their new uniforms this twelve months.” Several of the enemy began to giggle, for their winter supply of clothes had failed, through some lapse of the department. But Nettlebones marched up, and collared Captain Brown, and said, “You are my prisoner, sir. Surrender, Robin Lyth, this moment.” Brown made no resistance, but respectfully touched his hat, and thought. “I were trying to call upon my memory,” he said, as the revenue officer led him aside, and promised him that he should get off easily if he would only give up his chief. “I am not going to deny, your honor, that I have heard tell of that name 'Robin Lyth.' But my memory never do come in a moment. Now were he a man in the contraband line?” “Brown, you want to provoke me. It will only be ten times worse for you. Now give him up like an honest fellow, and I will do my best for you. I might even let a few tubs slip by.” “Sir, I am a stranger round these parts; and the lingo is beyond me. Tubs is a bucket as the women use for washing. Never I heared of any other sort of tubs. But my mate he knoweth more of Yorkshire talk. Jack, here his honor is a-speaking about tubs; ever you hear of tubs, Jack?” “Make the villain fast to yonder mooring-post,” shouted Nettlebones, losing his temper; “and one of you stand by him, with a hanger ready. Now, Master Brown, we'll see what tubs are, if you please; and what sort of rags you land at night. One chance more for you--will you give up Robin Lyth?” “Yes, sir, that I will, without two thoughts about 'un. Only too happy, as the young women say, to give 'un up, quick stick--so soon as ever I ha' got 'un.”