Well, as they were nearing Daft Sandy's punt, Rob called out to him, 'Sandy, have ye had any luck the day?' The little, bent, blear-eyed old man looked up from his hand-lines. 'No mich.' As the boat was gliding past Rob flung a couple of herring into the punt. 'There's some bait for ye.' 'Ay; and where are ye for going, Robert?' the old man said, as they passed. 'Tak' heed. It's squally outside.' There was no answer; for at this moment the quick eye of the chieftain detected one of his kinsmen in the commission of a heinous crime. Tempted by the light and steady breeze, Nicol had given way to idleness, and had made fast the main-sheet, instead of holding it in his hand, ready for all emergencies. This, and not unnaturally, on such a squally coast, Rob MacNicol had constituted an altogether unforgivable offence; and his first impulse was to jump down to the stern of the boat and give the helmsman, caught _in flagrante delicto_, a sounding whack on the side of the head. But a graver sense of justice prevailed. He summoned a court-martial. Nicol, catching the eye of his brother, hastily tried to undo the sheet from the pin; but it was too late. The crime had been committed; there were two witnesses, besides the judge, who was also the jury. The judge and jury forthwith pronounced sentence: Nicol MacNicol to forfeit one penny to the fund being secretly stored up for the purchase of a set of bag-pipes, or to be lowered by the shoulders until his feet should touch the ground in the dungeon of Eilean-na-Rona Castle. He was left to decide which alternative he would accept; and it must be said that the culprit, after a minute or two's sulking, perceived the justice of the sentence, and calmly said he would take the dungeon. 'Ye think I'm feared?' he said contemptuously, to Neil and Duncan, who were grinning at him. 'Wha was it that gruppit the whutteruck[1]? And is there anything worse than whutterucks in that hole in the castle?' 'Ye'll find out, Nicol, my man,' said his cousin Neil. 'There's warlocks. And they'll grup ye by the legs.' 'I'll save the penny anyway,' said Nicol, to whom a penny was a thing of known and substantial value. Now if any proof had been needed that Rob MacNicol's stringent sailing rules were a matter of stern necessity, it was quickly forthcoming. On this beautiful summer morning, with the sea smooth and blue around them, they were sailing along as pleasantly as might be. But they had scarcely got through the narrow channel leading from the harbour, and were just emerging into Loch Scrone, when a squall of wind came tearing along and hit the boat so that the lug-sail was almost flattened on to the water. 'Run her up! Haul in your sheet!' yelled Rob to the frightened steersman.