"Kind cousin Gilford, if thou lack'st good counsel At race, at cockpit, or at gaming table, Or any freak by which men cheat themselves As well of life as of the means to live, Call for assistance upon Philip Mure; But in all serious parley spare invoking him." AUCHINDRANE. By this time, the boat which had shot off from the promontory on which the fortress is situated, was alongside the _Yellow Frigate_, which was moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, up the river, and was now some hundred yards ahead of the _Margaret_, which was but a dull sailer. As the boat neared, the song chaunted by the two rowers was heard on board. It was a dull and monotonous chant, the constant burden of which was, "Hey, the canty carles o' Dysart! Ho, the merry lads o' Buckhaven! Hey, the saucy limmers o' Largo! Ho, the bonnie lassies o' Leven!" "'Tis the boat of Jamie Gair," said Barton; "the bravest fellow that ever dipped a line in salt water; let a rope be hove to him from one of the larboard ports." This was immediately done; the boat (which was one of those strong clinker-built fisher craft, which are peculiar to the Scottish firths) sheered alongside; and the two fishermen who rowed it, together with a gentleman, enveloped in a scarlet mantle, who had been lounging in the stern, ascended to the maindeck, and from thence the latter climbed by Jacob's ladder to the lofty poop, where the admiral, his second in command, and the captain of the arquebussiers, were surmising who the visitor might be. "Pshaw!" said Sir Andrew, as they all retired aft; "'tis Sir Hew Borthwick!" "But we must not forget ourselves altogether," urged Robert Barton; "the man is a visitor." "True," said the admiral; "I forget." "Welcome," said Falconer, as this visitor, not in the least daunted by the coolness of his reception, approached them jauntily, with a tall feather nodding in his bonnet, and an enormous sword trailing at his heels; "welcome on board the _Yellow Frigate_." "A dog's welcome to him," muttered Robert Barton, under his thick mustachios; "for he is the falsest loon in all broad Scotland. Dost thou know, admiral, that 'tis said, this fellow, with two brother villains in the English pay, betrayed Berwick to the King of England?" The Admiral nodded a brief assent. Borthwick's appearance was somewhat forbidding. He was past forty years of age, and had black, glossy, and fierce-looking eyes; a mouth like an unhealed gash; ears set high on his head, black teeth, and a stumpy beard. He wore a faded doublet of figured satin with _mahoitres_, that had once been cloth of gold; his feet were encased in English boots of that absurd fashion then called duck-bill, as the toes were like beaks, and five inches long. A purse hung at his girdle, and a chain encircled his neck; but rumour wickedly averred that the former was frequently distended by pebbles, and that the second was only brass.