It was rumoured a few weeks after that the carcass of a whale had been cast ashore somewhere in the Firth of Beauly, near Redcastle, and the two fishermen set off together to the place, in the hope of identifying the carcass with the fish in which they had enfeoffed themselves at the expense of Nannie Fizzle. The day of the journey chanced to be also that of a Redcastle market; and, as they approached the place, they were encountered by parties of Highlanders hurrying to the fair. Most of them had heard of the huge fish, but none of them of the crook. When the Cromarty men came up to the carcass, they found it surrounded by half the people of the fair, who were gazing, and wondering, and pacing it from head to tail, and poking at it with sticks and broadswords. “It is our property every inch,” said one of the men, coming forward to the fish; “we hooked it three weeks ago on the _cossmee_, but it broke off; and we have now come here to take possession. It carried away our tackle, a chain and a hook. Lend me your dirk, honest man,” he continued, addressing a Highlander; “we shall cut out hook and chain, and make good our claim.” “O ay! nae doubt,” said the Highlander, as he obligingly handed him the weapon; “but och! it’s no me that would like to eat her, for she maun be a filthy meat.” The crowd pressed round to witness the dissection, which ended in the Cromarty man pulling out the crook from among the entrails, and holding it up in triumph. “Did I no tell you?” he exclaimed; “the fish is ours beyond dispute.” “Then,” said a smart-looking little pedlar, who had just joined the throng, “ye have made the best o’ this day’s market. I’se warrant your fishing worth a’ the plaiding sold to-day.” The Highlanders stared. “For what is it worth?” asked a tacksman of the place. “Oh, look there! look there!” replied the pedlar, tapping the blubber with his elwand, “ulzie clear as usquebaugh. I’se be bound it’s as richly worth four hunder punds Scots as ony booth at the fair.” This piece of mischievous information entirely altered the circumstances of the case as it regarded the two fishermen; for the tacksman laid claim to the fish on his own behalf and the laird’s, and, as he could back his arguments by a full score of broadswords, the men were at length fain to content themselves with being permitted to carry away with them Nannie Fizzle’s crook. I am afraid it is such of our naturalists as are best acquainted with the habits of the _cetacea_ that will be most disposed to question the truth of the tradition just related. But, however doubtful its foundation, a tradition it is. [Sidenote: THE FLIGHT OF THE DROVE.]