On the night in question, Big Swankie and a likeminded companion, who went among his comrades by the name of the Badger, had planned to commit a burglary in the town, and it chanced that the former was about that business when Captain Ogilvy unexpectedly ran against him and Davy Spink.

 

Spink, although a smuggler, and by no means a particularly respectable man, had not yet sunk so low in the scale of life as to be willing to commit burglary. Swankie and the Badger suspected this, and, although they required his assistance much, they were afraid to ask him to join, lest he should not only refuse, but turn against them. In order to get over the difficulty, Swankie had arranged to suggest to him the robbery of a store containing gin, which belonged to a smuggler, and, if he agreed to that, to proceed further and suggest the more important matter in hand. But he found Spink proof against the first attack.

 

“I tell ’ee, I’ll hae naething to do wi’t,” said he, when the proposal was made.

 

“But,” urged Swankie, “he’s a smuggler, and a cross-grained hound besides. It’s no’ like robbin’ an honest man.”

 

“An’ what are we but smugglers?” retorted Spink; “an’ as to bein’ cross-grained, you’ve naethin’ to boast o’ in that way. Na, na, Swankie, ye may do’t yersel, I’ll hae nae hand in’t. I’ll no objec’ to tak a bit keg o’ Auchmithie water (smuggled spirits) noo and then, or to pick up what comes to me by the wund and sea, but I’ll steal frae nae man.”

 

“Ay, man, but ye’ve turned awfu’ honest all of a suddent,” said the other with a sneer. “I wonder the thretty sovereigns I gied ye the other day, when we tossed for them and the case o’ kickshaws, havena’ brunt yer pooches.”

 

Davy Spink looked a little confused.

 

“Aweel,” said he, “it’s o’ nae use greetin’ ower spilt milk, the thing’s done and past noo, and I canna help it. Sae guidnight to ’ee.”

 

Swankie, seeing that it was useless to attempt to gain over his comrade, and knowing that the Badger was waiting impatiently for him near the appointed house, hurried away without another word, and Davy Spink strolled towards his home, which was an extremely dirty little hut, near the harbour.

 

At the time of which we write, the town of Arbroath was neither so well lighted nor so well guarded as it now is. The two burglars found nothing to interfere with their deeds of darkness, except a few bolts and bars, which did not stand long before their expert hands. Nevertheless, they met with a check from an unexpected quarter.

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