.

.

Ah, here we are!"-- as a couple of preventive men splashed ashore, trundling a cask along the plank between them, and up-ended it close by the water's edge.
Captain Arbuthnot had dismounted and, advancing with his arm through his charger's bridle, bent over the cask.
"Devilish queer-smelling brandy!" he observed, drawing back a pace and sniffing.
"It has been standing in the bilge.

These fellows never clean out their boats from one year's end to another," said Mr.Smellie, positively.

Yet he, too, eyed the cask with momentary suspicion.
In shape, in colour, it resembled the tubs in which Guernsey ordinarily exported its _eau-de-vie_.