The boat soon ran into the creek and landed the baskets containing
the food on _Hope's Wharf_.

The men at once made a rush at the viands, and bore them off
exultingly to the flattest part of the rock they could find.

"A regular picnic," cried Dumsby in high glee, for unusual events, of
even a trifling kind, had the effect of elating those men more than
one might have expected.

"Here's the murphies," cried O'Connor, staggering over the slippery
weed with a large smoking tin dish.

"Mind you don't let 'em fall," cried one.

"Have a care," shouted the smith; "if you drop them I'll beat you
red-hot, and hammer ye so flat that the biggest flatterer as ever
walked won't be able to spread ye out another half-inch."

"Mutton! oh!" exclaimed Forsyth, who had been some time trying to
wrench the cover off the basket containing a roast leg, and at last
succeeded.

"Here, spread them all out on this rock. You han't forgot the grog, I
hope, steward?"

"No fear of him: he's a good feller, is the steward, when he's asleep
partiklerly. The grog's here all right."

"Dinna let Dumsby git baud o't, then," cried Watt. "What! hae ye