When the moon had risen, he duly mounted his pony and set out for Badenoch, where he gave out the news that the gaugers were coming.
The excisemen could not stir from the inn for a considerable time, for their boiled boots refused to be drawn on; and by the time they had been enabled to stretch them and to set out once more on their way, the Badenoch smugglers had made off with all their gear, leaving nothing but empty bothies for inspection. The local historian is silent as to what happened afterwards to the postmaster, the only possible author of this outrage.
A smuggler of Strathdearn was unfortunate in having the excise pouncing suddenly upon him in his bothy, and taking away his only cask of whisky. The hated myrmidons of a Sassenach Government went off with the cask, and were so jealous of their prize that they took it with them to the inn where they were to pass the night. All that evening they sang songs and were merry with a numerous company in an upper room; but even at their merriest they did not forget their capture, and one of their number sat upon it all the time.
It chanced, however, that among these merry fellows were some of the smuggler’s friends, who were careful to note exactly the position of the cask. They procured an auger and bored a hole from the room below, through the flooring and into the cask, draining all the whisky away. When the excisemen had come to the end of their jollification, they had only the empty cask for their trouble.
One of the brae-side distillers of Fortingal brought a cart laden with kegs of whisky into Perth, by arrangement with an innkeeper of that town; but the innkeeper refused to pay a fair price.
“Wha will her sell it till, then?” asked the would-be vendor.
The innkeeper, a person of a saturnine humour, mentioned a name and a house, and the man went thither with his cart.
“What is it, my man?” asked the occupier, coming to the door.
“Well, yer honour, ’tis some o’ the finest whusky that iver was made up yon, and niver paid the bawbee’s worth o’ duty.”
“D’ye know who I am?” returned the householder. “I’m an officer of excise, and I demand to know who sent you to me.”
“Now,” said the exciseman, “go back to him and sell him your whisky at his own price, and then begone.”