It has a sound of theatricalism now, but I meant it at the time.
"I purpose nothing of that sort for you," answered my great-uncle. "And while I am tempted to argue you out of a position founded upon a false ethical basis, I shall content myself with the observation that you would do well to hold your temper in leash until you find a need for its employment."
He glanced overside.
"I see we are under way. I must ask you to excuse me for the present, Robert. I am constrained to serve as pilot."
He raised his little silver whistle, and its shrill call fetched several of the crew aft.
"Aye, aye, captain." It was Bones. "What's your wish, sir?"
"Have this poor fellow—" Murray gestured toward Corlaer's recumbent form—"carried to one of the staterooms. Use him gently. Bid the Irish boy—what's his name? Oh, Darby!—bid Darby tend him and fetch him what he requires.
"This gentleman, here—" he indicated me—"is my great-nephew, Master Bones. It may be he will succeed me in command of the Royal James some day, although he is not with us of his own wish as yet. He is to have complete freedom except he undertake to achieve aught to our disadvantage. Pass the word to the men, if you please."
"That's a queer lay," growled Bones. "Is he friend or enemy, captain?"
"An intelligent question," replied my great-uncle. "We may call him an enemy who is to be treated as nearly as possible as a friend."