"Do I? Then I appear to be what I am not. I'm a native of the Granite State, in North America. My fathers went to that region in times long gone by to uphold their religious idees. The whole country thereabouts sets onaccountable store by their religious privileges."
"Do you know the prisoner, Ithuel Bolt--the person who is called Raoul Yvard?"
Ithuel was a little at a loss exactly how to answer this question. Notwithstanding the high motive which had led his fathers into the wilderness, and his own peculiar estimate of his religious advantages, an oath had got to be a sort of convertible obligation with him ever since the day he had his first connection with a custom-house. A man who had sworn to so many false invoices was not likely to stick at a trifle in order to serve a friend; still, by denying the acquaintance, he might bring discredit on himself, and thus put it out of his power to be of use to Raoul on some more material point. As between himself and the Frenchman, there existed a remarkable moral discrepancy; for, while he who prided himself on his religious ancestry and pious education had a singularly pliable conscience, Raoul, almost an Atheist in opinion, would have scorned a simple lie when placed in a situation that touched his honor. In the way of warlike artifices, few men were more subtle or loved to practise them oftener than Raoul Yvard; but, the mask aside, or when he fell back on his own native dignity of mind, death itself could not have extorted an equivocation from him. On the other hand, Ithuel had an affection for a lie--more especially if it served himself, or injured his enemy; finding a mode of reconciling all this to his spirituality that is somewhat peculiar to fanaticism as it begins to grow threadbare. On the present occasion, he was ready to say whatever he thought would most conform to his shipmate's wishes, and luckily he construed the expression of the other's countenance aright.
"I do know the prisoner, as you call him, 'squire," Ithuel answered, after the pause that was necessary to come to his conclusion--"I do know him well; and a master crittur he is when he fairly gets into a current of your English trade. Had there been a Rule Yvard on board each of the Frenchmen at the Nile, over here in Egypt, Nelson would have found that his letter stood in need of some postscripts, I guess."
"Confine your answers, witness, to the purport of the question," put in Cuffe, with dignity.
Ithuel stood too much in habitual awe of the captain of his old ship to venture on an answer; but if looks could have done harm, that important functionary would not have escaped altogether uninjured. As he said nothing, the examination proceeded.
"You know him to be Raoul Yvard, the commander of the French privateer lugger, le Feu-Follet?" continued the Judge Advocate, deeming it prurient to fortify his record of the prisoner's confession of identity with a little collateral evidence.
"Why--I some think"--answered Ithuel, with a peculiar provincialism, that had a good deal of granite in it--"that is, I kind o' conclude"--catching an assent from Raoul's eye--"oh! yes--of that there isn't the smallest mite of doubt in the world. He's the captain of the lugger, and a right down good one he is!"
"You were with him in disguise when he came, into the Bay of Naples yesterday?"
"I in disguise, 'squire!--What have I got to disguise? I am an American of different callings, all of which I practyse as convenience demands; being a neutral, I've no need of disguises to go anywhere. I am never disguised except when my jib is a little bowsed out; and that, you know, is a come-over that befals most seafaring men at times."