“Nothing.”
“Who are you? An American, as these letters seem to prove?”
Crockston did not answer.
“Boatswain,” said James Playfair, “fifty lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails to loosen his tongue. Will that be enough, Crockston?”
“It will remain to be seen,” replied John Stiggs’ uncle without moving a muscle.
“Now then, come along, men,” said the boatswain.
At this order, two strong sailors stripped Crockston of his woollen jersey; they had already seized the formidable weapon, and laid it across the prisoner’s shoulders, when the novice, John Stiggs, pale and agitated, hurried on deck.
“Captain!” exclaimed he.
“Ah! the nephew!” remarked James Playfair.
“Captain,” repeated the novice, with a violent effort to steady his voice, “I will tell you what Crockston does not want to say. I will hide it no longer; yes, he is American, and so am I; we are both enemies of the slave-holders, but not traitors come on board to betray the ‘Dolphin’ into the hands of the Federalists.”