“Only one bottle, my dear boy; for I know its the wine you’ll like. Just taste it, and say if you ever tasted finer.”
Percy filled a glass and sipped a little of it, and the old man had not exaggerated. He had certainly never tasted a finer wine, and he said so. He drank the contents of his glass slowly, and then leaned back in his chair.
He saw very plainly that the old man was nervous and uneasy—that he would rather have been almost anywhere else than in that cabin with the son of his old commander looking him in the eye. But the youth intended to deal gently with him, though squarely.
“Donald, I have called you down here because I have a few questions to ask—questions which I hope and trust you will answer. But, first, let me give you my solemn promise that anything you may say to me—any information you may give me—shall be held sacred and secret in my own bosom. I will never use information from your lips to the injury of any living being. Surely that ought to lead you to trust me.”
“Heave ahead, Percy!” the smuggler replied, frankly. Presently he added with a smile, but not a happy one, “I can imagine pretty nearly what ye want, and I tell ye, fair and honest, if ye lay too close I shall sheer off.”
“All right, old friend. Take your own course. In the first place, will you tell me what your present cargo consists of? Remember, I have this day saved it—saved not only the cargo and brig, but every man on board. Where would you be at this moment, Rodney, but for me?”
“Either shot, or in irons on board a king’s ship,” answered the old man promptly.
“When I boarded the brig this morning,” pursued Percy, “her main-hatch was off.”
“Yes, I’d ordered it off, thinkin’ we might have to throw overboard some of the cargo; and some of it would have gone if the captain’s men hadn’t stuck out so against it.”
“You mean the new men, who came in with Tryon?”