“There’s two-and-twenty of us—all the old crew but eight—have sworn to one another by a solemn oath that we’ll leave the brig after this. There’s a good deal of property aboard—honestly got—that belongs to us, and we want it; but, as soon as we get the business squared, we will clear out. And, really, I doubt if we are wanted. At all events, I aint. They don’t trust me.”
“Good! good! And you will let me give you a bit of advice. Get clear of the brig as soon as you can. Your doings have made a noise in London, and very soon a strong effort will be made to find the offending vessel.”
Donald assured his young friend that he and his mates would get clear as soon as they possibly could; and upon this a silence fell, which lasted while they both took another sip of wine, and a few seconds beyond. Percy broke it.
“Donald, I come now to a question which I am very anxious you should answer, and, before asking it, I will renew the pledge of secrecy which I gave you before. Will you tell me what you know of Ralph Tryon? Who—What—! Can a simple question startle you like that? Has the man such power over old Donald Rodney that he dare not speak?”
“No! no! Percy, you don’t understand. We’re all bound by a terrible oath—one of the most terrible ye can imagine—that we won’t speak in answer to any such question as you have asked. I’d rather lose a hand than answer ye!”
“For how long a time have you been bound by that oath, Rodney?”
“For a long, long time. But don’t ask me. I mustn’t answer to anything of the kind.”
“Well, look ye, old friend—my old ‘uncle,’ who loved me once, and who—”
“Loves you more than ever before,” broke in the old man, feelingly.
“I believe you, Donald; and I hope you will feel like answering my next question. Tell me, haven’t I known, or haven’t I seen Ralph Tryon in another character—a character widely different from that in which he now appears?”