Chapter V: Old Donald’s Confession

While the unfortunate sloop-of-war lay jammed in between two jagged sunken rocks of the terrible reef, with rocks ahead of her, and rocks astern and rocks on every hand; and while her boats were busy in getting the men of her crew safely to the shore, the smuggler brig was at anchor in King’s Cove, as effectually hidden from the prying eyes of her enemies as though she had been at the bottom of the sea.

Never mind about the wild plaudits of the outlaws as they gathered around their youthful pilot and preserver. But for him they would have been either prisoners or dead--every man of them; and they knew it.

Percy could not prevent them from being grateful, nor could he entirely hush their loud and boisterous acclaims; the most he could do was to persuade them to cut it as short as possible and, soon as he could find opportunity, to get away into the cabin with Donald Rodney.

Next to his father, old Donald had been the one man of the old crew whom Percy had loved and esteemed. He could not remember the time when he had not loved “Uncle Rodney” as he had called him in his boyhood.

The first crew organized by Hugh Maitland had acknowledged Donald Rodney as second in command, and from that time he had followed the career then commenced.

And the youth still retained his love for the dear old friend of his boyhood: and, further, he had accepted a great many favors from the old man’s hand.

Thus loving, and thus respecting, the veteran, our hero had determined to hold with him a serious conversation. He was bound, if possible, to know the present character of the brig; together with something more of the character of the man who now commanded her.

Rodney, as soon as his young friend had taken a seat, produced a bottle, and two glasses.

“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?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Rodney, as I cast my eyes down into the hold I caught sight of two or three boxes, iron-bound, bearing the name and marks we sometimes see on boxes of merchandise brought over by American vessels. What are they doing in the Staghound’s hold? What are they? Will you tell me?”

The old man was terribly perplexed. His two hard, brown hands were clasped on his knees, and his head was bent.

“Donald, can’t you look me in the face, as of old?”

Upon that the poor man broke down. He could contain himself no longer.

“No, Percy! I can’t!”

“Poor old Donald! What is it? How much have you--suffered them to lead you into doing?”

“Percy! I swear to you--I swear, on my Bible oath, that I’ve never lifted a hand to help in any of their mean, dirty work! The most I’ve done has been to let others do it, and wink at it. And yet, if we’d been taken to day by the king’s ship I should have been strung up with the rest of ’em! I tell you truly, dear boy, I never thought how dreadful it would be till it was all over.

“Oh! when we were honest smugglers, only bringing over the goods honestly bought in France, or Holland, or Germany, payin’ hard gold for everything we took, and simply runnin’ it in without stoppin’ to ask the king’s permission, and sellin’ it to them as would buy--why, then, my boy, I could look an honest man in the face anywhere. Then, Percy, some o’ the first men in the land were our friends. Bless ye, boy, your father had friends everywhere. There was scarcely a lord or a lady anywhere along the coast that didn’t bid him welcome. Ah! it’s different now.”

“In short, Donald, the Staghound has become a pirate?”

“Ye-e-es! You’ve hit it. I won’t try to deny it.”

“And Ralph Tryon is responsible for it?”

“Take care, Percy! Don’t ask too much about him!”

“You can answer that. Is not he the chief power in this business? Was it not through his influence that the wicked trade was entered upon?”

“Through his and the rest of the gang.”

“But he was the chief?”

“Yes, I s’pose he was.”

“Now, Donald, how far has this thing gone? Have you taken human life?”

“For the love of heaven!” groaned the suffering old man, with his clasped hands extended, “don’t ask me any more. Let the one thing I’m goin’ to tell ye of my own free will satisfy ye. And, mind this, ye’ll keep what I now say a secret. Will ye promise that?”

The youth promised, and the other went on, speaking in low, whispered tones, and ever and anon casting a quick, furtive glance around.

“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?”

Rodney had started with the old fright as the youth began to speak, but a moment later he had taken on a new look--one of quick, keen inquiry.

“Percy,” he said in a hoarse whisper, scarcely audible, at the same time laying his hand on his companion’s knee. “What have ye got in your mind? Where d’ye think ye’ve seen him?”

“There is the trouble, Donald. For the life of me I cannot tell, and yet I am as sure of it as I am that you now sit before me. Will you help me?”

Every line and lineament of the old man’s face was wrought upon by an agony of physical torture. After a little pause he started to his feet and laid a hand on the youth’s head, and his voice when he spoke was full of earnest, prayerful supplication.

“Percy! Percy! If you love me, don’t ask me any more! It’s more than my life is worth to answer you as you wish to be answered. I can’t! I can’t! Oh! you will give over, won’t you? You won’t torture me any more? Ask me anything else in the world--anything--and I’ll answer, if I know how; but not that--Oh! not that!”

“All right; I won’t press you further, Donald. I am only sorry that the wretch has gained such power over you; but I am glad you have resolved to break the chain.”

“Yes, yes, dear boy, I’ll break that, be sure; but, you’ll remember, my oath will last while I live. You will never ask me that question again, will you?”

Percy gave the promise, and thus failed his last chance, his last solid hope of solving the mystery that had so perplexed him and that was perplexing him still; aye, and that must continue to perplex him until he could discover that which was so strangely, yet so effectually, hidden from him.

“By the way,” he said, after they had both arisen and were ready for returning to the deck--the thought had at that moment occurred to him--“there is one thing you can tell me. I have often wondered that Captain Tryon never offered nor asked to remain beneath the roof of our cottage through a night. Why is this? Where does he spend his time when on shore?”

The old man scratched his head, and then gave his trousers a hoist; then he scratched his head again. Finally, with a burst, he answered:

“’Pon my word, Percy, I can’t tell you. One thing I will say--yes, two of ’em--and them’s the only two I’ll speak, if ’twas to save my life! First, then, the captain, when he is ashore, spends a part of his time in another place, where he’s got friends. It isn’t anywhere about these parts. Second, I haven’t the least bit of doubt that he’s got a secret hidin’ place somewhere near the Cove, or, anyhow, not a great ways off; but, as I’m a livin’ man, I don’t know where it is. I aint one of them that he trusts with that kind of a secret.”

“A hiding-place near--”

“Hush! Be careful, for heaven’s sake! Don’t say any more. Let that be the last.”

“So be it, Donald, and for what you have told me I thank you.”

“Say!--Percy!” catching the young man by the arm as he was about to lift his foot to the first step of the ladder, “you won’t lisp a word to your mother of what I’ve told ye--not a word!”

“Have no fear, Donald. I will speak of it to nobody, and never as having come from you.”

“Bless ye for that, my boy.”

And then they went on deck, where they found the men of the crew variously employed. Half of them had gone on shore, while the remainder were at work putting matters to rights.

Old Donald’s first care after his pilot had left him was to attend to the replacing of the lost topgallant-mast, for which they had plenty of spar timber aboard.

A dozen or more of the crew gathered around our hero as he stood on the quarterdeck, all eager to take him by the hand and speak a parting word. He read in their faces the feeling that they might never see him again. The information Donald had given him enabled him to do this. And his words of good will and blessing in response appeared to be accepted by them as though they were aware of his knowledge. They probably thought their old mate had told him of their plans for the future. He gave them, each and all, a hearty grasp of the hand and a soul-sent God’s blessing, and so he left them.

Old Donald went with him to the shore; and the last friendly look exchanged between them was through brimming tears.

Percy was saved the trouble of telling to his mother the story of his adventure on board the brig. He found two of the old crew at the cottage before him--two men who had been true to his father, and who, he had no doubt, were of the number banded together for the purpose of seeking new employment.

But they would make no remark in relation thereto in the widow’s hearing. The smugglers all knew that she was friendly to their chief; and they believed she would support and defend him against the rest together.

They wondered at it, as her son had wondered. What she could have found in the man to respect or esteem they--the true men of the old crew--could not imagine. It was a puzzle in every way.

There were times when it appeared to our hero that his mother was warmly attached to Tryon, that she served and obeyed him because of her liking for the man. There were other times, however, when it appeared as though she was afraid of the man, that she held him in fear, if not in absolute terror.

Yes, it was a puzzle, a puzzle to Percy Maitland of the most perplexing and even painful character. And he thought of it now more painfully than ever before, now that the revelation or confession of old Rodney had opened up the full blackness of the villain’s character. He had always believed Ralph Tryon to be a villain and now he knew it, knew him to be guilty of one of the gravest crimes known to the law of man. Did his mother know this? How could she help knowing it? She must have known it from the first.

Aye--as he reflected--as he called to mind certain scenes of the past, he remembered words spoken between the two--between his mother and Ralph Tryon--which had reference to this very business.

Once, very nearly a year before, when he had come suddenly and unexpectedly upon them while they were in close conversation, he had heard these words from Tryon’s lips: “Ho! ’twould be a quick hanging, and no mercy, if he were once caught!”

And there had been other things as significant as that. Yes; his mother had been knowing to the man’s true character from the first. And that had been--how long? He had forgotten to ask Donald the question, but he could judge nearly.

It had been little more than a year ago. At the time he had overheard that remark about a quick hanging the work of piracy had just been entered upon. It had been only a little while previous to that time that he, Tryon, had been given full and undisputed command.

But where was the use? The conversation in the brig’s cabin had aroused his feelings to a high pitch of excitement, and it took a considerable time to quiet them; but he did it at length. He turned his thoughts to a pleasanter theme.

It was near noon when he arrived at the cottage, and he had found his mother at work setting out a repast for her two visitors. He went up to his chamber and made a radical change in his garb, appearing, when it was complete, very nearly as we found him on the previous day, save that in place of the high-topped boots he had put on a pair of light, but firm-soled, walking shoes, such as would be easy and safe in climbing the craggy eminence he had in view.

The meal had been prepared on his return to the room below, and a plate had been set for him, so he took his place at the board and made a hearty meal with the two seamen.

They were his friends, and while they ate together more than one glance passed between them signifying that they were in possession of a common secret; and once they came so near to letting it out by an unguarded remark that Margery was startled.

“What is that?” she asked, turning quickly upon the man who had spoken--an old seaman and a good one--named Stephen Harley. “What did you say, Stephen? That you wouldn’t sail in the brig again?”

“Bless your dear soul! no,” the poor fellow replied, trembling like an aspen. And a happy thought struck him in his moment of need. “I was sayin’ to Master Percy--God bless him!--’at we shouldn’t none of us been likely to’ve sailed in the dear old brig again--never again--if that king’s ship had overhauled us. And she’d ’a’ done it, ma’am, if it hadn’t been for your boy here. My soul! I wish you could ’ave seen her on the rocks. Hi! I wonder ’f they’ve got any more ships that want to dance over Dead Man’s Reef.”

The woman took the answer seriously, never suspecting a hidden meaning. The men, both of them, knew her too well, knew too surely where her sympathies lay, to speak in her hearing of their plans for the future.

Had she but suspected an intent on the part of any of the crew to forsake their chief, she would be sure to give him warning.

Percy finished his meal, and having bidden his two friends an affectionate adieu, he left the cottage, feeling freer and lighter of heart when he was clear of it. It was his home--had been his home since his birth, and his mother presided at the hearthstone, yet he could not love it.

Since his father’s death its atmosphere had not been congenial to him. There were times when this feeling was so strong within him that it seemed impossible that he could remain there longer; but his promise to his dying father held him.

Not, however, beyond his majority. Now that he had reached the age of one-and-twenty, he was free to go where he pleased. What should hold him after that? Ah! he was on his way to the attraction at that very moment. The bond that held him was not at the cottage.

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