He did not return, so I knew that Ringan
must have spoke a word to Faulkner.
"Now for the next bloody-minded pirate," cried Ringan, and the next
with a very wry face stood up. One of the others would have joined in,
but, crying, "For shame, a fair field," I beat down his sword.
The next took about the same time to reach the door, and disappeared
into the darkness, and the third about half as long. Of the remaining
three, one sulkily declined to draw, and the other two were over drunk
for anything. They sat on the floor and sang a loose song.
"It seems, friends," said the Quaker, "that ye be more ready with words
than with deeds. I pray thee"--this to the sober one--"take off these
garments of sin. We be peaceful traders, and cannot abide the thought
of pirates."
He took them off, sash, breeches, jerkin, turban, and all, and stood up
in his shirt. The other two I stripped myself, and so drunk were they
that they entered into the spirit of the thing, and themselves tore at
the buttons. Then with Ringan's sword behind them, the three marched
out of doors.
There we found their companions stripped and sullen, with Faulkner and
the men to guard them. We made up neat parcels of their clothes, and I
extorted their names, all except one who was too far gone in drink.
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