“I wish I had been any one’s chicken,” replied Martin; “but the devil a thing to nestle under have I had since I can well remember.”
“What a bore to have no galley fire lighted,” said one of the youngsters, “no tea, and not allowed any grog.”
“The gale will last three days,” replied Martin, “and by that time we shall not be far from the admiral; it won’t blow home there.”
“Well, then, we shall be ordered in directly, and I shall go on shore to-morrow,” replied Easy.
“Yes, if you’re ill,” replied Gascoigne.
“Never fear, I shall be sick enough: we shall be there at least six weeks, and then we’ll forget all this.”
“Yes,” replied Martin, “we may forget it, but will the poor fellows whose limbs are shrivelled forget it? and will poor Miles, the boatswain, who is blind for ever?”
“Very true, Martin, we are thinking about ourselves, not thankful for our escape, and not feeling for others,” replied Gascoigne.
“Give us your hand, Ned,” said Jack Easy. “And, Martin, we ought to thank you for telling us the truth—we are a selfish set of fellows.”
“Still we took our share with the others,” replied one of the midshipmen.