“I am, sor.”
“Then I must tell you, sir,” said my father, “that though I have taken up land here and made it my home, I claim my rights as an Englishman not to make myself a traitor by taking up arms against my Queen.”
“A thraitor!” cried the captain. “Bah! That for the Queen;” and he snapped his fingers. “But ye’re not asked to serve now. That can wait till ye’re wanted. It’s the bhoy we want, and maybe after a bit it’ll be you.”
“My son thinks as I do,” said my father sternly.
“Does he, now?” said the captain mockingly. “Then I shall have to tache him to think as I do, and it won’t take long. D’ye hear me, bhoy?”
“I hear what you say, sir,” I replied. “Of course I think as my father does, and I refuse to serve against England.”
“I expected it,” said the man, with cool insolence. “It’s what I expected from a young Saxon. But look here, me bhoy; ye’ve got to serrve whether ye like it or whether ye don’t. What’s more, ye’ve got to come at once. So get yer horse, and clap the saddle on. Fetch him his rifle and his cartridge-bolt, and let there be no more nonsense.”
“You heard what my son said, sir,” said my father haughtily. “If it were against a black enemy of the country we should both be willing.”
“Didn’t I tell ye it was again’ a black inimy?” said the man mockingly.
“I heard you insult the Queen and her Government, sir,” said my father; “and, once more, my son refuses to serve.”