“He means the gaol birds, youngster,” said the elder officer, laughing, “if they rise against us. Not a very nice arrangement for your lady coming out in a ship like this.”
“Is there any danger?” said Nic anxiously.
“No,” said the ensign, rather importantly; “we shall see that there’s not.”
“Then you are here to guard them?” asked Nic.
“Bah, no! We are going to join our regiment. There is a warder guard. Of course, if there was any necessity—”
Nic looked rather startled, and the lieutenant said, smiling:
“There’ll be nothing to mind, my lad. The winds and waves will trouble you more than the convicts; but they’re not pleasant fellow-passengers to have, on board.”
Nic did not think so the next morning, when, after guard had been mounted under the lieutenant’s charge, just as they were getting well out of the mouth of the river, with the soldiers stationed at intervals with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets, orders were given, and the stern-looking warders ushered up the convict gang of fifty men from below to take their allotted amount of air and exercise in the forward part of the deck; for almost without exception they were a villainous-looking lot, their closely cropped hair and ugly prison garb adding to the bad effect.
Talking was strictly forbidden, every movement being carefully watched, and not least by Nic, at whom the prisoners looked curiously as they passed, one man putting on a pleading, piteous aspect, as if asking for the boy’s compassion, and twice over his lips moved as if he were saying something.
But somehow, though the man was not bad-looking, and formed one of the exceptions to the brutally fierce faces around, his pleading look did not excite Nic’s pity, but caused a feeling of irritation that he could not explain.