Then, after a very stormy voyage, we seemed, as I recollect it, to have glided slowly out of winter into summer, and we were off a land of glorious sunshine at the mouth of a river, up which we sailed.
I know there was a great deal done afterwards in the way of formal taking possession in the name of the King, and I can recollect being delighted with the show that was made, and at seeing my father and the other gentlemen wearing gay clothes and sashes and plumes, and with swords buckled on. Even Morgan partook of the change, and I well recall how he came to me just before he landed, in a kind of grenadier uniform, with sword and musket and belts, drawing himself up very stiff and proud-looking as he let down the butt-end of his firelock with a loud bang upon the deck.
“Do I look all right and soldierly, Master George?” he whispered, after a glance round to see that he was not overheard.
“Yes,” I said, “you look fine. Is your gun loaded?”
“Not yet, my lad.”
“Pull out your sword and let’s look at it.”
“By and by, my lad,” he said; “but tell me; I do look all right, don’t I?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because Sarah’s got a nasty fit on this mornin’. Don’t tell her I told you; but she said I looked fit to be laughed at, and that there’d be no fighting for me: Indians would all run away.”
“Oh, never mind what she says,” I cried. “I wish I was big enough for a soldier.”