Nic looked at him blankly, and there was silence on the deck, as the various groups stood there in the burning sunshine.
“Well, sir, why don’t you answer?” cried the officer.
Nic’s answer was in dumb-show, for, poor fellow, he did not grasp a word. He knew that the man by his side had been with him a great deal, and nursed and helped him, speaking soothingly when he was at his worst—every one else seemed strange; and without a word he smiled sadly in Pete’s face and took hold of his arm.
“That will do,” said the officer, who had his orders to carry out. “In with them!”
The marines laid their hands on Nic’s and Pete’s shoulders, while the sergeant signed to the others to climb into the boat; Humpy Dee turning, as he got in last, to give Pete a savage look of triumph.
Pete turned sharply to the marine who was urging him to the side.
“Tell me, mate,” he whispered quickly; “just a word. Where are we going to be took?”
The marine glanced swiftly aside to see if it was safe to answer, and then whispered back:
“Off to the plantations, I s’pose. There, keep a good heart, lad. It aren’t for ever and a day.”
The plantations—to work as a kind of white slave for some colonist far-away.