“You’d better not,” said the boatswain, laughing at Jem’s miserable face. “You’re in the king’s service now, and you’ve got to work. There, rouse up, and act like a man.”
“But can’t we send a letter home, sir?” asked Don.
“Oh, yes, if you like, at the first port we touch at, or by any ship we speak. But come, my lad, you’ve been sea-sick for days; don’t begin to be home sick. You’ve been pressed as many a better fellow has been before you. The king wants men, and he must have them. Now, young as you are, show that you can act like a man.”
Don gave him an agonised look, but the bluff boatswain did not see it.
“Here, you fellows,” he cried to the rest of the sick men; “we’ve given you time enough now. You must get up and shake all this off. You’ll all be on deck in a quarter of an hour, so look sharp.”
“This here’s a nice game, Mas’ Don. Do you know how I feel?”
“No, Jem; but I know how I feel.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“That if I had been asked to serve the king I might have joined a ship; but I’ve been dragged here in a cruel way, and the very first time I can get ashore, I mean to stay.”
“Well, I felt something like that, Mas’ Don; but they’d call it desertion.”