“Better and better. And, now, look here, you two may as well set to work without grumbling. And take my advice; don’t let such men as that hear either of you talk about desertion again. It doesn’t matter this time, but, by-and-by, it may mean punishment.”
Chapter Nineteen.
A Conversation.
The gale was left behind, and the weather proved glorious as they sped on towards the tropics, both going through all the drudgery to be learned by Government men, in company with the naval drill.
There was so much to see and learn that Don found it impossible to be moody; and, for the most part, his homesickness and regrets were felt merely when he went to his hammock at nights; while the time spent unhappily there was very short, for fatigue soon sent him to sleep.
The boatswain was always bluff, manly, and kind, and following out his advice, both Jem and Don picked up the routine of their life so rapidly as to gain many an encouraging word from their officers—words which, in spite of the hidden determination to escape at the first opportunity, set them striving harder and harder to master that which they had to do.
“Yes,” Jem used to say, “they may be civil, but soft words butters no parsnips, Mas’ Don; and being told you’ll some day be rated AB don’t bring a man back to his wife, nor a boy—I mean another man—back to his mother.”
“You might have said boy, Jem; I’m only a boy.”