“Well, p’r’aps not, sir; but it do sound obstinate all the same.”
“You like being a sailor then, Jem?”
“Like it? Being ordered about, and drilled, and sent aloft in rough weather, and all the time my Sally thousands o’ miles away? Well, I do wonder at you, Mas’ Don, talking like that.”
“It was your own fault, Jem. I can’t help feeling as I did. It was such a cruel, cowardly way of kidnapping us, and dragging us away, and never a letter yet to tell us what they think at home, after those I sent. No, Jem, as I’ve said before, I’d have served the king as a volunteer, but I will not serve a day longer than I can help after being pressed.”
“T’others seem to have settled down.”
“So do we seem to, Jem; but perhaps they’re like us, and only waiting for a chance to go.”
“Don’t talk out loud, Mas’ Don. I want to go home: but somehow I sha’n’t quite like going when the time does come.”
“Why not?”
“Well, some of the lads make very good messmates, and the officers arn’t bad when they’re in a good temper; and I’ve took to that there hammock, Mas’ Don. You can’t think of how I shall miss that there hammock.”
“You’ll soon get over that, Jem.”