“Ay, so we shall, Mas’ Don. Bot’ny Bay! That’s where they sends the chaps they transports, arn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Then we shall be like transported ones when we get there. You’re right, after all, Mas’ Don. First chance there is, let me and you give up sailoring, and go ashore.”
“I mean to, Jem; and somehow, come what may, we will.”
Chapter Twenty.
A naturalised New Zealander.
Three months had passed since the conversation in the last chapter, when after an adverse voyage from Port Jackson, His Majesty’s sloop-of-war under shortened sail made her way slowly towards what was in those days a land of mystery.
A stiff breeze was blowing, and the watch were on deck, ready for reducing sail or any emergency. More were ready in the tops, and all on board watching the glorious scene unfolding before them.