“Pressed?” said the Englishman, pausing in the act of striking a light on one of the thwarts of the boat.
“You needn’t believe unless you like,” said Jem, sourly, “but we were; dragged off just as if we were—well, never mind what. Feel here.”
He bent forward, took the man’s hand, and placed it upon the back of his head.
“That’s a pretty good scar, isn’t it? Reg’lar ridge.”
“Yes; that was an ugly crack, mate.”
“Well, that’s what I got, and a lot beside. Young Mas’ Don here, too, was awfully knocked about.”
“And you stood it?”
“Stood it?” said Don, laughing. “How could we help it?”
“Made you be sailors, eh, whether you would or no?”
“That’s it,” said Jem.