“Silence, sir! Now then, you know, I suppose, that though we are living a peaceful life out here, these are war times, and the punishment of deserters is—death.”
Jem started, but Don did not stir.
“Now you are both very young, and you have worked so well, and with so much promise of making yourselves sailors, that I should be sorry for you—either of you—to be guilty of such a mad trick as desertion. If you tried it, you would almost certainly be retaken, and—the punishment must follow. If, on the other hand, you escaped, it would be into the savage country before you, where you would fall into the hands of some enemy tribe, who would kill you both like dogs. I daresay you have heard what takes place afterwards, when the Maori tribes have taken prisoners?”
Jem shuddered, but Don made no sign.
“Ah! I see you know,” continued the captain, “so I need say little more. I am satisfied that you will neither of you be guilty of such an act of madness as you contemplated, especially now that I tell you that I stop at nothing which the law gives me power to do for the preservation of the discipline of my ship. These two lads,” he said, turning to give an order, “will be placed in irons for the present.”
He made a sign, and the two prisoners were taken below deck, and placed in irons.
“Better than being hung, my lads,” said the armourer gruffly; and soon after they were alone, with a sentry on duty not far from where they were seated.