“I had not had this last blow, Jem. I had not been put in irons then like a common thief.”
“Silence, below there!” cried an angry voice. “Sentry, stop that talking by the prisoners.”
The marine marched slowly toward them, and growled out his orders. Then, settling his head in his stiff stock, he faced round and marched away.
“All right, Jolly,” said Jem, good-humouredly; and then drawing closer to his companion in misfortune, he went on talking in a whisper.
“Say, Mas’ Don, do you mean it now?”
“Mean what?”
“Going? It’s now or never. If we waits till we goes off to sea again our chance is gone.”
“I mean it, Jem.”
“That’s a good bargain, my lad,” said Jem, slapping him on the knee. “Then the sooner we’re off the better.”
“How can we go?”