“No,” said Don; “I’m sorry I left the ship as I did. We will not run away again.”
Meanwhile preparations were made for bivouacking, the officer determining to rest where they were that night; and after seeing his men stored in two of the barns, and sentries placed over the prisoners in another, at one of the settlers’ places, one log-house being given up to the wounded, he joined the little English gathering, where the settlers’ wives, as soon as the danger was past, had prepared a comfortable meal.
After an uneventful night, the morning broke cheerily over the tiny settlement, where the only trace of the attack was at Gordon’s, whose rough log-house was now a heap of smoking ashes.
The sailors had breakfasted well, thanks to the settlers’ wives, and were now drawn up, all but the prisoners’ guard, while the officer stood talking to Gordon and his neighbours with Don and Jem standing close by; for in spite of Jem’s reiterated appeals, his companion refused to take to the bush.
“No, Jem,” Don said stubbornly; “it would be cowardly, and we’re cowards enough.”
“But s’pose they find us out? That there officer’s sure to smell as we’re salts.”
“Smell? Nonsense!”
“He will, Mas’ Don. I’m that soaked with Stockholm tar that I can smell myself like a tub.”
“Nonsense!”
“But if they find out as we deserted, they’ll hang us.”