“You will, because you’ll have a smaller crew, one that will not rise in mutiny against you and want to go back.”
“How do I know that?” said the doctor dryly.
“Because we promise you, to a man—and boy—eh, Chris—Ned?—that we’ll stick to you to the end.”
“Of course,” cried the boys together; while the others said, “Hear, hear!”
“That’s all very well,” said the doctor dryly. “We’re sitting here comfortably at this table, and in this shanty, and rough as it is we have found it a comfortable home. We’ve had our evening meal, and we’re going to lie down for a good night’s rest. But wait till some day when we’re all worn out with hunger and fatigue—out, perhaps, in some thirsty desert—without a roof to cover us, and surrounded by dangers such as at the present time we cannot conceive. How will you feel then—what will you say then?”
“Never say die, father,” cried Chris.
“Britons never shall be slaves,” cried Ned.
“Nor Yankee Doodles neither, doctor,” cried Griggs, laughing.
“I say we’ll all stick to our captain like men,” said Wilton warmly.
“And I that I shall clap you on the shoulder, Lee, and say, Thank goodness, we’ve fought through our troubles so far, and that, please goodness, we’ll go on bravely to the end.”