“And,” I said, firmly, “I have also been thinking. It may not be so bad as we thought. They may not want to hang us. But they would disgrace and laugh at us, and I am a soldier’s son. I will not go back. Would you, Jill?”
“Assuredly not.”
“Den what else you do?”
“Go to sea before the mast.” The convict laughed again before he replied—“Boys, I speak as your friend. Do not be fools. Go to sea? What? Who take you? Though I have been long in preeson, I know all de law. At sea what can you do? No dings. No capitan will have runaways. Suppose you do hide, what you calls stowaway. Den they make you for to work—”
“We don’t mind that.”
“Stop till I speak. Dey bring you back to de same port. Ha, ha!”
It had never struck us before in this light. Not that we intended to stow away, but little goslings that we were, we fancied we had only to make our way to a seaport and choose a ship, and that any captain would be delighted to have us without asking any questions.
This convict was speaking sense, but he had already cast down our idols and banished every morsel of sentiment from our situation.
I could have cried with vexation.
I almost hated the poor fellow now. Why could he not have left us to go on a little longer in the flowery lane of our romance? Presently he spoke again.