'Ephraim, have you made your will, me lad?' asked Grinson, sitting in the hut with Meek in the early hours of the morning.
'Never did I think of such a thing, Mr. Grinson,' replied Meek. ''Tis only lords and skippers as make wills.'
'That 's where you 're wrong, me lad. Specially now. For why? 'Cos 'tis the dooty of every man to make his will afore going into action.'
'S'pose he ain't got nothing to leave, and no widders nor orphans to purvide for?'
'It don't make no difference. Besides, every man's got something. Lord Admiral Nelson, as you 've heard of, had a glass eye, and 'tis said he left it to his footman, as he once caught nicking, to remind him that there 's always an Eye beholding of the evil and the good, besides his heart to the country.'
'Well, I never!'
'Not but what there 's a mighty big risk in making your will. There was once a chap I knowed as made his will and died next day--fell off a ladder, he did, and his mates said he might 'a been alive to this day only for the will. Likewise a skipper I once sailed with left his craft to be sold and divided among the crew; uncommon skipper he was; and she went down next voyage, and not insured. Ah! 'tis a solemn thought, making your will.'
'What put making wills and such into your head just now, Mr. Grinson?'
'Well, it's like this. The gentlemen expects what you may call a battle royal afore the day 's out, and you 've got to look at it sensible. We come all right out o' that scrap yesterday, but 'twas only Trousers and a few more, and we took 'em by surprise, d' ye see? Things will be different if all them Germans come up together; the odds ain't even, Ephraim.'
'True. I can bear ye out in that, Mr. Grinson. I don't hold with fighting--not with guns.'