"I care nothing for all this," said I; "I hate coercion, and was never intended for a seafaring life."
"Hate!" growled the fellow, with a hoarse laugh; "split me, Dick, did you ever hear the like o' that? He'd like to be in a clean-going channel frigate, where the helm is always put down when the captain wants fresh butter from shore; or, mayhap, in the King's Majesty's yacht, which, as everybody knows, never sails o' nights, but always anchors at sunset, in nice quiet places, like millponds. My precious greenhorn, it will be quite against our conscience, in this sharp war, to let the king lose such a valuable sarvant as you."
"Conscience!" I reiterated.
It was a great word with Macfarisee, and when using it their cruel banter made my blood run cold.
Too weak to remonstrate with them, I reclined upon the chest and closed my eyes. I thought of my mother, of Lotty and Amy, and strove to pray; but memory refused to supply me even with the most commonplace formula. However, by feigning sleep, I was relieved from the conversation of those two ruffians (they seemed no better) in whose society my malicious destiny had cast me.
"He's asleep, I think," said one, who was named Broken-nosed Bill, puffing a whiff under my nose.
I snored in corroboration thereof.
"Sound, sound as a timber-head," added Dick.
"You know what shares is at sea?" asked Bill in a low voice.
"I should think so! I warnt six years a privateersman among the Antilles for nought."