"Why—come, come," said Marah; "I thought you were a sailor. Take a brace, boy. We're not going to kill you. You'll make a trip or two. What's that? Why it's only a matter of a week or two, and it'll make a man of you. A very jolly holiday. I'll be able to make a man of you just as I said I would. You'll see life and you'll see the sea, and then you'll come home and forget all about us. But go home you'll not, understand that, till we got a hold on you the same as you on us."
There was something in his voice which gave me the fury of despair. I sprang to my feet, almost beside myself. "Very well, then," I cried. "You can drown me. I'm not going to be one of you. And if I ever get away I'll see you all hanged, every one of you—you first."
I couldn't say more, for I burst out crying again.
Marah sat still, watching me. "Well, well," he said, "I always thought you had spirit. Still, no sense in drowning you, no sense at all."
He walked to the door and called out to some of the smugglers, "Here, Extry, Hankin, you fellows, just come in here, I want you a moment."
The men came in quickly, and ranged themselves about the room, grinning cheerfully.
"'Low me to introduce you," said Marah. "Our new apprentice, Mr Jim Davis."
The men bowed to me sheepishly.
"Glad to meet Mr Davis," said one of them.
"Quite a pleasure," said another.