“Oh, but they’ll get their trouncing before long, mark me. English tars and English ships rule the sea; it’s not for the Yankees to hoist a flag without British permission, and their colored rags will soon be trailed in the dirt of their decks, and Britannia queen of them all, as is her place.”
“Are you up from the water-side, friends?” asked the cook, as Ethan and Dale calmly ate of the dishes he had placed before them, and watched the highwayman cautiously.
“No,” answered Ethan; “from Plymouth.”
The highwayman lifted his head and gave the boy a long look of interest.
“Are the press-gangs out, there, as in London?” asked the proprietor.
“I’ve heard that they were busy there,” said Ethan.
“It’s the same all over the kingdom, I suppose.”
Neither of the Americans replied; and in a few moments Hatfield spoke up.
“Plymouth is a brisk little place; it is no great size, indeed, but many things happen there.”
“Right,” said the pastry cook; “the fleets sail from there very often.”