‘In what sort of ships do the convicts sail?’
‘Oh, in average merchantmen. Owners tender, and a ship is hired. There were twenty-one of them chartered last year at about four p’un’ ten a ton.’
‘Twenty-one!’ cried my aunt. ‘I wonder there are any rascals left in England. Twenty-one! Only think! And perhaps two hundred rogues in each ship.’
‘At least,’ exclaimed my uncle.
‘Are they passenger ships?’ I asked.
‘Many of them.’
‘Could one take one’s passage in a convict ship?’
‘Love you, no! No more than one could take one’s passage in a man-of-war.’
‘Marian, you are making no breakfast,’ said my aunt.
‘What do they do with the convicts when they arrive at their destination?’ I inquired.