The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 35

"No; nor don't want," growled Jem.

"Then I'll tell you. Flogging, for sartain, and p'r'aps stringing up at the yard-arm, as an example to others."

"Ho!" said Jem; "do it? Well, you look the sort o' man as is best suited for that; and just you look here. Nex' time I ketches you spying and listening to what I say, I shall give you a worse dressing down than I give you last time, so be off."

"Mutinous, threatening, and talking about deserting," said the sinister-looking sailor, with a harsh laugh, which sounded as if he had a young watchman's rattle somewhere in his chest. "Nice thing to report. I think this will do."

He went off rubbing his hands softly, and mounted the ladder, Jem watching him till his legs had disappeared, when he turned sharply to Don.

"Him and me's going to have a regular set-to some day, Mas' Don. He makes me feel warm, and somehow that bit of a row has done me no end o'

good. Here, come on deck, and let's see if he's telling tales. Come on, lad. P'r'aps I've got a word or two to say as well."

Don had not realised it before, but as he followed Jem, he suddenly woke to the fact that he did not feel so weak and giddy, while, by the time he was on deck, it as suddenly occurred to him that he could eat some breakfast.

"I thought as much," said Jem. "Lookye there, Mas' Don. Did you ever see such a miserable sneak?"

For there, not half-a-dozen yards away, was the sinister-looking sailor talking to the bluff boatswain.

"Oh, yes, of course," said the latter, as he caught sight of the recruits. "So does every man who is pressed, and if he does not say it, he thinks it. There, be off."

The ill-looking sailor gave Jem an ugly look and went aft, while the boatswain turned to Don.

"That's right," he said. "Make a bit of an effort, and you're all the better for it. You'll get your sea legs directly."

"I wish he'd tell us where to get a sea leg o' mutton, Mas' Don,"

whispered Jem. "I _am_ hungry."

"What's that?" said the boatswain.

"Only said I was hungry," growled Jem.

"Better and better. And, now, look here, you two may as well set to work without grumbling. And take my advice; don't let such men as that hear either of you talk about desertion again. It doesn't matter this time, but, by-and-by, it may mean punishment."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A CONVERSATION.

The gale was left behind, and the weather proved glorious as they sped on towards the tropics, both going through all the drudgery to be learned by Government men, in company with the naval drill.

There was so much to see and learn that Don found it impossible to be moody; and, for the most part, his homesickness and regrets were felt merely when he went to his hammock at nights; while the time spent unhappily there was very short, for fatigue soon sent him to sleep.

The boatswain was always bluff, manly, and kind, and following out his advice, both Jem and Don picked up the routine of their life so rapidly as to gain many an encouraging word from their officers--words which, in spite of the hidden determination to escape at the first opportunity, set them striving harder and harder to master that which they had to do.

"Yes," Jem used to say, "they may be civil, but soft words b.u.t.ters no parsnips, Mas' Don; and being told you'll some day be rated AB don't bring a man back to his wife, nor a boy--I mean another man--back to his mother."

"You might have said boy, Jem; I'm only a boy."

"So'm I, Mas' Don--sailor boy. You seem getting your head pretty well now, Mas' Don, when we're up aloft."

"That's what I was thinking of you, Jem."

"Well, yes, sir, tidy--tidy like, and I s'pose it arn't much worse than coming down that there rope when we tried to get away; but I often feel when I'm lying out on the yard, with my feet in the stirrup, that there's a precious little bit between being up there and lying down on the deck, never to get up again."

"You shouldn't think of it, Jem. I try not to."

"So do I, but you can't help it sometimes. How long have we been at sea now?"

"Six months, Jem."

"Is it now? Don't seem so long. I used to think I should get away before we'd been aboard a week, and it's six months, and we arn't gone.

You do mean to go if you get a chance?"

"Yes, Jem," said Don, frowning. "I said I would, and I will."

"Arn't it being a bit obstinate like, Mas' Don?"

"Obstinate? What, to do what I said I'd do?"

"Well, p'r'aps not, sir; but it do sound obstinate all the same."

"You like being a sailor then, Jem?"

"Like it? Being ordered about, and drilled, and sent aloft in rough weather, and all the time my Sally thousands o' miles away? Well, I do wonder at you, Mas' Don, talking like that."

"It was your own fault, Jem. I can't help feeling as I did. It was such a cruel, cowardly way of kidnapping us, and dragging us away, and never a letter yet to tell us what they think at home, after those I sent. No, Jem, as I've said before, I'd have served the king as a volunteer, but I will not serve a day longer than I can help after being pressed."

"T'others seem to have settled down."

"So do we seem to, Jem; but perhaps they're like us, and only waiting for a chance to go."

"Don't talk out loud, Mas' Don. I want to go home: but somehow I sha'n't quite like going when the time does come."

"Why not?"

"Well, some of the lads make very good messmates, and the officers arn't bad when they're in a good temper; and I've took to that there hammock, Mas' Don. You can't think of how I shall miss that there hammock."

"You'll soon get over that, Jem."

"Yes, sir, dessay I shall; and it will be a treat to sit down at a decent table with a white cloth on, and eat bread and b.u.t.ter like a Christian."

"Instead of tough salt junk, Jem, and bad, hard biscuits."

"And what a waste o' time it do seem learning all this sailoring work, to be no use after all. Holy-stoning might come in. I could holy-stone our floor at home, and save my Sally the trouble, and--" Jem gave a gulp, then sniffed very loudly. "Wish you wouldn't talk about home."

Don smiled sadly, and they were separated directly after.