on his knees beside him.

"It seems to be all over, Jem," he said.

"Over? Not it, my lad. Seems to me as if it's all just going to
begin."

"Then we shall be made sailors."

"S'pose so, Mas' Don. Well, I don't know as I should so much mind if it
warn't for my Sally. A man might just as well be pulling ropes as
pushing casks and winding cranes."

"But we shall have to fight, Jem."

"Well, so long as it's fisties I don't know as I much mind, but if they
expect me to chop or shoot anybody, they're mistook."

Jem became silent, and for a long time his fellow-prisoner felt not the
slightest inclination to speak. His thoughts were busy over their
attempted escape, and the risky task of descending by the rope. Then he
thought again of home, and wondered what they would think of him,
feeling sure that they would believe him to have behaved badly.

His heart ached as he recalled all the past, and how much his present
position was due to his own folly and discontent, while, at the end of
every scene he evoked, came the thought that no matter how he repented,
it was too late--too late!

"How are you now, Jem?" he asked once or twice, as he tried to pierce
the utter darkness; but there was no answer, and at last he relieved the
weariness of his position by moving close up to the wall, so as to lean
his back against it, and in this position, despite all his trouble, his
head drooped forward till his chin rested upon his chest, and he fell
fast asleep for what seemed to him only a few minutes, when he started
into wakefulness on feeling himself roughly shaken.

"Rouse up, my lad, sharp!"

And looking wonderingly about him, he clapped one hand over his eyes to
keep off the glare of an open lanthorn.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ON BOARD.

It was a strange experience, and half asleep and confused, Don could
hardly make out whether he was one of the captives of the press-gang, or
a prisoner being conveyed to gaol in consequence of Mike Bannock's
charge.

All seemed to be darkness, and the busy gang of armed men about him
worked in a silent, furtive way, hurrying their prisoners, of whom, as
they all stood together in a kind of yard behind some great gates, there
seemed to be about a dozen, some injured, some angry and scowling, and
full of complaints and threats now that they were about to be conveyed
away; but every angry remonstrance was met by one more severe, and
sometimes accompanied by a tap from the butt of