"Isn't it?" I answered, and, little hypocrite that I was, I began to
sing.

I remember that I sang one of Tommy's sailor-songs, "Sally," because its
jolly doggerel was set to such a jaunty tune--

"_Oh Sally's the gel for me,
Our Sally's the gel for me,
I'll marry the gel that I love best
When I come back from sea_."

My pretence of happiness was shortlived, for at the next moment I made
another mistake. Drawing up his boat to a ledge of the rock, and laying
hold of our painter, Martin leapt ashore, and then held out his hand to
me to follow him, but in fear of a big wave I held back when I ought to
have jumped, and he was drenched from head to foot. I was ashamed, and
thought he would have scolded me, but he only shook himself and said:

"That's nothing! We don't mind a bit of wet when we're out asploring."

My throat was hurting me again and I could not speak, but without
waiting for me to answer he coiled the rope about my right arm, and told
me to stay where I was, and hold fast to the boat, while he climbed the
rock and took possession of it in the name of the king.

"Do or die we allus does that when we're out asploring," he said, and
with his sack over his shoulder, his broom-handle in his hand and his
little Union Jack sticking out of the hole in the crown of his hat, he
clambered up the crag and disappeared over the top of it.