a grave; and there is the sturdy, hardy young chap, whose good
health and good spirits carries him through. That's your sort, I
reckon. Good spirits is the best medicine in the world; it's worth
all the doctors and apothecaries in the army. But how did you come
to be pressed? it's generally the ne'er do well and idle who get
picked out as food for powder. That doesn't look your sort, or I'm
mistaken."

"I hope not," Jack said. "I am here because I am a sort of cousin
of the Mayor of Southampton. He wanted me to serve in his shop. I
stood it for a time, but I hated it, and at last I had a row with his
foreman and knocked him down, so I was kicked out into the streets;
and I suppose he didn't like seeing me about, and so took this
means of getting rid of me. He needn't have been in such a hurry,
for if he had waited a few days I should have gone, for I had
shipped as a boy on board of a ship about to sail for the colonies."

"In that case, my lad, you have no reason for ill will against this
precious relation of yours, for he has done you a good turn while
meaning to do you a bad un. The life of a boy on board a ship
isn't one to be envied, I can tell you; he is at every one's beck
and call, and gets more kicks than halfpence. Besides, what comes
of it? You get to be a sailor, and, as far as I can see, the life
of a sailor is the life of a dog. Look at the place where he sleeps
--why, it ain't as good as a decent kennel. Look at his food--
salt meat as hard as a stone, and rotten biscuit that a decent dog
would turn up his nose at; his time is never his own--wet or dry,
storm or calm, he's got to work when he's told. And what's he got
to look forward to? A spree on shore when his voyage is done, and
then to work again. Why, my lad, a soldier's life is a gentleman's