"Ay, a sailor!" roared the man, hearing Lewis Granger's words. "Ay, a sailor, damme! such as you do not see now. A sailor, noble captain," he went on, recognising Geoffrey's gold cockade and saluting with a huge hand, "such as there ain't many like. Sir, I sailed with Anson in '40--ain't that enough? Ho! With Anson. You know. In the _Centurion_. Ain't that enough, I say? When we took the _Acapulco_ ship--the plate ship. And what takings there was! Sir, we sailors was the first that ever made the gals eat bank-notes--twenty-pun notes--there weren't no others then--a-tween their bread and butter. What cared we for money? We had won it, and the gals were kind." "Yet," said Geoffrey, "you are now here, when you should be serving your King, getting more money for the girls. Why is this, when the _Mignonne_ lies close by, waiting for such as you; when all the Admirals are calling out for sailors who know their duty?" "He took me," the man cried, nodding his head towards Granger; "his men took me when I was drunk. Had I not been, fifty crimps couldn't a-done it. Now I'm in this place, a-waiting to be sold, like a great black nigger in the Injies." "How much does he owe?" asked Geoffrey of the man by his side--the crimp who had once worn the King's uniform as he himself now wore it--and speaking with disdain, "how much?" "I want his press-money--that and another guinea would suffice. He will not go in the Dutchman to the colonies, otherwise I would have fifteen pounds or nothing." "Will you serve the King again," asked Geoffrey, "if I buy you off?" "At what rating? I was foretop-man with Anton. And later, with Captain Howe." "And perhaps may be that again. Come, I will have you." "Have me, then, and welcome. Get me out of this hole, anyway." "Finish your drink, then, and stand up. Down with it. It's the last ashore. Stand up; what is your name?" "George Redway." "So be it. Now," turning to Granger, "have you any more?" "You see them. Take your choice or leave 'em. The Dutchman still wants more." Geoffrey did see them as he looked round, his eyes noting that amongst the number there might be metal for the ships of war. The youth with the sweet-toned voice who had sung the love-ballad of past days, was, he observed, endeavouring to evade his glance, whereby he judged that he was hoping to go to the colonies and thus to become eventually (as the young man doubtless supposed) a prosperous farmer or dealer. Only, because Geoffrey knew well enough what his real fate would be, he determined that he would have him too, and said so to Granger (as we will still call him) loud enough for the other to hear. "No! no!" the latter cried, learning what his lot was. "No! no! Not that. I have offered myself voluntarily to this man to be sent to Massachusetts. I want a home--to make a home for Dolly; my Dolly. I want to be a colonist."