Old Gold: The Cruise of the "Jason" BrigFenn, George Manville
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Old Gold: The Cruise of the "Jason" Brig
Fenn, George Manville
Boats and boating -- Juvenile fiction; South America -- Juvenile fiction; Treasure troves -- Juvenile fiction
"It's all very fine of the skipper to talk," he said, placing the whole
cartridge now in its place, "but I'm very fond of the first mate of the
`Jason' brig, and I should be sorry to do him any mischief. I should
look well, I should, if I had to go back home as a ghost to tell my wife
all my bits had been eaten by the savage fish in this river. I know her
ideas well, and she wouldn't like it, I can tell you. There you are;
down it goes," he continued, taking the little rammer from where it was
strapped to the carriage and driving the bag home on to the top of the
loose charge. "Is the powder up, sir?"
"Yes," said Brace; "the touch-hole's full."
"That's right, then. Avast there; be smart with that red-hot poker."
The man who had taken it to the galley trotted away again in his
dog-like fashion, disappeared, and then came into sight again directly,
to shout out to the mate:
"Cook says it aren't half hot enough, sir."
"Bring the poker," roared the mate. "Told you to fetch it, didn't I?
What do I want with what the cook says?"
The man darted into the galley again and reappeared directly with the
poker. The other men commenced roaring with laughter when they saw him,
for he limped aft like a lame dog now, one hand being occupied with the
poker.
"Ahoy there!" shouted the captain; "be smart with that gun. Look out."
For just then the prow of a good-sized canoe appeared from beneath the
overhanging boughs of the trees, and was paddled out quickly by four
men, while two more stood in the stern fitting arrows to their bows.
"Steady!" growled the mate, as he slewed the mouth of the cannon round
in the direction of the coming boat. "Now then, pass me that poker.
Here, Mr Brace, you'd better get into shelter away from the pieces.
That's right, my lad. Be off."
The man trotted back and settled himself down under the bulwark, and
just then Brace laid hold of the poker.
"Let me fire," he said.
"What, aren't you skeart, sir?" said the mate, with a grin, as he
relaxed his hold.
"Not very much," said Brace quietly; "only that the poker isn't hot
enough."
"She'll do it, my lad. One moment; there's nothing except the wad
inside, but I may as well sight the gun at the enemy and let 'em have
the benefit of the blast."
Brace stood back from the gun for a moment or two while the mate ran his
eye along the little barrel, and then as the canoe was within forty
yards the latter cried:
"Now then, sir; let 'em have it."
Brace applied the end of the poker to the loose grains lying in the
little rounded depression about the touch-hole of the cannon; but the
cook was right: the poker was far from hot, and the end failed to ignite
the powder.
"Have you a match?" said Brace, impatiently throwing the implement down.
"No," was the reply. "A match over here, someone."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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