In the midst of this talk as we moved on, I carrying the gun at the
trail with the muzzle downwards, the old ramrod, long disused and
shrunken, slipped half out; the end caught the ground, and it snapped
short off in a second. A terrible disaster this, turning everything to
bitterness: Orion was especially wroth, for it was his right next to
shoot. However, we went down to the smithy at the inn, to take counsel
of the blacksmith, a man of knowledge and a trusty friend. “Aha!” said
he, “it’s not the first time I’ve made a ramrod. There’s a piece of
lancewood in the store overhead which I keep on purpose; it’s as tough
as a bow—they make carriage-shafts of it; you shall have a better rod
than was ever fitted to a Joe Manton.” So we took him down some
pippins, and he set to work on it that evening.
CHAPTER II
THE OLD PUNT: A CURIOUS “TURNPIKE”
The sculls of our punt, being short and stout, answered very well as
levers to heave the clumsy old craft off the sand into which it sank so
deeply. That sheltered corner of the mere, with a shelving sandy shore,
and a steep bank behind covered with trees, was one of the best places
to fish for roach: you could see them playing under the punt in shoals
any sunny day.
There was a projecting bar almost enclosing the creek, which was quite
still, even when the surf whitened the stony strand without, driven
before a wet and stormy south-wester. It was the merest routine to
carry the painter ashore and twist the rotten rope round an exposed
root of the great willow tree; for there was not the slightest chance
of that ancient craft breaking adrift. All our strength and the
leverage of the sculls could scarcely move her, so much had she
settled. But we had determined to sail that lovely day to visit the
island of Calypso, and had got all our arms and munitions of war
aboard, besides being provisioned and carrying some fruit for fear of
scurvy. There was of course the gun, placed so as not to get wet; for
the boat leaked, and had to be frequently baled out with a tin mug—one
that the haymakers used.
Indeed, if we had not caulked her with some dried moss and some stiff
clay, it is doubtful if she would have floated far. The well was full
of dead leaves that had been killed by the caterpillars and the blight,
and had fallen from the trees before their time; and there were one or
two bunches of grass growing at the stern part from between the
decaying planks.
Besides the gun there was the Indian bow, scooped out inside in a
curious way, and covered with strange designs or coloured
hieroglyphics: it had been brought home by one of our people years
before. There was but one man in the place who could bend that bow
effectually; so that though we valued it highly we could not use it. By
it lay another of briar, which was pliable enough and had brought down
more than one bird.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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