"Then you'm a lost man."
"Will it—will it have killed any person, d'ee think?" Oke's teeth rattled like a box of dice as he peered out over the dark and agitated crowd of boats.
"Shouldn' wonder at all."
"I didn' mean to kill any person, Mr. Spettigew!"
"'Tis the sort of accident, Oke, that might happen to anyone in war. At the worst they'll recommend 'ee to mercy. The mistake was your tellin' me."
"You won't inform upon me, Mr. Spettigew? Don't say you'll inform upon me!"
"No, I won't; not if I can help it. But dang it! first of all you swaller the fuse, and next you fire off your ramrod."
"E-everything must have a beginning, Mr. Spettigew."
Uncle Issy shook his head. "I doubt you'll never make a sojer, William Oke. You'm too frolicsome wi' the materials. Listen, there's Pengelly shoutin' for another volley! Right you be, sergeant! Make ready—prepare—Eh? Hallo!"
Why was it that suddenly, at the height of the hubbub, a panic fell upon the bandsmen of Troy? Why did the "Rout for the Looes" cease midway in a bar? What was it that hushed on an instant the shouts, the rallying cries upon the beach, the bugle-calls and challenges, the furious uproar of musketry?