“A carpenter’s tools?” said Fitz.
“Nay, but you ain’t far off, Mr Burnett. What I was wishing for was one of them barge-loads of neatly-cut timber as you see piled upon the Mersey, run right up this ’ere little river ready for all our chaps to unload. My word! Talk about a fortification! Why, I’d make a sixtification of it with them timbers, and so quickly that to-morrow when the enemy come they should find all our Spaniels sitting behind the little loop-holes like a row of monkeys cracking nuts, a-laughing and chaffing the enemy, and telling of them to come on.”
“Oh, bother!” said Poole. “Don’t talk so much. It’s enough to tempt the enemy to sneak up and begin potting at us. I know what I should like to do.” And he relapsed into silence.
“Well, what?” said Fitz, when he was tired of waiting.
“Get all the men together and make a sally.”
“A what?” said the carpenter. “What for? Blest if ever I heard of such a dodge as that before. What’d be the good of a she-male at a time like this? I could make a guy, sir, if that would suit you.”
“Will you hold your tongue, you chattering old glue-pot!”
“All right, sir! Go it! Stick it on thick! Glue-pot, eh? What will you call me next? But what would be the good of a Sally?”
“Sally! To issue forth all together, stupid, and surprise the enemy in their camp.”
“Oh! Well, I suppose they would be surprised to have us drop upon them all at once; but if they heard us coming we should be surprised. No, sir; let them come to us, for they’re about ten to one. We are safest where we are.”