“No,” cried Fitz; “the breech-block. Suppose I, or you and I, got on board some night in the dark, unscrewed the breech, lifted out the block, and dropped it overboard. What then?”
Poole started, and gripped his companion in turn.
“Why,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “they couldn’t fire the gun. The charge would come out at both ends.”
“To be sure it would.”
“Well— Oh, I don’t know,” said Poole, trembling with excitement; “I should muddle it. I don’t understand a gun like that.”
“No,” cried Fitz; “but I do.”
“Here,” panted Poole; “come along aft.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Do! Why, tell my governor, of course! Oh, Burnett, old fellow, you’ll be the saving of us all!”
The lad’s emotion communicated itself to the proposer of the plan, and neither of them could speak as they climbed back on to the deck, and, seeing nothing before their eyes but breech-loaders, hurried off, to meet Mr Burgess just coming out of the cabin-hatch.