“As far as the gun’s concerned,” replied Fitz, “it’s completely disabled, and of no use again until they get another block.”
“Then that’s done, sir.”
“And about my job,” said Poole. “I am afraid the screw’s not fouled, for I fancy the gunboat is slowly steaming out to sea.”
“Well, I don’t see as how we can tell that, Mr Poole, sir,” said the boatswain. “I can’t say as she’s moving, for we are both in a sharp current, and she may be only drifting; but seeing the way as you made fast the end of that there cable, and then looped over bight after bight round them there fans, and twistened it all up tight, it seems to me that the screw must be fouled, and that every turn made it wuss and wuss. I say that you made a fine job of that there, Mr Poole. What do you say, Chips, my lad?”
“Splendid!” cried the carpenter.
“Why, it was you two did it,” said Fitz.
“Well, that’s what I thought, sir,” said the carpenter; “but it was so dark, I couldn’t see a bit.”
“Zackly,” said the boatswain; “and you said it was your job, sir.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Poole. “I meant yours.”
“Well,” said Fitz, “all I can say is that I hope your knots were good.”