“Sounds so, sir, but ’tween you and me I don’t b’lieve there is any powder magazine. The old Soosan aren’t a man-o’-war.”
“No, of course not.”
“She aren’t got no great guns like we had aboard the Conkhooroar. What do we want with a powder magazine?”
“But there is a gun on deck.”
“Tchah! A little brass pop-shot, to make signals with. The skipper had got some charges for her, and a few boxes o’ cartridges in a locker; but I don’t believe there’s even the ghost of a magazine.”
“Then it’s all an empty threat, Bob.”
“I don’t say that, my lad, because though I never heard o’ one there’s room for half a dozen. All I say is, it aren’t likely. Only I don’t want you if we are blowed to bits to pull yourself together afterwards, and come and blame me.”
“No fear, Bob,” said Carey, speaking with some confidence now.
“You see, sir, that old ruffian says that he’ll blow the old Soosan up, and it may be solemn truth, and same time it may be only gammon; but it makes a man feel anxious like and think o’ our raft and the whale-boat Old King Cole come in, and think he’d rather be aboard one o’ them than stopping here.”
“Retreating to the boat, Bob?”