“I was afraid something was wrong,” he said. “And look here, Morgan, I want to live at peace with all the world, but self-preservation is the first law of nature, and I would rather you did not leave the place again unarmed.—Well, George,” he continued, turning to me, “where have you been?”
I told him of our adventure, and he was thoughtful for a few moments.
“You must go together in the morning and kill the thing,” he said. “I don’t like destroying life, but these wild creatures of the forest and swamp must give way to man. If they do not they must perish. All deadly creatures must be killed without mercy. There is not room in the parts of the earth we chose to live in for both.”
Consequently, after making our arrangements, I called Morgan at daybreak, and we took a gun and ammunition to execute the alligator.
“Be a lesson for you in the use of a firelock, Master George,” said Morgan, as we travelled on across our clearing, and paused at the edge of the forest. “Now then, my lad,” he cried, giving his orders in a military way, and bidding me load.
I had seen the charging of a gun often enough to be able to go through the task sufficiently well to get a few words of commendation, but a good many of blame.
“Ram well home, my lad. I like to see the rod hop again, and the powder solid.”
“What difference does it make?” I asked.
“All the difference in the world, my lad. Powder’s rum stuff, and good loading makes it do its work well. Bad loading makes it do its work anyhow.”
“I don’t understand you,” I said.