“Lor’ a mussy me,” he said; “and how I argyed with Mr Roberts there about the niggers not being clean. Why that’s what put it into his precious head. I wonder what they looks like to-day, after their washing.”
“Took the skin off, I should say, Dick,” said Bob Roberts, who had heard the old man’s words.
“And sarve ’em right, sir,” said the old sailor. “What did they mean to do to us but take us right out of our skins, and end us right off at once? And them as plays at bowls must expect rubbers.”
So saying, Dick, who had finished his speech without an audience, seemed quite forgetful of his wound, and went down to the engine-room, where the engineer and firemen saluted him with a broad grin; to which Dick responded with one a little broader, as he stood mopping the perspiration from his face.
“Why, Dick, old man,” said the engineer, “after this I think we can show them gunners a trick or two. It would have puzzled them to clear the decks like that. However came you to think of it?”
“Think of it?” said Dick. “I shouldn’t never have thought of such a game; it was young Mr Roberts, you know. But did you see ’em run?”
“Run!” said the engineer. “Running was nothing to it; you cleared the deck like a shot.”
“Shot!” said Dick scornfully; “I should like to see the shot or shell that would do it half as well. Why, look here, my lads, your shot and your shell kills and murders people, knocks off their legs and wings, and precious often their heads. A shot goes bang in amongst a lot o’ folk, and there’s an end of it. But here I was with the copper branch in my fisties, and I just sprinkled ’em here and there like a shower and—”
“Give it ’em hot,” interposed one of the firemen leaning on his shovel.
“Ay, I just did,” said Dick; “not as it was much hotter than it is down here, my lads, but hot I did give it ’em, and there wasn’t one who would face it. And that brings me down to why I come here.”