“I don’t know,” replied Mark.
“Well, I’ll just tell you, sir: he used to shove a little thin old file through a cotton reel, and make a drill of it. You know what a drill is, sir?”
“Yes, I’ve seen it used,” said Mark; “worked to and fro with a steel bow and catgut.”
“That’s him, sir; only my messmate hadn’t no steel bow and no catgut, but he made hisself a sort of bow out of a bit o’ cane and some string, and then he used to get a few nuts and stick ’em one at a time in a crack, and drill holes in the sides. When he’d done this, he used to sit o’ nights and pick all the kernels out, a bit at a time, with a pin, just the same as you used to do with the periwinkles, sir.”
“That I never did,” said Mark, laughing, as he seated himself outside the bulwark, and gazed down in the clear water while he listened.
“Well, I used to, sir, and werry nice they is.”
“I daresay, but go on.”
“Well, sir, he used to pick all the kernels out, and when they was empty, fill ’em up with snuff, and plug the holes with a bit o’ tar.”
“What for?”
“That’s just what I’m a-coming to, sir, only you keeps a-interrupting so. Then he used to put these here nuts full o’ snuff in one pocket, and some good uns in the other, and wait till he see Jack. Fust time he did it, I didn’t know there was any game on, and I see him give Jack a nut. He cracked it, and ate the kernel, and then my mate give him another, and he cracked and ate that, and held out his hand for more. This time he give him one full o’ snuff, but Jack tasted the tar as stopped up the hole, and was too many for him. He wouldn’t crack it, but chucked it away. I thought it was only a bad one, for I never smelt the snuff; but what does my mate do but begs a bit o’ wheeling sacks o’ the steward.”