“Not very much,” said Brace quietly; “only that the poker isn’t hot enough.”
“She’ll do it, my lad. One moment; there’s nothing except the wad inside, but I may as well sight the gun at the enemy and let ’em have the benefit of the blast.”
Brace stood back from the gun for a moment or two while the mate ran his eye along the little barrel, and then as the canoe was within forty yards the latter cried:
“Now then, sir; let ’em have it.”
Brace applied the end of the poker to the loose grains lying in the little rounded depression about the touch-hole of the cannon; but the cook was right: the poker was far from hot, and the end failed to ignite the powder.
“Have you a match?” said Brace, impatiently throwing the implement down.
“No,” was the reply. “A match over here, someone.”
Men began fumbling; but at sea men chew their tobacco instead of smoking, and no box was forthcoming. At that moment Brace tried again, for, though wanting in the power to ignite the priming at the end, the poker was fairly hot a few inches from the point, and he noted that it was making the pitch bubble in the seam it lay across.
“Sight the gun again,” cried Brace hurriedly, and the mate sprang to obey his order, exposing his head and shoulders in doing so, and very nearly paying the penalty, for a couple of arrows whizzed by pretty closely.
Directly after, in response to another touch from the middle of the poker, there was a flash, a puff of white smoke, and a roar like thunder. The gun-carriage in its recoil leaped from the deck and fell with a loud bang upon its side, while the crew burst into a hearty cheer.