“Bah! stand aside. Here you, Blane, lay that powder close up door.”
“What me, skipper? Anything in going aloft and settin’ sail; but I know no more about gunpowder than a babby.”
“Get out of the way, idiot. Where’s Dumlow?”
“Which here I be,” growled that individual.
“Here, lay hold of this powder, and plant it, my lad, and then lay a train.”
“Take that there powder and lay a train?” said the big sailor.
“Yes.”
“Not me.”
“What! You dare—” cried Jarette.
“Lookye here, skipper,” growled Dumlow, “don’t you get poking that there pestle in my face, ’cause it might go off.”