“Will it be safe to let her?” said Gil, rather anxiously, as he saw Mace shudder and shrink back.
“Safe? Just as if one of my pieces could burst!” cried the founder, disdainfully.
“The girt barrel be ready, Mas’ Cobbe,” said Tom Croftly, as he came up to announce that he had set up a great tub on a platform of planks on the other side of the Pool.
“We’ll soon batter that down,” cried the founder, as with a loud cheer the huge piece of artillery was dragged up to the end of the lake, facing the founder’s house, the whole of the men turning out to see the first discharge.
“You’ll help me to load and train her?” said the founder, who was as excited over the trial as a boy.
“Ay, I’ll help,” cried Gil, rolling up the sleeves of his doublet, and taking the lead at charging the monster; Mace smiling as she looked on, and saw the strength he brought to bear, ramming the powder, lifting the great shot as if it were a child’s ball, and then driving it home.
“Don’t aim at the target till we get the charged shell,” said the founder. “This is only a christening shot.”
“Then we’ll call the piece ‘Mace the First,’” said Gil, laughing.
“That’s her name, then,” said the founder; “and she shall be the first of many Maces. Why are you aiming so low?”
“I want to show you a shot of mine that I should use against a Spaniard if I wished to sink her,” said Gil, smiling, as by means of wedges he depressed the muzzle of the piece.