“Well, Mr Rodd, that’s rather a hard question to answer. If ever you go to Liverpool or Bristol and you get asking questions amongst the merchants there, you will find they have got some queer tales to tell. Sorry you don’t like my plans, Dr Robson, but even if we never get into trouble we shall be none the worse for being prepared.”
“Oh, I am not going to complain, Captain Chubb. Drill away as much as you like. You say the men like it, and it satisfies you. Then my boy Rodd, here, nothing will please him better than letting him have a canister of gunpowder to play with and pop off that gun. So I am in a minority, and I will give in. There, you’d better take Rodd and drill him too.”
“I’ll take you at your word, sir,” said Captain Chubb, laughing, and making Rodd start with eagerness. “Fall in, my lads. Pikes.”
The drilling went on till it was beginning to grow dusk, and then pikes were laid aside and orders given for the gun crew to take their places, Rodd closing up quickly in anticipation of something coming off.
“Rather warm weather, Mr Rodd, sir,” whispered Joe Cross, as, aided by another of the crew, he proceeded to cast loose the lashings and strip the tarpaulin off the long gun. “If it warn’t for the showers this ’ere pocket pistol might very well do without her greatcoat. I say, sir, didn’t I hear your uncle tell the old man that you were to have a canister of powder just to fire her off once or twice?”
“Yes, Joe, but I think it was only to tease me.”
“You ask the skipper to let you have one. It’s all very well to go on ramming and sponging and making believe to load, but it is like having your grog served out in an empty glass. And if the old man grunts and shakes his head and grumbles about waste of ammunition, you just ask him if he’d mind you bringing one of your canisters of powder as you and your uncle’s got for your double guns. He might let you then, if your old man don’t mind. We could divide it into about four goes as wouldn’t make much noise, and there’d be some sense in it. There would be something to ram down; and the lads would like it.”
“But the captain wouldn’t let you fire away any cannon balls, Joe.”
“Well, no, sir, I suppose not, unless we got the cook up with a pudding-bag to hold it over the muzzle and catch them again.”
“Wouldn’t a straw hat be better, Joe?” said Rodd dryly.