"Ay, ay, sir," replied the gunner.—"Now, lass," he said, patting the breach of the great pivot-gun—"now, lass, it's you and me."
The gunner wasn't particular about his grammar.
Brr-rr-rang! Hurr-rsh! The great shot tore clean through the Russian's mizzentop, and brought rigging, mast, and sail down, and these hung about her like a broken wing on a badly-shot wild duck. She hove to now smartly enough.
Sturdy and Dr. Reikie boarded her with an armed boat. It was humane to let "Auld Reikie" go in the boat, for there might be blood about or broken bones.
"Bravo, sweetheart!" said the gunner to his pet as the boat went speeding away.
Sturdy was in a temper. The skipper of the barque came up bowing and scraping, as ungainly-looking a heap of old clothes, Sturdy thought, as ever loafed along a ship's deck. Our brave first lieutenant hadn't enough Russian to bless himself with, so he stuck to plain English—very plain English, for he exploded thus,—
"Why the Harry didn't you haul your rotten old foreyard aback before? Think we want to expend good shot and shell over a lubber like you?"
The Russian skipper had a mouth like a haddock, and now he seemed to smile all the way down to his short and "gurkie" neck. He made a rush aft a little, and pulled out a black bottle and a cracked tumbler. He half filled it, laughed, and nodded towards the Gurnet, and drank it off. Then he half filled it again, and held it towards Sturdy.
"Ha! ha!" he said joyously, "she is a very goot schnapp."
Even Sturdy smiled now; but he bluntly refused the "very goot schnapp," and went straight to business.