But I gained confidence after this, and was soon able to run up even to the top-gallant crosstrees, and come down again feet first, and hand after hand, just like Tom Brandy himself.
I’ll never forget the first day I heard the guns go off. Tom told me it was nothing. That we were merely chasing a slave-ship, and that the moment she lay to our brave sailors would board her, and very soon make an end of the Arabs.
Tom and I had crept into the largest gun that day, having found the tompion out. She was called a bow-chaser, whatever that may be, and she stood on a pivot away forward. The sun had been fearfully hot that forenoon, but Tom came aft to the quarter-deck, where I was lying panting, with my mouth open.
“Very hot, isn’t it?” said Tom.
“I feel roasting,” I replied.
“Well, follow me,” he said. “I know where it is dark and cool enough for anything. The tompion is out of the 56-pounder.”
“Whatever do you mean? What is a tompion, Tom? And what is a 56-pounder?”
“Come on and see, Shireen.”
Then we went to the gun.
“Follow your leader,” cried Tom, and in he crawled and soon was lost to view.