“Josh,” he went on to say, “are you game to run another race this evening with the balance of our grubs? They’ve kept alive all right, and ought to be good for a mess of fine fish.”
“I’m your meal ticket,” cheerily announced the other. “Count me in the game if the chance opens up; and I hope we have as good luck as that other time. But say, there’s a queer looking boat away down the river that I don’t seem to be able to make head or tail of. Somebody take a look and tell me what you think.”
At that there was a general craning of necks. Then Buster announced his opinion.
“Whatever she is, I think they’re anchored in the stream, because I can’t see any movement at all.”
“But that looks like smoke coming from a stack of some sort,” George observed, as he cupped both hands in order to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight, in this way securing better results.
“Strikes me it’s a cheese box on a raft of some sort,” Josh gave as a hazard.
“Why, Josh, that was the name the Confederates gave the Monitor in our civil war, you know,” burst out Buster; “the single round turret was built on a low deck just a little above the water, and I suppose it did look like a cheese box, such as you can see in the grocery stores at home.”
“Between you,” said Jack just then, “you’ve guessed it.”
“Do you mean it’s really and truly a monitor?” demanded George skeptically.
“I’ve understood that Austria had a number of these river gunboats down here, and I think they all mount pretty big guns, as well as being armored,” Jack went on to say.