The buoy in question,—a medium one about eight feet high, five feet in diameter, and conical in shape—stood at the edge of the vessel, like an extinguisher for the biggest candle that ever was conceived in the wildest brain at Rome. Its sinker, a square mass of cast-iron nearly a ton in weight, lay beside it, and its two-inch chain, every link whereof was eight or ten inches long, and made of the toughest malleable iron, was coiled carefully on the main-hatch, so that nothing should impede its running out.
“All ready?” cried the captain, taking a final glance through the telescope.
“All ready, sir,” replied the men, several of whom stood beside the buoy, prepared to lay violent hands on it, while two stood with iron levers under the sinker, ready to heave.
“Stand here, Billy, an’ you’ll see it better,” said Dick Moy, with a sly look, for Dick had by this time learned to appreciate the mischievous spirit of the urchin.
“Let go!” cried the captain.
“Let go!” echoed the men.
The levers were raised; the thrust was given. Away went the sinker; overboard went the buoy; out went the chain with a clanging roar and a furious rush, and up sprang a column of white spray, part of which fell in-board, and drenched Billy Towler to the skin!
As well might Dick Moy have attempted to punish a pig by throwing it into the mud as to distress Billy by sousing him with water! It was to him all but a native element. In fact, he said that he believed himself to be a hamphiberous hanimal by nature, and was of the opinion that he should have been born a merman.
“Hooray! shower-baths free, gratis, for nothink!” he yelled, as soon as he had re-caught his breath. “Any more o’ that sort comin’?” he cried, as he pulled off his shirt and wrung it.
“Plenty more wery like it,” said Dick, chuckling, “and to be had wery much on the same terms.”