“A matchlock,” said Bevis. “Make a matchlock. And a matchlock is quite proper, and just what they used to have—”
“But the barrel?”
“Buy an iron tube,” said Bevis. “They have lots at Latten, at the ironmonger’s; buy an iron pipe, and stop one end—”
“I see,” said Mark. “Hurrah!” and up went his heels, and there was a wild capering for half a minute.
“The bother is to make the breech,” said Bevis. “It ought to screw, but we can’t do that.”
“Ask the blacksmith,” said Mark; “we need not let him know what it’s for.”
“If he doesn’t know we’ll find out somehow,” said Bevis. “Come on, let’s do it directly. Why didn’t we think of it before.”
They returned towards the boat.
“Just won’t it be splendid,” said Mark. “First, we’ll get everything ready, and then get shipwrecked proper, and be as jolly as anything.”
“Matchlocks are capital guns,” said Bevis; “they’re slow to shoot with, you know, but they kill better than rifles. They have long barrels, and you put them on a rest to take steady aim, and we’ll have an iron ramrod too, so as not to have the bother of making a place to put the rod in the stock, and to ram down bullets to shoot the tigers or savages.”