“Jolly!”
“The stock must be curved,” said Bevis; “not like the guns, broad and flat, but just curved, and there must be a thing to hold the match; and just remind me to buy a spring to keep the hammer up, so that it shall not fall till we pull the trigger—it’s just opposite to other guns, don’t you see? The spring is to keep the match up, and you pull against the spring. And there’s a pan and a cover to it—a bit of tin would do capital—and you push it open with your thumb. I’ve seen lots of matchlocks in glass cases, all inlaid gold and silver.”
“We don’t want that.”
“No all we want is the shooting. The match is the bother—”
“Would tar-cord do?”
“We’ll try; first let’s make the breech. Take up the anchor.”
Mark picked up the anchor, and put it on board. They launched the Pinta, and set sail homewards, Mark steering. As they were running right before the wind, the ship went at a great pace.
“That’s the Mozambique,” said Bevis, as they passed through the strait where they had had to make so many tacks before.
“Land ho!” said Mark, as they approached the harbour. “We’ve had a capital sail.”
“First-rate,” said Bevis. “But let’s make the matchlock.”