“I say, boys!” I cried, hauling in my line hand over hand, “I've got something!”
“What does it pull like, youngster?” asked Harris, looking down at the taut line and expecting to see a big perch at least.
“O, nothing in the fish way,” I returned, laughing; “it's about the old guns.”
“What about them?”
“I was thinking what jolly fun it would be to set one of the old sogers on his legs and serve him out a ration of gunpowder.”
Up came the three lines in a jiffy. An enterprise better suited to the disposition of my companions could not have been proposed.
In a short time we had one of the smaller cannon over on its back and were busy scraping the green rust from the touch-hole. The mould had spiked the gun so effectually, that for a while we fancied we should have to give up our attempt to resuscitate the old soger.
“A long gimlet would clear it out,” said Charley Marden, “if we only had one.”
I looked to see if Sailor Ben's flag was flying at the cabin door, for he always took in the colors when he went off fishing.
“When you want to know if the Admiral's aboard, jest cast an eye to the buntin', my hearties,” says Sailor Ben.