“I’ll look to the chap, now you tell me this. It is a little odd, the manner in which he got on board us, taken in connection with the company he was in, and a discovery may be made. Here he is, however, and, as I keep the keys of the magazine, he can do us no great harm, unless he scuttles the brig.”
“Magazine! Is there such a thing here?”
“To be sure there is, and ammunition enough in it, to keep eight carronades in lively conversation for a couple of hours.”
“A carronade is what you call a gun, is it not?”
“A piece of a one—being somewhat short, like your friend Jack Tier, who is shaped a good deal like a carronade.”
Rose smiled—nay, half laughed, for Harry’s pleasantries almost took the character of wit in her eyes, but she did not the less pursue her inquiries.
“Guns! And where are they, if they be on this vessel?”
“Do not use such a lubberly expression, my dear Rose, if you respect your father’s profession. On a vessel is a new fangled Americanism, that is neither fish, flesh, nor red-herring, as we sailors say—neither English nor Greek.”
“What should I say, then? My wish is not to parade sea-talk, but to use it correctly, when I use it at all.”
“The expression is hardly ‘sea-talk,’ as you call it, but every-day English—that is when rightly used. On a vessel is no more English, than it is nautical—no sailor ever used such an expression.”