My father casting about, as the chase
progressed, to put us on better terms of defence, suggested unlashing
this gun and running her aft for a stern-chaser.
Captain Pomery shook his head. "Where's the ammunition? We don't
carry a single round shot aboard, nor haven't for years.
Besides which, she'd burst to a certainty."
"There's time enough to make up a few tins of canister," argued my
father. "Or stay--" He smote his leg.
"Didn't I tell you old Worthyvale would turn out the usefullest man
on board?"
"What's the matter with Worthyvale?"
"While we've been talking, Worthyvale has been doing. What has he
been doing?" Why, breaking up the ballast, and, if I'm not mistaken,
into stones of the very size to load this gun."
"Give Badcock and me some share of credit," pleaded Mr. Fett.
"Speaking less as an expert than from an imagination quickened by
terror of all missiles, I suggest that a hundredweight or so of empty
bottles, nicely broken up, would lend a d--d disagreeable diversity
to the charge--"
"Not a bad idea at all," agreed my father.
"And a certain sting to our defiance; since I understand these
ruffians drink nothing stronger than water," Mr.
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