Upon hearing Joe Cross's announcement Rodd eagerly turned, to find his
uncle just coming on deck to take his evening walk after a busy day with
his specimens that he had dragged and trawled from the calm sea.
The captain had just given orders to the mate to summon all hands on
deck, and one of the first proceedings was to call the men to attention,
the next to send them to the small-arms chest, from which each returned
with cutlass buckled on and carrying a boarding pike, which were placed
in a rack round the mainmast.
Rodd took his position just opposite as the men fell into line; Uncle
Paul seated himself as far off as he could get, in a deck-chair, where
he sat and frowned; and then Captain Chubb diligently put his men
through all the evolutions of cutlass drill over and over again, till he
was satisfied, when he bade them fall out for a few minutes to rid
themselves of their cutlasses.
In the interval Rodd went up to where his uncle was seated.
"I say, uncle," he said, "how the men have improved!" Uncle Paul
grunted, and just then Captain Chubb strolled up.
"Well, sir," he said, "we shall soon have a crew now as smart as a
man-of-war's."
"So I see," grumbled Uncle Paul; "and when you have got them perfect
what are you going to do with them?"
"Ah, that remains to be seen, sir. There's nothing like being
prepared."
"Better let the men rest after all they have done to-day. What with
their deck cleaning and the work they have done for me, they don't want
setting to play at soldiers."
"Playing at soldiers, eh, sir? I call it playing at sailors. No use to
lock the stable-door after the steed's stolen. My lads may never be
called upon to fight, but if by bad luck we are, I should like them to
be able to use their fighting tools like men."
"Oh, it isn't likely," said Uncle Paul, "in a peaceful voyage like
ours."
"Most unlikely things are those that happen first," growled the captain.
"But you worry the men with too much work, and I want them to be fresh
and ready for me to-morrow morning. I don't want the poor fellows to be
discontented."
"Discontented, sir!" cried the skipper hotly. "I should like to see
them look discontented! But not they! They like it. Puts them in mind
of their old fighting days. Now you shall see them go through their
drill with the boarding pikes, and see how smart I have made them. I
say they like it, sir; and I know."
"Then I suppose," said Uncle Paul, "you will set them to work lumbering
about that great gun, pretending to load and fire it. Why, who in the
world do you expect we are going to encounter out here on the high seas?
We are not at war with the French."
"Captain Chubb thinks we may meet with the privateer," said Rodd
merrily.
"Don't you make rude remarks, Rodney!" cried Uncle Paul angrily. "Well,
there, captain, I suppose you will have your own way, but it seems to me
great waste of time."
"Oh no, sir," said the skipper good-humouredly. "I suppose you mean to
run in and up some of those rivers we shall pass by and by?"
"Most certainly," cried the doctor.
"Well, and what then, sir? You are going right out of civilisation
there, and among black tribes and warlike people who are ready for
anything, from attacking another tribe and bringing the prisoners down
the river to sell for slaves, up to taking a fancy to any smart craft
they can master, and then stripping her and burning her to the water's
edge."
"And what becomes of the crews?" cried Rodd sharply.
"Well, Mr Rodd, that's rather a hard question to answer. If ever you
go to Liverpool or Bristol and you get asking questions amongst the
merchants there, you will find they have got some queer tales to tell.
Sorry you don't like my plans, Dr Robson, but even if we never get into
trouble we shall be none the worse for being prepared."
"Oh, I am not going to complain, Captain Chubb. Drill away as much as
you like. You say the men like it, and it satisfies you. Then my boy
Rodd, here, nothing will please him better than letting him have a
canister of gunpowder to play with and pop off that gun. So I am in a
minority, and I will give in. There, you'd better take Rodd and drill
him too."
"I'll take you at your word, sir," said Captain Chubb, laughing, and
making Rodd start with eagerness. "Fall in, my lads. Pikes."
The drilling went on till it was beginning to grow dusk, and then pikes
were laid aside and orders given for the gun crew to take their places,
Rodd closing up quickly in anticipation of something coming off.
"Rather warm weather, Mr Rodd, sir," whispered Joe Cross, as, aided by
another of the crew, he proceeded to cast loose the lashings and strip
the tarpaulin off the long gun. "If it warn't for the showers this 'ere
pocket pistol might very well do without her greatcoat. I say, sir,
didn't I hear your uncle tell the old man that you were to have a
canister of powder just to fire her off once or twice?"
"Yes, Joe, but I think it was only to tease me."
"You ask the skipper to let you have one. It's all very well to go on
ramming and sponging and making believe to load, but it is like having
your grog served out in an empty glass. And if the old man grunts and
shakes his head and grumbles about waste of ammunition, you just ask him
if he'd mind you bringing one of your canisters of powder as you and
your uncle's got for your double guns. He might let you then, if your
old man don't mind. We could divide it into about four goes as wouldn't
make much noise, and there'd be some sense in it. There would be
something to ram down; and the lads would like it."
"But the captain wouldn't let you fire away any cannon balls, Joe."
"Well, no, sir, I suppose not, unless we got the cook up with a
pudding-bag to hold it over the muzzle and catch them again."
"Wouldn't a straw hat be better, Joe?" said Rodd dryly.
"Well, now you talk of it, sir," replied the man, grinning, "I never
thought of that. Perhaps it would if one of us held it lightly in his
hand and eased off a good deal when we fired. If you didn't do that of
course the ball might go right through."
"Well, I'll ask the captain, Joe."
"Yes, sir; do, sir. As I said afore, it would please the lads, and do
good too, for it would clean the gun's teeth, sweep away all the scales
and rust."
"Scales and rust!" cried Rodd. "Why, it isn't an iron gun; it's brass."
"Why, so it is, Master Rodd, sir. Why, only fancy me not thinking of
that! But here he comes. Try it on, sir."
"Shall I, Joe?"
"Yes, do, sir; as I said, it would please the lads. They're just like a
lot of school-boys when they gets a chance of a change."
"And Joe Cross doesn't care a bit," said Rodd.