Nothing loath was master gunner, as the other bow-gun
came into bearing, to make a little more noise in
the world, and possibly produce a greater effect.
And therein he must have had a grand success, and
established a noble reputation, by carrying off a
great Grimsby head, if he only had attended to a little
matter. Gunner Jakins was a celebrated shot,
and the miss he had made stirred him up to shoot again.
If the other gun was crooked, this one should be
straight; and dark as it was inshore, he got a patch
of white ground to sight by. The bilander was
a good sizable object, and not to hit her anywhere
would be too bad. He considered these things
carefully, and cocked both eyes, with a twinkling
ambiguity between them; then trusting mainly to the
left one, as an ancient gunner for the most part does,
he watched the due moment, and fired. The smoke
curled over the sea, and so did the Dutchman’s
maintop-sail, for the mast beneath it was cut clean
through. Some of the crew were frightened, as
may be the bravest man when for the first time shot
at; but James Brown rubbed his horny hands.
“Now this is a good judgment for that younker
Robin Lyth,” he shouted aloud, with the glory
of a man who has verified his own opinions.
“He puts all the danger upon his elders, and
tells them there is none of it. A’ might
just as well have been my head, if a wave hadn’t
lifted the muzzle when that straight-eyed chap let
fire. Bear a hand, boys, and cut away the wreck.
He hathn’t got never another shot to send.
He hath saved us trouble o’ shortening that
there canvas. We don’t need too much way
on her.”
This was true enough, as all hands knew; for the craft
was bound to take the beach, without going to pieces
yet awhile. Jem Brown stood at the wheel himself,
and carried her in with consummate skill.
“It goeth to my heart to throw away good stuff,”
he grumbled at almost every creak. “Two
hunder pound I would ’a paid myself for this
here piece of timber. Steady as a light-house,
and as handy as a mop; but what do they young fellows
care? There, now, my lads, hold your legs a
moment; and now make your best of that.”
“With a crash, and a grating, and a long sad
grind, the nuptial ark of the wealthy Dutchman cast
herself into her last bed and berth.
“I done it right well,” said the Grimsby
man.
The poor old bilander had made herself such a hole
in the shingle that she rolled no more, but only lifted
at the stern and groaned, as the quiet waves swept
under her. The beach was swarming with men,
who gave her a cheer, and flung their hats up; and
in two or three minutes as many gangways of timber
and rope were rigged to her hawse-holes, or fore-chains,
or almost anywhere. And then the rolling of
puncheons began, and the hoisting of bales, and the
thump and the creak, and the laughter, and the swearing.
“Now be you partiklar, uncommon partiklar; never
start a stave nor fray a bale. Powerful precious
stuff this time. Gold every bit of it, if it
are a penny. They blessed coast-riders will be
on us round the point. But never you hurry,
lads, the more for that. Better a’most
to let ’em have it, than damage a drop or a thread
of such goods.”
