in the gun from the touch hole towards the breech. With the end of his
powder horn he slightly bruised the train, and the gun only awaited a
spark from the match.

Everything was done very quickly, and Desmond watched the seamen with
admiration. He himself had charge of the linstock, about which was wound
several matches, consisting of lengths of twisted cotton wick steeped in
lye. They had already been lighted, for they burnt so slowly that they
would last for several hours.

"Now, we're shipshape," said Bulger. "Mind you, Burke, don't come to far
for'ard with your linstock. I don't want the train fired with no sparks
afore I'm ready. And 'ware o' the breech; she'll kick like a jumping
jackass when the shot flies out of her, an'll knock your teeth out afore
you can say Jack Robinson--

"Ah! there's the word at last; now, mateys, here goes!"

He laid the gun, waited for the ship to rise from a roll, and then took
one of the matches, gently blew its smoldering end, and applied the
glowing wick to the bruised part of the priming. There was a flash, a
roar, and before Desmond could see the effect of the shot Bulger had
closed the vent, the gun was run in, and the sponger was at work cleaning
the chamber.

As the black smoke cleared away it was apparent that the seaman had not
forgotten his cunning. The shot had struck the grab on the deck of the
prow and smashed into the forecastle. But the bow chasers were apparently
uninjured, for they replied a few seconds later.

"Ah! There's a wunner!" said Bulger admiringly.

A shot had carried away a yard of the gunwale of the Good Intent,
scattering splinters far and wide, which inflicted nasty wounds on the
second mate and a seaman on the quarterdeck. A jagged end of the wood
flying high struck Diggle on the left cheek. He wiped away the blood
imperturbably; it was evident that lack of courage was not among his
defects.

Captain Barker's ire was now at white heat. Shouting an order to Bulger
and the next man to make rapid practice with the two stern chasers, he
prepared to fall off and bring the Good Intent's broadside to bear on the
enemy.

But the next shot was decisive. Diggle had quietly strolled down to the
gun next to Bulger's. It had just been reloaded. He bade the gun captain,
in a low tone, to move aside. Then, with a glance to see that the priming
was in order, he took careful sight, and waiting until the grab's main,
mizzen and foremasts opened to view alt