He stripped to the waist, and tied a handkerchief over his ears.  Desmond and the men followed his example.  Then one of them sponged the bore, another inserted the cartridge, containing three pounds of powder, by means of a long ladle, a third shoved in a wad of rope yarn.  This having been driven home by the rammer, the round shot was inserted, and covered like the cartridge with a wad.  Then Bulger took his priming iron, an instrument like a long thin corkscrew, and thrust it into the touch hole to clear the vent and make an incision in the cartridge.  Removing the priming iron, he replaced it by the priming tube—­a thin tapering tube with very narrow bore.  Into this he poured a quantity of fine mealed powder; then he laid a train of the same powder in the little groove cut 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.