's papers are aboard of her, all correct, sir. Keys at your
service, if you please to feel my pocket, objecting to let my hands
loose."

"Very well, I must go on board of her, and test a few of your puncheons
and bales, Master Brown. Locker in the master's own cabin, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, plain as can be, on the starboard side, just behind the cabin
door. Only your honor must be smart about it; the time-fuse can't 'a got
three inches left."

"Time-fuse? What do you mean, you Grimsby villain?"

"Nothing, commander, but to keep you out of mischief. When we were
compelled to beach the old craft, for fear of them scoundrelly pirates,
it came into my head what a pity it would be to have her used illegal;
for she do outsail a'most everything, as your honor can bear witness.
So I just laid a half-hour fuse to three big-powder barrels as is down
there in the hold; and I expect to see a blow-up almost every moment.
But your honor might be in time yet, with a run, and good luck to your
foot, you might--"

"Back, lads! back every one of you this moment!" The first concern of
Nettlebones was rightly for his men. "Under the cliff here. Keep well
back. Push out those smuggler fellows into the middle. Let them have the
benefit of their own inventions, and this impudent Brown the foremost.
They have laid a train to their powder barrels, and the lugger will blow
up any moment."

"No fear for me, commander," James Brown shouted through the hurry and
jostle of a hundred runaways. "More fear for that poor man as lieth
there a-lurching. She won't hit me when she bloweth up, no more than
your honor could. But surely your duty demandeth of you to board the old
bilander, and take samples."

"Sample enough of you, my friend. But I haven't quite done with you yet.
Simpson, here, bear a hand with poor Lieutenant Donovan."

Nettlebones set a good example by lifting the prostrate Irishman;
and they bore him into safety, and drew up there; while the beachmen,
forbidden the shelter at point of cutlass, made off right and left; and
then, with a crash that shook the strand and drove back the water in
a white turmoil, the Crown of Gold flew into a fount of timbers,
splinters, shreds, smoke, fire, and dust.

"Gentlemen, you may come out of your holes," the Grimsby man shouted
from his mooring-post, as the echoes ran along the cliffs, and rolled to
and fro in the distance. "My old woman will miss a piece of my pigtail,
but she hathn't hurt he