the story of a bad boy(顽童故事)-第26章
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may be sure； was one。
How delightful it was of winter nights to sit in his cosey cabin； close to
the ship's stove （he wouldn't hear of having a fireplace）； and listen to
Sailor Ben's yarns！ In the early summer twilights； when he sat on the door…
step splicing a rope or mending a net； he always had a bevy of blooming
young faces alongside。
The dear old fellow！ How tenderly the years touched him after this…all
the more tenderly； it seemed； for having roughed him so cruelly in other
days！
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CHAPTER Seventeen
How We Astonished the Rivermouthians
Sailor Ben's arrival partly drove the New Orleans project from my
brain。 Besides； there was just then a certain movement on foot by the
Centipede Club which helped to engross my attention。
Pepper Whitcomb took the Captain's veto philosophically； observing
that he thought from the first the governor wouldn't let me go。 I don't think
Pepper was quite honest in that。
But to the subject in hand。
Among the few changes that have taken place in Rivermouth during
the past twenty years there is one which I regret。 I lament the removal of
all those varnished iron cannon which used to do duty as posts at the
corners of streets leading from the river。 They were quaintly ornamental；
each set upon end with a solid shot soldered into its mouth； and gave to
that part of the town a picturesqueness very poorly atoned for by the
conventional wooden stakes that have deposed them。
These guns （〃old sogers〃 the boys called them） had their story； like
everything else in Rivermouth。 When that everlasting last war…the War of
1812； I mean…came to an end； all the brigs； schooners； and barks fitted out
at this port as privateers were as eager to get rid of their useless twelve…
pounders and swivels as they had previously been to obtain them。 Many of
the pieces had cost large sums； and now they were little better than so
much crude iron…not so good； in fact； for they were clumsy things to break
up and melt over。 The government didn't want them； private citizens didn't
want them； they were a drug in the market。
But there was one man； ridiculous beyond his generation； who got it
into his head that a fortune was to be made out of these same guns。 To buy
them all； to hold on to them until war was declared again （as he had no
doubt it would be in a few months）； and then sell out at fabulous prices…
this was the daring idea that addled the pate of Silas Trefethen； 〃Dealer in
E。 & W。 I。 Goods and Groceries；〃 as the faded sign over his shop…door
informed the public。
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Silas went shrewdly to work； buying up every old cannon he could lay
hands on。 His back…yard was soon crowded with broken…down gun…
carriages； and his barn with guns； like an arsenal。 When Silas's purpose
got wind it was astonishing how valuable that thing became which just
now was worth nothing at all。
〃Ha； ha！〃 thought Silas。 〃Somebody else is tryin' hi git control of the
market。 But I guess I've got the start of him。〃
So he went on buying and buying； oftentimes paying double the
original price of the article。 People in the neighboring towns collected all
the worthless ordnance they could find； and sent it by the cart…load to
Rivermouth。
When his barn was full； Silas began piling the rubbish in his cellar；
then in his parlor。 He mortgaged the stock of his grocery store； mortgaged
his house； his barn； his horse； and would have mortgaged himself； if
anyone would have taken him as security； in order to carry on the grand
speculation。 He was a ruined man； and as happy as a lark。
Surely poor Silas was cracked； like the majority of his own cannon。
More or less crazy he must have been always。 Years before this he
purchased an elegant rosewood coffin； and kept it in one of the spare
rooms in his residence。 He even had his name engraved on the silver…plate；
leaving a blank after the word 〃Died。〃
The blank was filled up in due time； and well it was for Silas that he
secured so stylish a coffin in his opulent days； for when he died his
worldly wealth would not have bought him a pine box； to say nothing of
rosewood。 He never gave up expecting a war with Great Britain。 Hopeful
and radiant to the last； his dying words were； England…war … few days…
great profits！
It was that sweet old lady； Dame Jocelyn； who told me the story of
Silas Trefethen； for these things happened long before my day。 Silas died
in 1817。
At Trefethen's death his unique collection came under the auctioneer's
hammer。 Some of the larger guns were sold to the town； and planted at the
corners of divers streets； others went off to the iron…foundry； the balance；
numbering twelve； were dumped down on a deserted wharf at the foot of
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Anchor Lane； where； summer after summer； they rested at their ease in the
grass and fungi； pelted in autumn by the rain and annually buried by the
winter snow。 It is with these twelve guns that our story has to deal。
The wharf where they reposed was shut off from the street by a high
fence…a silent dreamy old wharf； covered with strange weeds and mosses。
On account of its seclusion and the good fishing it afforded； it was much
frequented by us boys。
There we met many an afternoon to throw out 。our lines； or play leap…
frog among the rusty cannon。 They were famous fellows in our eyes。 What
a racket they had made in the heyday of their unchastened youth！ What
stories they might tell now； if their puffy metallic lips could only speak！
Once they were lively talkers enough； but there the grim sea…dogs lay；
silent and forlorn in spite of all their former growlings。
They always seemed to me like a lot of venerable disabled tars；
stretched out on a lawn in front of a hospital； gazing seaward； and mutely
lamenting their lost youth。
But once more they were destined to lift up their dolorous voices…once
more ere they keeled over and lay speechless for all time。 And this is how
it befell。
Jack Harris； Charley Marden； Harry Blake； and myself were fishing
off the wharf one afternoon； when a thought flashed upon me like an
inspiration。
〃I say； boys！〃 I cried； hauling in my line hand over hand； 〃I've got
something！〃
〃What does it pull like； youngster？〃 asked Harris； looking down at the
taut line and expecting to see a big perch at least。
〃O； nothing in the fish way；〃 I returned； laughing； 〃it's about the old
guns。〃
〃What about them？〃
〃I was thinking what jolly fun it would be to set one of the old sogers
on his legs and serve him out a ration of gunpowder。〃
Up came the three lines in a jiffy。 An enterprise better suited to the
disposition of my companions could not have been proposed。
In a short time we had one of the smaller cannon over on its back and
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were busy scraping the green rust from the touch…hole。 The mould had
spiked the gun so effectually； that for a while we fancied we should have
to give up our attempt to resuscitate the old soger。
〃A long gimlet would clear it out；〃 said Charley Marden； 〃if we only
had one。〃
I looked to see if Sailor Ben's flag was flying at the cabin door； for he
always took in the colors when he went off fishing。
〃When you want to know if the Admiral's aboard； jest cast an eye to
the buntin'； my hearties；〃 says Sailor Ben。
Sometimes in a jocose mood he called himself the Admiral； and I am
sure he deserved to be one。 The Admiral's flag was flying； and I soon
procured a gimlet from his carefully kept tool…chest。
Before long we had the gun in working order。 A newspaper lashed to
the end of a lath served as a swab to dust out the bore。 Jack Harris blew
through the touch…hole and pronounced all clear。
Seeing our task accomplished so easily； we turned our attention to the
other guns； which lay in all sorts of postures in the rank grass。 Borrowing
a rope from Sailor Ben； we managed with immense labor to drag the
heavy pieces into position and place a brick under each muzzle to give it
the proper elevation。 When we beheld them all in a row； like a regular
battery； we simultaneously conceived an idea； the magnitude of which
struck us dumb for a moment。
Our first intention was to load and fire a single gun。 How feeble and
insignificant was such a plan compared to that which now sent the light
dancing into our eyes！
〃What could we have been thinking of？〃 cried Jack Harris。 〃We'll give
'em a broadside； to be sure； if we die for it！〃
We turned to with a will； and before nightfall had nearly half the
battery overhauled and ready for service。 To keep the artillery dry we
stuffed wads of loose hemp into the muzzles； and fitted wooden pegs to
the touch…holes。
At recess the next noon the Centipedes met in a corner of the school…
yard to talk over the proposed lark。 The original projectors； though they
would have liked to keep the thing secret； were obliged to make a club
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matter of it； inasmuch as funds were required for ammunition。 There had
been no recent drain on the treasury； and the society could well
