They ran the boat on shore through the surf, where a cove in the shore made landing possible, and almost careless whether she stove or not, scrambled over the sand-hills with each man his brace of shot slung across his shoulder; and Amyas, leaping into the trenches, shouted cheerfully to Salvation Yeo-- "More food for the bull-dogs, Gunner, and plums for the Spaniards' Christmas pudding!" "Don't speak to a man at his business, Master Amyas.

Five mortal times have I missed; but I will have that accursed Popish rag down, as I'm a sinner." "Down with it, then; nobody wants you to shoot crooked.

Take good iron to it, and not footy paving-stones." "I believe, sir, that the foul fiend is there, a turning of my shot aside, I do.

I thought I saw him once: but, thank Heaven, here's ball again.

Ah, sir, if one could but cast a silver one! Now, stand by, men!" And once again Yeo's eighteen-pounder roared, and away.