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.