VII Pooh!
“I think your majesty has exactly defined the cause of your injuries,” said the caustic Weiss Nicht, now in the style of Wahr.
“That much is settled then,” said the admiral, “since you both agree. If it was only mended—”
Something tore through the ship. “A hole and nothing else!” sighed Hier Ruhet.
“Sire, I think we had better go,” said Wahr; “we can do no further good here. And besides, you may be unfortunate with the other leg—and your majesty’s hunger is not being satisfied. I believe the soup-spring lies S.S.W., Nicht.”
“Very well, since you are so hungry,” acquiesced the admiral, with immense testiness, “get what is left of the Tonans under way, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t get skeered! Be calm!”
This, with much distress and profanity by everybody, they endeavored to do. But, inasmuch as the little boat kept up its clipping, it was not easy. However, at length, a bit of sail was rigged, a drag attached for a rudder, and what was left of the Tonans stood feebly to the wind. The little craft seemed to wait and look curiously on.
And now and then they heard that huge voice laugh at them: “Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!”
Nevertheless they were making headway. For the sails of the Tonans had not been clipped.
A slight boom was heard presently from the direction of the tiny boat,—the first they had heard,—though it was now nearly out of sight, and at once a strange missile ploughed its way through the Tonans from the stern, and stopped in the middle of the waist. It was of iron, conical, prettily made, ornamented with bright bands of metal, and about the size of Jawrge, the boots.
The entire ship’s company gathered and viewed it curiously.
“Stand me up on my good leg,” cried Ruhet, as curious as Jawrge. “Now, where did that come from?” he demanded of the sailors, as if some of them had put it there. No one answered.
“Certainly it did not come from that little toy. She’s out of sight.”
Not a soul spoke.
“Well, by my father’s strap—and the buckle on its end—never saw I such a lot of ninnikins, Nicht!”
“It came from yonder vessel,” said Nicht. “Be careful; it contains the magic.”
Ruhet laughed once more.
“Why, Nicht, here is another secret,—the last one I shall tell you: it is bigger than the little vessel. Aha, ha, ha!”
“That is the magic of it, master.”
“However, it may be light,” said Ruhet. “Lift it. Nothing but a tin can, perhaps a present—hah! a tin can sent to us with provisions! Open it. They are very prettily put up, if they are to eat.”
Ruhet touched it.
“It is hot. And that suggests the soup-spring. Open it. Wahr, is this the soup-spring, you rogue?”
Wahr looked wise.
Weiss Nicht withheld the men solemnly.
“Do not touch it. It is full of magic. It is that has done the clipping.”
“Pooh!” said Wahr. “Pooh, sire!”
“Do you really think so?” whispered Ruhet, half believing Nicht. “Well, it will do no more. Over with it.”
Two men—then ten men—then twenty men—grasped it.
“It is not soup, at all events,” laughed Hier Ruhet.
“Aha, ha, ha!” echoed the odious Wahr—still looking wise. “Not soup!”
“Over with it! Quick!” cried the impudent Nicht, ignoring both his superior officers in his fear.
Each was about to administer a separate reprimand to the poor gunner’s mate.
But at that moment it exploded.