Chapter Fifty One.Is the deed done?The boat had stopped, and Fitz had heard the faintest of faint clicks as of iron against iron, for the hook in the carpenter’s hands had lightly come in contact with the port anchor, which was hanging in its place, teaching them that it was the starboard that was down; and as Fitz looked up sharply, he fully expected to see a row of faces peering over the bulwark and looking down into the boat as the watchers gave the alarm, which would result in a shower of missiles being hurled upon their heads, the precursors of a heavy shot that would go crashing through the bottom of the boat. But he was only gazing up at a black edge and the stars beyond, and just above his head something rugged and curved which he knew were the anchor’s flukes.Fitz knew that to hesitate was to give place to doubts as to his success, and that the longer he waited the more likely they were to be discovered. That no watch was being kept was certain, and rising in the boat he took hold of the anchor as far up as he could reach, its ponderous nature rendering it immovable; and drawing himself steadily upward he began to climb.It was easy enough to an active lad, and once started there was no time for shrinking. Quickly enough he was standing first upon the flukes, then upon the stock, while the next minute he was grasping the port-rail and trying to look down on to the deck, where he fancied he made out the figures of three or four men. But everything was so indistinct that he could not be sure, and he prepared to climb over, when he felt a touch upon his arm and started violently, for he had forgotten their arrangement that Poole should bear a part in the disabling of the gun.He dared not speak, but just gave his companion’s arm a grip, slipped silently over the bulwark, and went down at once on all-fours like a dog. Poole was by his side directly, and as they knelt, both tried to make out the exact position of the gun, and both failed, till Fitz lowered himself a little more, and then repeating his investigation managed to bring the muzzle of the great piece between him and the stars, towards which it was pointed, slightly raised.All was so still, and the deck apparently so deserted, that his task now seemed to be ridiculously easy; and beginning to creep aft towards the great carriage, which was planted a little forward of ’midships, one hand suddenly came into contact with something soft and warm, with the result that there was an angry snarl, a snap, and a hand was brought down with a heavy slap upon the deck.In an instant there was a start, and a low growling voice asked what was apparently a question as to what was the matter. The response came from the man who had struck the blow; but what he said was unintelligible to the listeners, who had immediately shrunk flat upon the deck, conscious as they were that two of the crew had been sleeping within touch, while for aught they knew others might be all around.All notion now of the task being ridiculously easy was swept away, and the two adventurous lads lay hardly daring to breathe for what seemed a quarter of an hour, before a deep stertorous breathing told that the danger was for the moment passed and the time for action come.It was Fitz who this time set the example of beginning, and he did it by thrusting softly with one foot till he could feel where Poole lay ready to seize him by the ankle and give it a warm pressure which the lad took to mean—Go on.Raising himself a little, he began to creep aft once more, bearing to his left towards where he believed the carriage and turn-table of the great gun to be, and reaching them without further interruption, and so easily that his task seemed to become once more simple in the extreme.Reaching carefully out, he satisfied himself as to his position, took a step upward, and found directly after that he was about the middle of the gun, whose breech lay a little to the right and was reached with ease.“Oh, if I could only whisper to Poole,” he thought. “Come on, quick, old fellow, and then together we can get it to the side, drop it overboard, and follow so quickly that we need only make one splash, for it would be impossible to go back as we came.”“Yes, that will be the way,” thought Fitz; “and our fellows will row towards the splash at once, and pick us up. Why didn’t I think to tell them? Never mind. That’s what they are sure to do.”Directly after he was running his hand along the pleasantly cool surface of the gun; but he paused for a moment to listen, and begin to wonder in the darkness why it was that Poole had not made some sign of being near.He reached back, giving a sweep with his hand; but Poole was not there, and he took a step forward to repeat the movement—still in vain.“Oh, I am wasting time,” thought Fitz, as he stepped back to his former position. “He’s waiting for me to reconnoitre and fetch him if I want him.”In this spirit he felt the gun again, guiding himself by his hands to its huge butt, his fingers coming in contact first with the sight and then with the two massive ball-ended levers which turned the great screw.He could barely see at all, but his finger-tips told him that it was just such a piece as they had on board theTonans, but not so large.Forgetting Poole for the moment, he passed right round to the breech, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with the solid block, and then withdrawing his hand he seized hold of the great balls, gave them a wrench, and in perfect silence the heavy mass of forged and polished steel began to turn, the well-oiled grooves and worm gliding together without a sound, and, after the first tug, with the greatest ease.It was all simple enough till he came to the final part of his task, and attempted to lift out the breech-block, the quoin that when the breech was screwed up held all fast.He took hold and tried to lift, but tried in vain, for it seemed beyond his strength. His teeth gritted together as he set them fast in his exasperation against Poole for not being at hand to help and make what now seemed an impossibility an easy task.Perspiring at every pore, he tried again and again, the more eagerly now, for a low growling voice was heard from the direction whence he had crawled.But the piece of steel was immovable, and in his despair he felt that all was over and that he had failed.Then came light—not light to make the gun visible, but mental light, with the question, Had he turned the levers far enough?Uttering a low gasp in his despair, for the growling talk grew louder, he seized the great balls again, gave them another turn or two, and once more tried to stir the block, when his heart seemed to give a great jump, for it came right out as he exerted himself, with comparative ease, and directly after he had it hugged to his chest and was staggering and nearly falling headlong as he stepped down from the iron platform, making for the side. But he recovered himself, tottering on, and then in the darkness kicking against something soft—a sleeper—the encounter sending him, top-heavy as he was, crash against the bulwark, but doing all that he wanted, for the breech-block struck against the rail, glanced off, and went overboard, to fall with a tremendous splash, followed by another, which the middy made himself, as he half flung himself over, half rolled from the rail, to go down with the water thundering in his ears.The heaviness of his plunge naturally sent him below for some distance, but it was not long before he was rising again.It was long enough, though, for thought—and thoughts come quickly at a time like this. Fitz’s first flash was a brilliant one, connected with his success, for the breech-block was gone beyond recovery; his next was one of horror, and connected with the sharks that haunted those waters; his third was full of despair; where was Poole, whom he seemed to have left to his fate?Hah! The surface again, and he could breathe; but which way to swim for the boat? There was none needed, for his shoulders were barely clear of the water when his arm was seized in a tremendous grip, another hand was thrust under his arm-pit, and he was literally jumped, dripping, into a boat, to pant out his first audible utterance for the past hour. It was only a word, and that was—“Poole!”“I’m all right,” came from out of the darkness close at hand.“Then give way, my lads, for your lives!” panted Fitz, and the oars began to splash.It was quite time, for there was no sleeping on board the gunboat now. All was rush and confusion; voices in Spanish were shouting orders, men hurrying here and there, a few shots were fired in their direction, evidently from revolvers, and then a steam-whistle was heard to blow, followed by a hissing, clanking sound, and the man who had hauled Fitz in over the bows put his face close to him and whispered—“Steam-capstan. They’re getting up their anchor. But there was three splashes, sir. What was that there first?”“The breech-block, Chips.”“Hooroar!”It was some little time before another word was spoken, during which period the men had been rowing hard, and the boatswain, who had got hold of the rudder-lines, was steering almost at random for the shore, taking his bearings as well as he could from the gunboat, out of whose funnel sparks kept flying, and a lurid glare appeared upon the cloud of smoke which floated out, pointing to the fact that the stokers were hard at work.“Mr Burnett—Mr Poole, sir,” said Butters, at last, “I aren’t at all satisfied about the way we are going. I suppose we may speak out now?”“Oh yes,” cried Fitz; “I don’t suppose they can hear us, and if they did they couldn’t do us any harm, for it must be impossible for them to make us out.”“Oh yes, sir,” cried the boatswain. “No fear of that.”“But what do you mean about not being satisfied?”“Well, sir, my eyes is pretty good, and if you give me a fair start I can take my bearings pretty easy from the stars when I knows what time it is. But you see, it’s quite another thing to hit the mouth of that little river in the dark. I know the land’s right in front, but whether we are south’ard or north’ard of where the schooner lays is more than I can tell, and there’s some awkward surf upon some of the rocks of this ’ere coast. Will you give your orders, please.”“Well, I don’t know that I can,” replied Fitz. “I think the best thing is to lie-to till daylight. What do you say, Poole?” he continued, from his position to where Poole was, right forward.“Same as you do,” was the reply. “It’s impossible to make for the river now. We may be only getting farther away.”“Just keep her head on to the swell, my lads.”The next minute the gig began riding gently over the long smooth waves, while her occupants sat watching the gunboat, the only light from which now was the glow from the funnel.“Bit wet, aren’t you, Mr Burnett, sir?” said Chips. “What do you say to taking off two or three things and letting me give them a wring?”“Ah, it would be as well,” replied Fitz, beginning at once to slip off his jacket, and as if instinctively to take off attention from what he was doing he began to question Poole.“You had better do the same, hadn’t you?” he cried.“Doing it,” was the reply. “I say, are you all right?”“No; I am so horribly wet. What about you?”“Just the same, of course.”“But I say,” said Fitz, who was calming down after the excitement; “why didn’t you come on and help?”“How could I? One of those fellows lying on the deck threw a leg and an arm over me in his sleep. I just brushed against him, and he started as if I had touched a spring, and held me fast. I tried to get away, but it was of no use, and if I had shouted it would have only given the alarm. I didn’t get loose till the row began, and then there was nothing to do but come overboard and be picked up. I was in a way about you.”“Same here about you,” cried fitz. “I didn’t know what had happened, and when I tumbled over the rail—I didn’t jump—I felt as if I had left you in the lurch.”“Well, but that’s what I felt,” said Poole. “It was queer.”“It made us all feel pretty tidy queer, young gentlemen,” said the boatswain; “but if I may speak, the fust question is, are either of you hurt?”“I am not,” cried Fitz.“Nor I,” said Poole.“That’s right, then,” said the boatswain gruffly. “Now then, what about that there block of iron? Was it that as come over plosh, only about a yard from the boat’s nose?”“Yes,” cried Fitz excitedly.“Then all I can say is, that it’s a precious good job that Mr Burnett didn’t chuck it a little further, for if he had it would have come right down on Chips and drove him through the bottom, and we couldn’t have stopped a leak like that.”“But I should have come up again,” said the carpenter, “just where I went down, and as the hole I made would have been just the same size as me, I should have fitted in quite proper.”“Yah!” growled the boatswain. “What’s the use of trying to cut jokes at a time like this? Look here, gentlemen, have we done our job to rights?”“As far as the gun’s concerned,” replied Fitz, “it’s completely disabled, and of no use again until they get another block.”“Then that’s done, sir.”“And about my job,” said Poole. “I am afraid the screw’s not fouled, for I fancy the gunboat is slowly steaming out to sea.”“Well, I don’t see as how we can tell that, Mr Poole, sir,” said the boatswain. “I can’t say as she’s moving, for we are both in a sharp current, and she may be only drifting; but seeing the way as you made fast the end of that there cable, and then looped over bight after bight round them there fans, and twistened it all up tight, it seems to me that the screw must be fouled, and that every turn made it wuss and wuss. I say that you made a fine job of that there, Mr Poole. What do you say, Chips, my lad?”“Splendid!” cried the carpenter.“Why, it was you two did it,” said Fitz.“Well, that’s what I thought, sir,” said the carpenter; “but it was so dark, I couldn’t see a bit.”“Zackly,” said the boatswain; “and you said it was your job, sir.”“Oh, nonsense!” cried Poole. “I meant yours.”“Well,” said Fitz, “all I can say is that I hope your knots were good.”“I’ll answer for mine,” said the boatswain, “but I won’t say nothing for Chips here. He aren’t much account unless it’s hammers and spikes, or a job at caulking or using his adze.”“That’s right,” said Chips, “but you might tell the young gents that I’m handiest with a pot o’ glue.”There was silence for a few moments, and then Fitz said—“It’s almost too much to expect that both things have turned out all right; but I can’t help believing they have.”“Well, sir,” said the boatswain, “I do hope as that there cable is not all twisted up in a bunch about them fans—reg’lar wound up tight—and if it is there’s no knowing where that there gunboat will drift during the night; for I don’t care how big a crew they’ve got aboard, they can’t free that there propeller till daylight, if they do then. But it do seem a pity to spoil a beautiful new soft bit of stuff like that, for it’ll never be no good again.”“Fine tackle for caulking,” said the carpenter, “or making ships’ fenders.”“Yah!” cried the boatswain. “We should never get it again. It’s gone, and it give me quite a heartache to use up new ship’s stores like that. But what I was going to say was, that the skipper will be saddersfied enough when we get back and tell him that Mr Burnett’s crippled the big gun.”“Oh, but that was the easy job,” said Fitz. “It was just play, lifting out that block and dropping it overboard.”“And a very pretty game too, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the boatswain, chuckling. “But I say, seems quite to freshen a man up to be able to open his mouth and speak. While you two young gents was swarming up that anchor, and all the time you was aboard till you come back plish, plosh, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I say, Mr Poole, would you like to take these ’ere lines?”“No,” said Poole shortly; “I want to get dry. But why do you want me to take the lines?”“To get shut of the ’sponsibility, sir. I can’t see which way to steer.”“Oh, never mind the steering,” cried Fitz. “Just keep her head to the swell, and let’s all rest, my lads. I feel so done up that I could go to sleep. We can’t do anything till daylight. Here, I say, Camel, did you bring anything to eat?”“The orders were to bring the rations stowed inside, sir,” replied the cook; “but a’m thenking I did slip a wee bit something into the locker for’ard there, juist ahind where ye are sitting, sir. Would you mind feeling? Hech! I never thought of that!”“Thought of what?” said Fitz.“Ye’ve got the ship’s carpenter there, and he’s got a nose like a cat for feesh. Awm skeart that he smelt it oot in the dairk and it’s all gone.”“Haw, haw!” chuckled the carpenter. “You are wrong this time, Andy. I got my smelling tackle all choked up with the stuff the bearings of that gunboat’s fan was oiled with—nasty rank stuff like Scotch oil. I don’t believe I shall smell anything else for a week.”Rap! went the lid of the little locker.“It’s all right, my lads,” cried Fitz. “Here, Andy, man, those who hide can find. Come over here and serve out the rations; but I wish we’d got some of your hot prime soup.”“Ay, laddie,” said the cook softly, as he obeyed his orders; “it would ha’ been juist the thing for such a wetting as you got with your joomp. Mr Poole, will ye come here too? I got one little tin with enough for you and Mr Poole, and a big one for the lads and mysen. But I’m vairy sorry to say I forgot the saut.”“He needn’t have troubled himself about the salt,” said Poole softly. “I should never have missed it. You and I have taken in enough to-night through our pores.”“Yes,” said Fitz.—“Splendid, Andy.”“Ah,” said the Camel; “I never haud wi’ going upon a journey, however short, wi’out something in the way of food.”
The boat had stopped, and Fitz had heard the faintest of faint clicks as of iron against iron, for the hook in the carpenter’s hands had lightly come in contact with the port anchor, which was hanging in its place, teaching them that it was the starboard that was down; and as Fitz looked up sharply, he fully expected to see a row of faces peering over the bulwark and looking down into the boat as the watchers gave the alarm, which would result in a shower of missiles being hurled upon their heads, the precursors of a heavy shot that would go crashing through the bottom of the boat. But he was only gazing up at a black edge and the stars beyond, and just above his head something rugged and curved which he knew were the anchor’s flukes.
Fitz knew that to hesitate was to give place to doubts as to his success, and that the longer he waited the more likely they were to be discovered. That no watch was being kept was certain, and rising in the boat he took hold of the anchor as far up as he could reach, its ponderous nature rendering it immovable; and drawing himself steadily upward he began to climb.
It was easy enough to an active lad, and once started there was no time for shrinking. Quickly enough he was standing first upon the flukes, then upon the stock, while the next minute he was grasping the port-rail and trying to look down on to the deck, where he fancied he made out the figures of three or four men. But everything was so indistinct that he could not be sure, and he prepared to climb over, when he felt a touch upon his arm and started violently, for he had forgotten their arrangement that Poole should bear a part in the disabling of the gun.
He dared not speak, but just gave his companion’s arm a grip, slipped silently over the bulwark, and went down at once on all-fours like a dog. Poole was by his side directly, and as they knelt, both tried to make out the exact position of the gun, and both failed, till Fitz lowered himself a little more, and then repeating his investigation managed to bring the muzzle of the great piece between him and the stars, towards which it was pointed, slightly raised.
All was so still, and the deck apparently so deserted, that his task now seemed to be ridiculously easy; and beginning to creep aft towards the great carriage, which was planted a little forward of ’midships, one hand suddenly came into contact with something soft and warm, with the result that there was an angry snarl, a snap, and a hand was brought down with a heavy slap upon the deck.
In an instant there was a start, and a low growling voice asked what was apparently a question as to what was the matter. The response came from the man who had struck the blow; but what he said was unintelligible to the listeners, who had immediately shrunk flat upon the deck, conscious as they were that two of the crew had been sleeping within touch, while for aught they knew others might be all around.
All notion now of the task being ridiculously easy was swept away, and the two adventurous lads lay hardly daring to breathe for what seemed a quarter of an hour, before a deep stertorous breathing told that the danger was for the moment passed and the time for action come.
It was Fitz who this time set the example of beginning, and he did it by thrusting softly with one foot till he could feel where Poole lay ready to seize him by the ankle and give it a warm pressure which the lad took to mean—Go on.
Raising himself a little, he began to creep aft once more, bearing to his left towards where he believed the carriage and turn-table of the great gun to be, and reaching them without further interruption, and so easily that his task seemed to become once more simple in the extreme.
Reaching carefully out, he satisfied himself as to his position, took a step upward, and found directly after that he was about the middle of the gun, whose breech lay a little to the right and was reached with ease.
“Oh, if I could only whisper to Poole,” he thought. “Come on, quick, old fellow, and then together we can get it to the side, drop it overboard, and follow so quickly that we need only make one splash, for it would be impossible to go back as we came.”
“Yes, that will be the way,” thought Fitz; “and our fellows will row towards the splash at once, and pick us up. Why didn’t I think to tell them? Never mind. That’s what they are sure to do.”
Directly after he was running his hand along the pleasantly cool surface of the gun; but he paused for a moment to listen, and begin to wonder in the darkness why it was that Poole had not made some sign of being near.
He reached back, giving a sweep with his hand; but Poole was not there, and he took a step forward to repeat the movement—still in vain.
“Oh, I am wasting time,” thought Fitz, as he stepped back to his former position. “He’s waiting for me to reconnoitre and fetch him if I want him.”
In this spirit he felt the gun again, guiding himself by his hands to its huge butt, his fingers coming in contact first with the sight and then with the two massive ball-ended levers which turned the great screw.
He could barely see at all, but his finger-tips told him that it was just such a piece as they had on board theTonans, but not so large.
Forgetting Poole for the moment, he passed right round to the breech, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with the solid block, and then withdrawing his hand he seized hold of the great balls, gave them a wrench, and in perfect silence the heavy mass of forged and polished steel began to turn, the well-oiled grooves and worm gliding together without a sound, and, after the first tug, with the greatest ease.
It was all simple enough till he came to the final part of his task, and attempted to lift out the breech-block, the quoin that when the breech was screwed up held all fast.
He took hold and tried to lift, but tried in vain, for it seemed beyond his strength. His teeth gritted together as he set them fast in his exasperation against Poole for not being at hand to help and make what now seemed an impossibility an easy task.
Perspiring at every pore, he tried again and again, the more eagerly now, for a low growling voice was heard from the direction whence he had crawled.
But the piece of steel was immovable, and in his despair he felt that all was over and that he had failed.
Then came light—not light to make the gun visible, but mental light, with the question, Had he turned the levers far enough?
Uttering a low gasp in his despair, for the growling talk grew louder, he seized the great balls again, gave them another turn or two, and once more tried to stir the block, when his heart seemed to give a great jump, for it came right out as he exerted himself, with comparative ease, and directly after he had it hugged to his chest and was staggering and nearly falling headlong as he stepped down from the iron platform, making for the side. But he recovered himself, tottering on, and then in the darkness kicking against something soft—a sleeper—the encounter sending him, top-heavy as he was, crash against the bulwark, but doing all that he wanted, for the breech-block struck against the rail, glanced off, and went overboard, to fall with a tremendous splash, followed by another, which the middy made himself, as he half flung himself over, half rolled from the rail, to go down with the water thundering in his ears.
The heaviness of his plunge naturally sent him below for some distance, but it was not long before he was rising again.
It was long enough, though, for thought—and thoughts come quickly at a time like this. Fitz’s first flash was a brilliant one, connected with his success, for the breech-block was gone beyond recovery; his next was one of horror, and connected with the sharks that haunted those waters; his third was full of despair; where was Poole, whom he seemed to have left to his fate?
Hah! The surface again, and he could breathe; but which way to swim for the boat? There was none needed, for his shoulders were barely clear of the water when his arm was seized in a tremendous grip, another hand was thrust under his arm-pit, and he was literally jumped, dripping, into a boat, to pant out his first audible utterance for the past hour. It was only a word, and that was—
“Poole!”
“I’m all right,” came from out of the darkness close at hand.
“Then give way, my lads, for your lives!” panted Fitz, and the oars began to splash.
It was quite time, for there was no sleeping on board the gunboat now. All was rush and confusion; voices in Spanish were shouting orders, men hurrying here and there, a few shots were fired in their direction, evidently from revolvers, and then a steam-whistle was heard to blow, followed by a hissing, clanking sound, and the man who had hauled Fitz in over the bows put his face close to him and whispered—
“Steam-capstan. They’re getting up their anchor. But there was three splashes, sir. What was that there first?”
“The breech-block, Chips.”
“Hooroar!”
It was some little time before another word was spoken, during which period the men had been rowing hard, and the boatswain, who had got hold of the rudder-lines, was steering almost at random for the shore, taking his bearings as well as he could from the gunboat, out of whose funnel sparks kept flying, and a lurid glare appeared upon the cloud of smoke which floated out, pointing to the fact that the stokers were hard at work.
“Mr Burnett—Mr Poole, sir,” said Butters, at last, “I aren’t at all satisfied about the way we are going. I suppose we may speak out now?”
“Oh yes,” cried Fitz; “I don’t suppose they can hear us, and if they did they couldn’t do us any harm, for it must be impossible for them to make us out.”
“Oh yes, sir,” cried the boatswain. “No fear of that.”
“But what do you mean about not being satisfied?”
“Well, sir, my eyes is pretty good, and if you give me a fair start I can take my bearings pretty easy from the stars when I knows what time it is. But you see, it’s quite another thing to hit the mouth of that little river in the dark. I know the land’s right in front, but whether we are south’ard or north’ard of where the schooner lays is more than I can tell, and there’s some awkward surf upon some of the rocks of this ’ere coast. Will you give your orders, please.”
“Well, I don’t know that I can,” replied Fitz. “I think the best thing is to lie-to till daylight. What do you say, Poole?” he continued, from his position to where Poole was, right forward.
“Same as you do,” was the reply. “It’s impossible to make for the river now. We may be only getting farther away.”
“Just keep her head on to the swell, my lads.”
The next minute the gig began riding gently over the long smooth waves, while her occupants sat watching the gunboat, the only light from which now was the glow from the funnel.
“Bit wet, aren’t you, Mr Burnett, sir?” said Chips. “What do you say to taking off two or three things and letting me give them a wring?”
“Ah, it would be as well,” replied Fitz, beginning at once to slip off his jacket, and as if instinctively to take off attention from what he was doing he began to question Poole.
“You had better do the same, hadn’t you?” he cried.
“Doing it,” was the reply. “I say, are you all right?”
“No; I am so horribly wet. What about you?”
“Just the same, of course.”
“But I say,” said Fitz, who was calming down after the excitement; “why didn’t you come on and help?”
“How could I? One of those fellows lying on the deck threw a leg and an arm over me in his sleep. I just brushed against him, and he started as if I had touched a spring, and held me fast. I tried to get away, but it was of no use, and if I had shouted it would have only given the alarm. I didn’t get loose till the row began, and then there was nothing to do but come overboard and be picked up. I was in a way about you.”
“Same here about you,” cried fitz. “I didn’t know what had happened, and when I tumbled over the rail—I didn’t jump—I felt as if I had left you in the lurch.”
“Well, but that’s what I felt,” said Poole. “It was queer.”
“It made us all feel pretty tidy queer, young gentlemen,” said the boatswain; “but if I may speak, the fust question is, are either of you hurt?”
“I am not,” cried Fitz.
“Nor I,” said Poole.
“That’s right, then,” said the boatswain gruffly. “Now then, what about that there block of iron? Was it that as come over plosh, only about a yard from the boat’s nose?”
“Yes,” cried Fitz excitedly.
“Then all I can say is, that it’s a precious good job that Mr Burnett didn’t chuck it a little further, for if he had it would have come right down on Chips and drove him through the bottom, and we couldn’t have stopped a leak like that.”
“But I should have come up again,” said the carpenter, “just where I went down, and as the hole I made would have been just the same size as me, I should have fitted in quite proper.”
“Yah!” growled the boatswain. “What’s the use of trying to cut jokes at a time like this? Look here, gentlemen, have we done our job to rights?”
“As far as the gun’s concerned,” replied Fitz, “it’s completely disabled, and of no use again until they get another block.”
“Then that’s done, sir.”
“And about my job,” said Poole. “I am afraid the screw’s not fouled, for I fancy the gunboat is slowly steaming out to sea.”
“Well, I don’t see as how we can tell that, Mr Poole, sir,” said the boatswain. “I can’t say as she’s moving, for we are both in a sharp current, and she may be only drifting; but seeing the way as you made fast the end of that there cable, and then looped over bight after bight round them there fans, and twistened it all up tight, it seems to me that the screw must be fouled, and that every turn made it wuss and wuss. I say that you made a fine job of that there, Mr Poole. What do you say, Chips, my lad?”
“Splendid!” cried the carpenter.
“Why, it was you two did it,” said Fitz.
“Well, that’s what I thought, sir,” said the carpenter; “but it was so dark, I couldn’t see a bit.”
“Zackly,” said the boatswain; “and you said it was your job, sir.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Poole. “I meant yours.”
“Well,” said Fitz, “all I can say is that I hope your knots were good.”
“I’ll answer for mine,” said the boatswain, “but I won’t say nothing for Chips here. He aren’t much account unless it’s hammers and spikes, or a job at caulking or using his adze.”
“That’s right,” said Chips, “but you might tell the young gents that I’m handiest with a pot o’ glue.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then Fitz said—
“It’s almost too much to expect that both things have turned out all right; but I can’t help believing they have.”
“Well, sir,” said the boatswain, “I do hope as that there cable is not all twisted up in a bunch about them fans—reg’lar wound up tight—and if it is there’s no knowing where that there gunboat will drift during the night; for I don’t care how big a crew they’ve got aboard, they can’t free that there propeller till daylight, if they do then. But it do seem a pity to spoil a beautiful new soft bit of stuff like that, for it’ll never be no good again.”
“Fine tackle for caulking,” said the carpenter, “or making ships’ fenders.”
“Yah!” cried the boatswain. “We should never get it again. It’s gone, and it give me quite a heartache to use up new ship’s stores like that. But what I was going to say was, that the skipper will be saddersfied enough when we get back and tell him that Mr Burnett’s crippled the big gun.”
“Oh, but that was the easy job,” said Fitz. “It was just play, lifting out that block and dropping it overboard.”
“And a very pretty game too, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the boatswain, chuckling. “But I say, seems quite to freshen a man up to be able to open his mouth and speak. While you two young gents was swarming up that anchor, and all the time you was aboard till you come back plish, plosh, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I say, Mr Poole, would you like to take these ’ere lines?”
“No,” said Poole shortly; “I want to get dry. But why do you want me to take the lines?”
“To get shut of the ’sponsibility, sir. I can’t see which way to steer.”
“Oh, never mind the steering,” cried Fitz. “Just keep her head to the swell, and let’s all rest, my lads. I feel so done up that I could go to sleep. We can’t do anything till daylight. Here, I say, Camel, did you bring anything to eat?”
“The orders were to bring the rations stowed inside, sir,” replied the cook; “but a’m thenking I did slip a wee bit something into the locker for’ard there, juist ahind where ye are sitting, sir. Would you mind feeling? Hech! I never thought of that!”
“Thought of what?” said Fitz.
“Ye’ve got the ship’s carpenter there, and he’s got a nose like a cat for feesh. Awm skeart that he smelt it oot in the dairk and it’s all gone.”
“Haw, haw!” chuckled the carpenter. “You are wrong this time, Andy. I got my smelling tackle all choked up with the stuff the bearings of that gunboat’s fan was oiled with—nasty rank stuff like Scotch oil. I don’t believe I shall smell anything else for a week.”
Rap! went the lid of the little locker.
“It’s all right, my lads,” cried Fitz. “Here, Andy, man, those who hide can find. Come over here and serve out the rations; but I wish we’d got some of your hot prime soup.”
“Ay, laddie,” said the cook softly, as he obeyed his orders; “it would ha’ been juist the thing for such a wetting as you got with your joomp. Mr Poole, will ye come here too? I got one little tin with enough for you and Mr Poole, and a big one for the lads and mysen. But I’m vairy sorry to say I forgot the saut.”
“He needn’t have troubled himself about the salt,” said Poole softly. “I should never have missed it. You and I have taken in enough to-night through our pores.”
“Yes,” said Fitz.—“Splendid, Andy.”
“Ah,” said the Camel; “I never haud wi’ going upon a journey, however short, wi’out something in the way of food.”
Chapter Fifty Two.Fitz’s conscience pricks.Daybreak brought a blank look of amazement into the lads’ countenances. The soft, sweet, bracing air of morning floated from the glorious shore, all cliff and indentation looking of a pearly grey, almost the same tint as the surf that curled over upon the rocks distant about two miles.A mere glance was directed at the dangerous coast, for every eye was turned seaward, east, north, and south, in search of the gunboat; but she was not to be seen.“Surely she’s not gone down!” cried Fitz.“Oh, hardly,” said Poole; “but it’s very puzzling. What do you make of it, Butters?”“Well, sir,” said the boatswain, “I’m thinking that like enough she’s got upon a rock and stuck fast, while the sharp current has carried us along miles and miles, and quite out of sight.”“But they may have got the screw all right, and gone straight out to sea.”“Nay, sir. Not in the dark. We got them fans too fast; and besides, I don’t see no smoke on the sea-line. The steamer leaves a mark that you can see her by many miles away. No, sir, I think I’m right; it’s us as has drifted.”“Which way?” said Poole. “North or south?”“Can’t say yet, sir. May be either. South,” he added emphatically the next moment.“How do you know?” cried Fitz.The boatswain smiled.“By the colour of the sea, sir,” replied the man, screwing up his eyes. “Look at the water. It isn’t bright and clear. It’s got the mark of the river in it. Not much, but just enough to show that the current hugs the shore, bringing the river water with it; and there it all is plain enough. Look at them little rocks just showing above the surface. You watch them a minute, and you’ll see we are floating by southward, and we may think ourselves precious lucky that we haven’t run upon any of them in the night and been capsized. You see, we have come by two headlands, and we have only got to row back to the north to come sooner or later in sight of landmarks that we know.”“Then give way, my lads,” said Fitz; “a fair long steady stroke, for the skipper must be getting terribly uncomfortable about us, Poole, eh?”“Yes. Pull your best, boys. What do you say, Fitz, to taking an oar each for a bit? I’m chilly, and a good way from being dry.”“Good idea,” said Fitz, changing places with one of the men. “You’ll keep a sharp look-out, boatswain. The enemy may come into sight at any moment as we round these points, and even if she daren’t come close in, she may send after us with her boats.”“Trust me for that, sir,” said the boatswain, and the oars began to dip, with the sun soon beginning to show tokens of its coming appearance, and sending hope and light into every breast.It was a glorious row, the chill of the night giving place to a pleasant glow which set the lads talking merrily, discussing the darkness through which they had passed, the events of the night, and their triumphant success.“If we could only see that gunboat ashore, Burnett!” cried Poole.“Ah,” said Fitz, rather gravely; “if we only could!” And then he relapsed into silence, for thoughts began to come fast, and he found himself wondering what Commander Glossop would say if he could see him then and know all that he had done in the night attack.“I couldn’t help it,” the boy said to himself, as he pulled away. “I shouldn’t wonder if he would have done precisely the same if he had been in my place. I feel a bit sorry now; but that’s no good. What’s done can’t be undone, and I shan’t bother about it any more.”“Now, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the boatswain, in a tone full of remonstrance, “don’t keep that there oar all day. Seems to me quite time you took your trick at the wheel.”“Yes,” said the lad cheerily; “I am beginning to feel precious stiff,” and he rose to exchange seats with the speaker, Poole rising directly afterwards for the carpenter to take his place.“I’d keep a sharp look-out for’ard along the coast, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the boatswain, with a peculiar smile, as the lad lifted the lines.“Oh yes, of course,” cried Fitz, gazing forward now, and then uttering an ejaculation: “Here, Poole! Look! Why didn’t you speak before, Butters?”“Because I thought you’d like to see it fust, sir. Yes, there she lies, just beyond that headland.”“At anchor?” cried Poole.“Can’t say yet, sir, till we’ve cleared that point; but she’s upon an even keel, and seems to be about her old distance from the shore. That must be the southernmost of them two great cliffs, and we are nearer the river than I thought.”“Lay your backs into it, my lads,” cried Poole.The gig travelled faster as the two strong men took the place of the tired lads; and as they rowed on it was plain to see that the gunboat was much farther from the point and shore than had been at first imagined.“It would be awkward,” said Fitz, “if they sent out boats to try and take us, for they must see us by now.”But the occupants of the gunboat made no sign, and when at last theTeal’sgig was rowed round the headland which formed the southern side of the entrance to the river, all on board could hardly realise how greatly they had been deceived by the clear morning light, for the gunboat was still some three or four miles away, and apparently fast upon one of the reefs of rocks, while from her lowered boats, crowded with men, it was evident that they were either busy over something astern, or preparing to leave.“They must be hard at work trying to clear the screw,” cried Fitz excitedly.“Can’t make out, for my part, sir,” replied the boatswain, while Poole carefully kept silence; “but it looks as much like that as ever it can, and we have nothing to mind now, for we can get right in and up the river long before their boats could row to the mouth.”Poole steered close in to the right bank of the river, so as to avoid the swift rush of the stream, this taking them close under the perpendicular cliff; and they had not gone far before there was a loud “Ahoy!” from high overhead. Looking up they made out the face of Burgess the mate projecting from the bushes as, high upon a shelf, he held on by a bough and leaned outwards so as to watch the motions of the boat.“Ahoy!” came from the men, in answer to his hail.“All right aboard?” shouted the mate.“Yes. All right!” roared the boatswain. “What are they doing out yonder to the Spaniel?”“Trying to get her off, I suppose. She went ashore in the night. I came up here with a glass to look out for you, and there she was, and hasn’t moved since. What about that gun?”“Burnett has drawn its tooth,” shouted Poole. “Father all right?”“No. Got the grumps about you. Thinks you are lost. You didn’t foul the screw, did you?”“Yes,” shouted Poole.“Then that’s what they’re about; trying to clear her again; and when they do they’ve got to get their vessel off the rocks. I’m going to stop and see; but you had better row up stream as hard as you can, so as to let the skipper see that you have not all gone to the bottom. He told me he was sure you had.”The men’s oars dipped again, and they rowed with all their might, passing the dinghy with the man in charge moored at the foot of the cliff, while soon after they had turned one of the bends and came in sight of the schooner a loud hail welcomed them from those who were on board. Then Poole stood up in the stern, after handing the rudder-lines to his companion, and began waving his hat to the skipper, who made a slight recognition and then stood watching them till they came within hail.“Well,” he said, through his speaking-trumpet, “what luck?”“The gun’s done for, father, and the gunboat’s ashore,” shouted Poole, through his hands.“Oh. I heard that the enemy had gone on the rocks. And what about the propeller?”“Oh, we fouled it, father,” said Poole coolly. “That’s right,” said the skipper, in the most unconcerned way. “I thought you would. There, look sharp and come aboard. There’s some breakfast ready, but I began to think you didn’t mean to come. What made you so long?”He did not wait to hear the answer, but began giving orders for the lowering of another boat which he was about to send down to communicate with the mate.“I say,” said Fitz, grinning, “your dad seems in a nice temper. He’s quite rusty.”“Yes,” said Poole, returning the laugh. “I suppose it’s because we stopped out all night. There, get out! He’s as pleased as can be, only he won’t make a fuss. It’s his way.”The day glided on till the sun was beginning to go down. Messages had passed to and fro from the watchers, who had kept an eye upon the gunboat, which was still fast.Fitz, after a hearty meal, being regularly fagged out, had had three or four hours’ rest in his bunk, to get up none the worse for his night’s adventure, when he joined Poole, who had just preceded him on deck.He came upon the skipper directly afterwards, who gave him a searching look and a short nod, and said abruptly—“All right?”“Yes, quite right, thank you, sir.”“Hah!” said the skipper, and walked on, taking no notice of Poole, who was coming up, and leaving the lads together.“I say,” said Fitz sarcastically, “I can bear a good deal, but your father goes too far.”“What do you mean?” asked Poole.“He makes such a dreadful fuss over one, just for doing a trifling thing like that. Almost too much to bear.”“Well, he didn’t make much fuss over me,” said Poole, in rather an ill-used tone. “I felt as if we had done nothing, instead of disabling a man-of-war.—Hullo! what does this mean?”For just then the boat came swiftly round the bend, with the mate sitting in the stern-sheets, the dinghy towed by its painter behind.A shout from the man on the watch astern brought up the skipper and the rest of the crew, including those who had been making up for their last night’s labours in their bunks, all expectant of some fresh news; and they were not disappointed, nearly every one hearing it as the boat came alongside and the mate spoke out to the captain on the deck.“Found a way right up to the top of the cliff,” he said, “and from there I could regularly look down on the gunboat’s deck.”“Well?” said the skipper sharply.“No, ill—for them; she’s completely fast ashore in the midst of a regular wilderness of rocks that hardly peep above the surface; and as far as I could make out with my spyglass, they are not likely to get off again. They seem to know it too, for when I began to come down they had got three boats manned on the other side, and I left them putting off as if they were coming up here.”“Again?” said the skipper thoughtfully.“Yes; to take it out of us, I suppose, for what we’ve done. How would it be to turn the tables on them and make a counter attack?”“Granting that we should win,” said the skipper, “it would mean half our men wounded; perhaps three or four dead. I can’t afford that, Burgess.”“No,” said the mate abruptly. “Better stop here and give them what they seem to want. I think we can do that.”“Yes,” said the skipper. “All aboard; and look sharp, Burgess. Let’s be as ready for them as we can. The fight will be more desperate this time, I’m afraid.”“Not you,” said the mate, with a chuckle, as he sprang on deck. “Well, my lads, you did wonders last night. How did you like your job?”“Not at all,” cried Fitz, laughing. “It was too wet.”The mate smiled, and the next minute he was hard at work helping the skipper to prepare to give the Spaniards a warm reception, taking it for granted that it would not be long before they arrived, burning for revenge.The preparations were much the same as were made before, but with this addition, that the carpenter, looking as fresh as if he had passed the night in his bunk, was hard at work with four men, lashing spare spars to the shrouds, so as to form a stout rail about eighteen inches above the bulwarks, to which the netting was firmly attached.There was no question this time about arming the crew with rifles, for every one felt that success on the part of Villarayo’s men would mean no quarter.“Then you mean this to be a regular fight?” Fitz whispered to Poole, after watching what was going on for some time.“Why, of course! Why not?”“Oh, I don’t like the idea of killing people,” said Fitz, wrinkling up his forehead.“Well, I don’t,” said Poole, laughing. “I don’t like killing anything. I should never have done for a butcher, but I would a great deal rather kill one of Villarayo’s black-looking ruffians than let him kill me.”“But do you think they really would massacre us?” said Fitz. “They can’t help looking ruffianly.”“No, but they have got a most horribly bad character. Father and I have heard of some very ugly things that they have done in some of their fights. They are supposed to be civilised, and I dare say the officers are all right; but if you let loose a lot of half-savage fellows armed with knives and get their blood up, I don’t think you need expect much mercy. They needn’t come and interfere with us unless they like, but if they come shouting and striking at us they must take the consequences.”“Yes, I suppose so,” said Fitz; “but it seems a pity.”“Awful,” replied Poole; “but there always has been war, and people take a deal of civilising before they give it up. And they don’t seem to then,” said the lad, with a dry smile.“No,” said Fitz; and the little discussion came to an end.
Daybreak brought a blank look of amazement into the lads’ countenances. The soft, sweet, bracing air of morning floated from the glorious shore, all cliff and indentation looking of a pearly grey, almost the same tint as the surf that curled over upon the rocks distant about two miles.
A mere glance was directed at the dangerous coast, for every eye was turned seaward, east, north, and south, in search of the gunboat; but she was not to be seen.
“Surely she’s not gone down!” cried Fitz.
“Oh, hardly,” said Poole; “but it’s very puzzling. What do you make of it, Butters?”
“Well, sir,” said the boatswain, “I’m thinking that like enough she’s got upon a rock and stuck fast, while the sharp current has carried us along miles and miles, and quite out of sight.”
“But they may have got the screw all right, and gone straight out to sea.”
“Nay, sir. Not in the dark. We got them fans too fast; and besides, I don’t see no smoke on the sea-line. The steamer leaves a mark that you can see her by many miles away. No, sir, I think I’m right; it’s us as has drifted.”
“Which way?” said Poole. “North or south?”
“Can’t say yet, sir. May be either. South,” he added emphatically the next moment.
“How do you know?” cried Fitz.
The boatswain smiled.
“By the colour of the sea, sir,” replied the man, screwing up his eyes. “Look at the water. It isn’t bright and clear. It’s got the mark of the river in it. Not much, but just enough to show that the current hugs the shore, bringing the river water with it; and there it all is plain enough. Look at them little rocks just showing above the surface. You watch them a minute, and you’ll see we are floating by southward, and we may think ourselves precious lucky that we haven’t run upon any of them in the night and been capsized. You see, we have come by two headlands, and we have only got to row back to the north to come sooner or later in sight of landmarks that we know.”
“Then give way, my lads,” said Fitz; “a fair long steady stroke, for the skipper must be getting terribly uncomfortable about us, Poole, eh?”
“Yes. Pull your best, boys. What do you say, Fitz, to taking an oar each for a bit? I’m chilly, and a good way from being dry.”
“Good idea,” said Fitz, changing places with one of the men. “You’ll keep a sharp look-out, boatswain. The enemy may come into sight at any moment as we round these points, and even if she daren’t come close in, she may send after us with her boats.”
“Trust me for that, sir,” said the boatswain, and the oars began to dip, with the sun soon beginning to show tokens of its coming appearance, and sending hope and light into every breast.
It was a glorious row, the chill of the night giving place to a pleasant glow which set the lads talking merrily, discussing the darkness through which they had passed, the events of the night, and their triumphant success.
“If we could only see that gunboat ashore, Burnett!” cried Poole.
“Ah,” said Fitz, rather gravely; “if we only could!” And then he relapsed into silence, for thoughts began to come fast, and he found himself wondering what Commander Glossop would say if he could see him then and know all that he had done in the night attack.
“I couldn’t help it,” the boy said to himself, as he pulled away. “I shouldn’t wonder if he would have done precisely the same if he had been in my place. I feel a bit sorry now; but that’s no good. What’s done can’t be undone, and I shan’t bother about it any more.”
“Now, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the boatswain, in a tone full of remonstrance, “don’t keep that there oar all day. Seems to me quite time you took your trick at the wheel.”
“Yes,” said the lad cheerily; “I am beginning to feel precious stiff,” and he rose to exchange seats with the speaker, Poole rising directly afterwards for the carpenter to take his place.
“I’d keep a sharp look-out for’ard along the coast, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the boatswain, with a peculiar smile, as the lad lifted the lines.
“Oh yes, of course,” cried Fitz, gazing forward now, and then uttering an ejaculation: “Here, Poole! Look! Why didn’t you speak before, Butters?”
“Because I thought you’d like to see it fust, sir. Yes, there she lies, just beyond that headland.”
“At anchor?” cried Poole.
“Can’t say yet, sir, till we’ve cleared that point; but she’s upon an even keel, and seems to be about her old distance from the shore. That must be the southernmost of them two great cliffs, and we are nearer the river than I thought.”
“Lay your backs into it, my lads,” cried Poole.
The gig travelled faster as the two strong men took the place of the tired lads; and as they rowed on it was plain to see that the gunboat was much farther from the point and shore than had been at first imagined.
“It would be awkward,” said Fitz, “if they sent out boats to try and take us, for they must see us by now.”
But the occupants of the gunboat made no sign, and when at last theTeal’sgig was rowed round the headland which formed the southern side of the entrance to the river, all on board could hardly realise how greatly they had been deceived by the clear morning light, for the gunboat was still some three or four miles away, and apparently fast upon one of the reefs of rocks, while from her lowered boats, crowded with men, it was evident that they were either busy over something astern, or preparing to leave.
“They must be hard at work trying to clear the screw,” cried Fitz excitedly.
“Can’t make out, for my part, sir,” replied the boatswain, while Poole carefully kept silence; “but it looks as much like that as ever it can, and we have nothing to mind now, for we can get right in and up the river long before their boats could row to the mouth.”
Poole steered close in to the right bank of the river, so as to avoid the swift rush of the stream, this taking them close under the perpendicular cliff; and they had not gone far before there was a loud “Ahoy!” from high overhead. Looking up they made out the face of Burgess the mate projecting from the bushes as, high upon a shelf, he held on by a bough and leaned outwards so as to watch the motions of the boat.
“Ahoy!” came from the men, in answer to his hail.
“All right aboard?” shouted the mate.
“Yes. All right!” roared the boatswain. “What are they doing out yonder to the Spaniel?”
“Trying to get her off, I suppose. She went ashore in the night. I came up here with a glass to look out for you, and there she was, and hasn’t moved since. What about that gun?”
“Burnett has drawn its tooth,” shouted Poole. “Father all right?”
“No. Got the grumps about you. Thinks you are lost. You didn’t foul the screw, did you?”
“Yes,” shouted Poole.
“Then that’s what they’re about; trying to clear her again; and when they do they’ve got to get their vessel off the rocks. I’m going to stop and see; but you had better row up stream as hard as you can, so as to let the skipper see that you have not all gone to the bottom. He told me he was sure you had.”
The men’s oars dipped again, and they rowed with all their might, passing the dinghy with the man in charge moored at the foot of the cliff, while soon after they had turned one of the bends and came in sight of the schooner a loud hail welcomed them from those who were on board. Then Poole stood up in the stern, after handing the rudder-lines to his companion, and began waving his hat to the skipper, who made a slight recognition and then stood watching them till they came within hail.
“Well,” he said, through his speaking-trumpet, “what luck?”
“The gun’s done for, father, and the gunboat’s ashore,” shouted Poole, through his hands.
“Oh. I heard that the enemy had gone on the rocks. And what about the propeller?”
“Oh, we fouled it, father,” said Poole coolly. “That’s right,” said the skipper, in the most unconcerned way. “I thought you would. There, look sharp and come aboard. There’s some breakfast ready, but I began to think you didn’t mean to come. What made you so long?”
He did not wait to hear the answer, but began giving orders for the lowering of another boat which he was about to send down to communicate with the mate.
“I say,” said Fitz, grinning, “your dad seems in a nice temper. He’s quite rusty.”
“Yes,” said Poole, returning the laugh. “I suppose it’s because we stopped out all night. There, get out! He’s as pleased as can be, only he won’t make a fuss. It’s his way.”
The day glided on till the sun was beginning to go down. Messages had passed to and fro from the watchers, who had kept an eye upon the gunboat, which was still fast.
Fitz, after a hearty meal, being regularly fagged out, had had three or four hours’ rest in his bunk, to get up none the worse for his night’s adventure, when he joined Poole, who had just preceded him on deck.
He came upon the skipper directly afterwards, who gave him a searching look and a short nod, and said abruptly—
“All right?”
“Yes, quite right, thank you, sir.”
“Hah!” said the skipper, and walked on, taking no notice of Poole, who was coming up, and leaving the lads together.
“I say,” said Fitz sarcastically, “I can bear a good deal, but your father goes too far.”
“What do you mean?” asked Poole.
“He makes such a dreadful fuss over one, just for doing a trifling thing like that. Almost too much to bear.”
“Well, he didn’t make much fuss over me,” said Poole, in rather an ill-used tone. “I felt as if we had done nothing, instead of disabling a man-of-war.—Hullo! what does this mean?”
For just then the boat came swiftly round the bend, with the mate sitting in the stern-sheets, the dinghy towed by its painter behind.
A shout from the man on the watch astern brought up the skipper and the rest of the crew, including those who had been making up for their last night’s labours in their bunks, all expectant of some fresh news; and they were not disappointed, nearly every one hearing it as the boat came alongside and the mate spoke out to the captain on the deck.
“Found a way right up to the top of the cliff,” he said, “and from there I could regularly look down on the gunboat’s deck.”
“Well?” said the skipper sharply.
“No, ill—for them; she’s completely fast ashore in the midst of a regular wilderness of rocks that hardly peep above the surface; and as far as I could make out with my spyglass, they are not likely to get off again. They seem to know it too, for when I began to come down they had got three boats manned on the other side, and I left them putting off as if they were coming up here.”
“Again?” said the skipper thoughtfully.
“Yes; to take it out of us, I suppose, for what we’ve done. How would it be to turn the tables on them and make a counter attack?”
“Granting that we should win,” said the skipper, “it would mean half our men wounded; perhaps three or four dead. I can’t afford that, Burgess.”
“No,” said the mate abruptly. “Better stop here and give them what they seem to want. I think we can do that.”
“Yes,” said the skipper. “All aboard; and look sharp, Burgess. Let’s be as ready for them as we can. The fight will be more desperate this time, I’m afraid.”
“Not you,” said the mate, with a chuckle, as he sprang on deck. “Well, my lads, you did wonders last night. How did you like your job?”
“Not at all,” cried Fitz, laughing. “It was too wet.”
The mate smiled, and the next minute he was hard at work helping the skipper to prepare to give the Spaniards a warm reception, taking it for granted that it would not be long before they arrived, burning for revenge.
The preparations were much the same as were made before, but with this addition, that the carpenter, looking as fresh as if he had passed the night in his bunk, was hard at work with four men, lashing spare spars to the shrouds, so as to form a stout rail about eighteen inches above the bulwarks, to which the netting was firmly attached.
There was no question this time about arming the crew with rifles, for every one felt that success on the part of Villarayo’s men would mean no quarter.
“Then you mean this to be a regular fight?” Fitz whispered to Poole, after watching what was going on for some time.
“Why, of course! Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t like the idea of killing people,” said Fitz, wrinkling up his forehead.
“Well, I don’t,” said Poole, laughing. “I don’t like killing anything. I should never have done for a butcher, but I would a great deal rather kill one of Villarayo’s black-looking ruffians than let him kill me.”
“But do you think they really would massacre us?” said Fitz. “They can’t help looking ruffianly.”
“No, but they have got a most horribly bad character. Father and I have heard of some very ugly things that they have done in some of their fights. They are supposed to be civilised, and I dare say the officers are all right; but if you let loose a lot of half-savage fellows armed with knives and get their blood up, I don’t think you need expect much mercy. They needn’t come and interfere with us unless they like, but if they come shouting and striking at us they must take the consequences.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Fitz; “but it seems a pity.”
“Awful,” replied Poole; “but there always has been war, and people take a deal of civilising before they give it up. And they don’t seem to then,” said the lad, with a dry smile.
“No,” said Fitz; and the little discussion came to an end.
Chapter Fifty Three.Worse than ever.“This is bad, my lads,” said the skipper, joining the boys.“What’s wrong, father?” said Poole. “Why, it’s close upon sundown, and it begins to look as if they are going to steal upon us in the dark, which will give them a lot of advantage. I would rather have been able to see what we are about. What an evening, though, for a fight! I have journeyed about the islands and Central America a good deal, and it is nearly all beautiful, but this river and its cliffs, seen in the warm glow, is just my idea of a perfect paradise. Look at the sky, with those gorgeous clouds! Look at the river, reflecting all their beauties! And the trees and shrubs, looking darker in the shades, and in the light as if they had suddenly burst forth into bloom with dazzling golden flowers. And here we are going to spoil everything with savage bloodshed.”“We are not, Captain Reed,” said Fitz sharply; “you would not fire a shot if you were not obliged.”“Not even a blank cartridge, my boy,” said the skipper, laying his hand upon the middy’s shoulder. “I loathe it, and I feel all of a shiver at the thought of my brave lads being drilled with bullets or hacked with knives. If it comes to it—and I am afraid it will—”“I say, father, don’t talk of trembling and being afraid!” said Poole reproachfully.“Why not, my boy?”“Because I don’t know what Fitz Burnett will think.”“Whatever he thinks he’ll know that I am speaking the truth. But I say, lad,” continued the skipper, gripping the middy’s shoulder tightly; “you’ll help me, won’t you?”“Haven’t I forgotten myself enough, sir?” said Fitz, in a tone as full of reproach as that of Poole.“No, my boy. I think you have behaved very bravely; and I don’t think, if your superior officer knew all, that he would have much to say. But I don’t want you to fight. I mean, help me after the trouble’s over; I mean, turn assistant-surgeon when I take off my jacket.”“Yes, that I will,” cried Fitz. “I ought to be getting ready some bandages and things now.”“Oh, I think I’ve got preparations enough of that sort made,” said the skipper; “and there is still a chance that we may not want them. Hah! That hope’s gone. Ahoy! bosun! Let them have the pipe.”Old Butters’s silver whistle rang out shrill and clear, but only called one man to his duty, and that was the Camel, who came tumbling out of the galley and gave the door a bang.Every one else was on the alert, watching a boat coming round the bend, followed by two more, crowded with armed men whose oars sent the water splashing up like so much liquid gold. The fight began at once, for the skipper had given his instructions.These he supplemented now with a sharp order which was followed by the crack of a rifle echoing from cliff to cliff, and Fitz, who had run towards the stern to look over, was in time to see that the skipper’s comment, “Good shot, my lad!” was well deserved, for one of the officers in the stern-sheets of the first boat sprang up and would have gone overboard but for the efforts of his men, who caught and lowered him back amidst a little scene of confusion and a cessation of the rowing.Another shot rang out and there was more confusion, the way of the leading boat being stopped; but the orders issued in the other boats were plainly heard on board the schooner; oars splashed more rapidly, and once more all three boats were coming on fast.“Fire!” cried the skipper, and with slow regularity shot after shot rang out, to be followed by a ragged volley from the enemy, the bullets whizzing overhead and pattering amongst the rigging of the well-moored vessel, but doing no real harm.“Keep it up steadily, my lads,” shouted the skipper. “No hurry. One hit is worth five hundred misses. We mustn’t let them board if we can keep them back. Go on firing till they are close up, and then cutlasses and bars.”But in spite of the steady defence the enemy came on, showing no sign of shrinking, firing rapidly and responding to their officers’ orders with savage defiant yells, while shots came thick and fast, the two lads growing so excited as they watched the fray that they forgot the danger and the nearness of the enemy coming on.“They are showing more pluck this time, Burgess,” said the skipper, taking out his revolver and unconsciously turning the chambers to see that all was right.“Yes,” growled the mate. “It’s a horrible nuisance, for I don’t want to fight. But we’ve made rather a mess of it, after all.”“What do you mean?” said the skipper. “Ought to have dropped that other anchor.”“Why?” said the skipper sharply. “Because they may row right up and cut us adrift.”“Yes,” said the skipper quietly; “it would have been as well. Take a rifle and go forward if they try to pass us, and pick off every man who attempts to cut the cable.”“All right,” replied the mate; “I will if there is time. But in five minutes we shall be busy driving these chaps back into their boats, and they will be swarming up the sides like so many monkeys.”“Yes,” said the skipper. “But you must do it if thereistime. They don’t seem to mind our firing a bit.”“No,” Fitz heard the chief officer growl angrily. “Their blood’s up, and they are too stupid, I suppose.”“Cease firing!” shouted the skipper. “Here they come!” The order came too late to check six of the men, who in their excitement finished off their regular shots with a ragged volley directed at the foremost boat, and with such terrible effect that in the midst of a scene of confusion the oars were dropped and the boat swung round broadside to the stream, which carried it on to the next boat, fouling it so that the two hung together and confusion became worse confounded as they crashed on to the third boat, putting a stop to the firing as well as the rowing. The commands of the officer in the last boat were of no effect, and the defenders of the schooner, who had sprung to their positions where their efforts would have been of most avail, burst forth with a wild cheer, and then turned to the skipper for orders to fire again.But these orders did not come, for their captain had turned to the mate with—“Why, Burgess, that’s done it! I believe we’ve given them enough.” Then heartily, “Well done, boys! Give ’em another cheer.”In their wild excitement and delight the schooner’s crew gave two; and they had good cause for their exultation, for the firing from the boats had quite ceased, the efforts of their commanders being directed towards disentangling themselves from their sorry plight, many minutes elapsing before the boats were clear and the men able to row, while by this time several hundred yards had been placed between them and the object of their attack.Then the Spanish officers gave their orders to advance almost simultaneously; but they were not obeyed.They raged and roared at their men, but in vain—the boats were still drifting down stream towards the bend, and as the darkness was giving its first sign of closing in, the last one disappeared, the skipper saying quietly—“Thank you, my lads. It was bravely done.”A murmur rose from among the men, only one speaking out loudly; and that was the carpenter, who, as he took off his cap and wiped his streaming forehead, gave Fitz a comic look and said—“Well, yes; I think we made a neat job of that.”Some of the men chuckled, but their attention was taken off directly by the boatswain, who shouted—“Here, you Camel, don’t wait for orders, but get the lads something to peck at and drink. I feel as if I hadn’t had anything to eat for a week.”“Yes, and be quick,” cried the skipper. “It’s all right, my lads; I don’t think we shall see the enemy again.”
“This is bad, my lads,” said the skipper, joining the boys.
“What’s wrong, father?” said Poole. “Why, it’s close upon sundown, and it begins to look as if they are going to steal upon us in the dark, which will give them a lot of advantage. I would rather have been able to see what we are about. What an evening, though, for a fight! I have journeyed about the islands and Central America a good deal, and it is nearly all beautiful, but this river and its cliffs, seen in the warm glow, is just my idea of a perfect paradise. Look at the sky, with those gorgeous clouds! Look at the river, reflecting all their beauties! And the trees and shrubs, looking darker in the shades, and in the light as if they had suddenly burst forth into bloom with dazzling golden flowers. And here we are going to spoil everything with savage bloodshed.”
“We are not, Captain Reed,” said Fitz sharply; “you would not fire a shot if you were not obliged.”
“Not even a blank cartridge, my boy,” said the skipper, laying his hand upon the middy’s shoulder. “I loathe it, and I feel all of a shiver at the thought of my brave lads being drilled with bullets or hacked with knives. If it comes to it—and I am afraid it will—”
“I say, father, don’t talk of trembling and being afraid!” said Poole reproachfully.
“Why not, my boy?”
“Because I don’t know what Fitz Burnett will think.”
“Whatever he thinks he’ll know that I am speaking the truth. But I say, lad,” continued the skipper, gripping the middy’s shoulder tightly; “you’ll help me, won’t you?”
“Haven’t I forgotten myself enough, sir?” said Fitz, in a tone as full of reproach as that of Poole.
“No, my boy. I think you have behaved very bravely; and I don’t think, if your superior officer knew all, that he would have much to say. But I don’t want you to fight. I mean, help me after the trouble’s over; I mean, turn assistant-surgeon when I take off my jacket.”
“Yes, that I will,” cried Fitz. “I ought to be getting ready some bandages and things now.”
“Oh, I think I’ve got preparations enough of that sort made,” said the skipper; “and there is still a chance that we may not want them. Hah! That hope’s gone. Ahoy! bosun! Let them have the pipe.”
Old Butters’s silver whistle rang out shrill and clear, but only called one man to his duty, and that was the Camel, who came tumbling out of the galley and gave the door a bang.
Every one else was on the alert, watching a boat coming round the bend, followed by two more, crowded with armed men whose oars sent the water splashing up like so much liquid gold. The fight began at once, for the skipper had given his instructions.
These he supplemented now with a sharp order which was followed by the crack of a rifle echoing from cliff to cliff, and Fitz, who had run towards the stern to look over, was in time to see that the skipper’s comment, “Good shot, my lad!” was well deserved, for one of the officers in the stern-sheets of the first boat sprang up and would have gone overboard but for the efforts of his men, who caught and lowered him back amidst a little scene of confusion and a cessation of the rowing.
Another shot rang out and there was more confusion, the way of the leading boat being stopped; but the orders issued in the other boats were plainly heard on board the schooner; oars splashed more rapidly, and once more all three boats were coming on fast.
“Fire!” cried the skipper, and with slow regularity shot after shot rang out, to be followed by a ragged volley from the enemy, the bullets whizzing overhead and pattering amongst the rigging of the well-moored vessel, but doing no real harm.
“Keep it up steadily, my lads,” shouted the skipper. “No hurry. One hit is worth five hundred misses. We mustn’t let them board if we can keep them back. Go on firing till they are close up, and then cutlasses and bars.”
But in spite of the steady defence the enemy came on, showing no sign of shrinking, firing rapidly and responding to their officers’ orders with savage defiant yells, while shots came thick and fast, the two lads growing so excited as they watched the fray that they forgot the danger and the nearness of the enemy coming on.
“They are showing more pluck this time, Burgess,” said the skipper, taking out his revolver and unconsciously turning the chambers to see that all was right.
“Yes,” growled the mate. “It’s a horrible nuisance, for I don’t want to fight. But we’ve made rather a mess of it, after all.”
“What do you mean?” said the skipper. “Ought to have dropped that other anchor.”
“Why?” said the skipper sharply. “Because they may row right up and cut us adrift.”
“Yes,” said the skipper quietly; “it would have been as well. Take a rifle and go forward if they try to pass us, and pick off every man who attempts to cut the cable.”
“All right,” replied the mate; “I will if there is time. But in five minutes we shall be busy driving these chaps back into their boats, and they will be swarming up the sides like so many monkeys.”
“Yes,” said the skipper. “But you must do it if thereistime. They don’t seem to mind our firing a bit.”
“No,” Fitz heard the chief officer growl angrily. “Their blood’s up, and they are too stupid, I suppose.”
“Cease firing!” shouted the skipper. “Here they come!” The order came too late to check six of the men, who in their excitement finished off their regular shots with a ragged volley directed at the foremost boat, and with such terrible effect that in the midst of a scene of confusion the oars were dropped and the boat swung round broadside to the stream, which carried it on to the next boat, fouling it so that the two hung together and confusion became worse confounded as they crashed on to the third boat, putting a stop to the firing as well as the rowing. The commands of the officer in the last boat were of no effect, and the defenders of the schooner, who had sprung to their positions where their efforts would have been of most avail, burst forth with a wild cheer, and then turned to the skipper for orders to fire again.
But these orders did not come, for their captain had turned to the mate with—
“Why, Burgess, that’s done it! I believe we’ve given them enough.” Then heartily, “Well done, boys! Give ’em another cheer.”
In their wild excitement and delight the schooner’s crew gave two; and they had good cause for their exultation, for the firing from the boats had quite ceased, the efforts of their commanders being directed towards disentangling themselves from their sorry plight, many minutes elapsing before the boats were clear and the men able to row, while by this time several hundred yards had been placed between them and the object of their attack.
Then the Spanish officers gave their orders to advance almost simultaneously; but they were not obeyed.
They raged and roared at their men, but in vain—the boats were still drifting down stream towards the bend, and as the darkness was giving its first sign of closing in, the last one disappeared, the skipper saying quietly—
“Thank you, my lads. It was bravely done.”
A murmur rose from among the men, only one speaking out loudly; and that was the carpenter, who, as he took off his cap and wiped his streaming forehead, gave Fitz a comic look and said—
“Well, yes; I think we made a neat job of that.”
Some of the men chuckled, but their attention was taken off directly by the boatswain, who shouted—
“Here, you Camel, don’t wait for orders, but get the lads something to peck at and drink. I feel as if I hadn’t had anything to eat for a week.”
“Yes, and be quick,” cried the skipper. “It’s all right, my lads; I don’t think we shall see the enemy again.”
Chapter Fifty Four.“Of course we will.”The next morning reconnoitring began once more, prior to the skipper giving his orders, and the schooner dropping down slowly towards the mouth of the river; for the mate had been up on the cliff soon after daybreak, busy with his glass, and had returned to report that the spot where the gunboat lay still fast on the rocks was so distant from the Channel through which the schooner had sailed, that it was doubtful whether, if they attempted to sail out, she could be reached by the small pieces that the enemy had on board.“Then we won’t give them the chance to attack again,” was the skipper’s comment, and the wind favouring, the channel was soon reached, and with the mate conning the craft, they sailed outward along the clear water, with the men armed and ready for any attack that might be attempted by the man-of-war’s boats.It was not very long before the boys, who had mounted aloft with their glass to watch the deck of the foe, were able to announce that boats were being manned for lowering, and the tortuous nature of the channel now began to lead the schooner ominously near; but both the skipper and the mate were of opinion that at the rate they were sailing they would be able to evade an attack.“And if they are not very careful,” growled the latter, “it strikes me I shall be running one if not two of them down. They’d be much safer if they stopped aboard.”But still the dangerous nature of the rocks forced them nearer and nearer to the enemy.“Not much doubt about the big gun being disabled,” Poole remarked to his companion, as they noted how busily the crew were preparing to lower the boats. “We should have had a shot long before this.”“And there’s no doubt either about the screw being fouled,” said Fitz. “I say, take the glass. They’re doing something which I can’t make out. You try.”Poole re-focussed the binocular, but it was some moments before he spoke.“Can’t you?” cried Fitz excitedly.“Yes, but I’m not quite sure. Yes, now I am. Right!”For at that moment a white ball of smoke shot out from the gunboat’s deck, followed by a dull thud, and something came skipping over the heaving sea, before there was another sharp crack and a shell burst about a hundred yards from the schooner’s stern.“I wonder whether we shall have to go any nearer,” said Poole excitedly. “They’d be able to do us a deal of mischief like that. I believe she’s got four of those small guns on board.”“Judging from their gunnery,” said Fitz coolly, “they are not likely to hit us, even if we go much more near.”“Well, I hope not,” said Poole. “Those are nasty waspish things, those shells. There she goes again. I wonder whether we could do anything with rifles at this range.”The skipper proved to be of opinion that they could, but he preferred to devote all his attention to the navigation of the schooner, and in fact there was plenty to do, for every now and then they found themselves dangerously near the spots where a little creamy foam showed upon the surface of the sea, insidious, beautiful patches that would have meant destruction to the slight timbers of the yacht-like craft.But the mate was perched up on high, and between him and the steersman the skipper stood ready to transmit the keen chief officer’s signals to the man at the wheel, so that they rode in safety through the watery maze, paying no heed whatever to the shells which came at intervals from the gunboat’s deck, the small modern guns having a terribly long range. The boats filled with men still hung from the davits, ready for the order to start, which was never given, the captain of the gunboat evidently being of opinion that his rowing men would not be able to compete with the schooner’s sails, and waiting as he was for the bursting of some shell overhead bringing down one of the important spars by the run, while it was always possible that the schooner’s fate might be the same as his, to wit, running stem on to some rock, to sink or remain fast.Under these circumstances the boats would have been of avail, and another attempt might have been made to board and take the little schooner.But the Spaniards’ gunnery was not good enough; the shells were startling, but their segments did no worse than speckle the surface of the sea, and at last involuntarily cheers rang out, for theTealwas running swiftly away from the danger, and the shells that came dropping were far astern. About half-an-hour later, and long after the firing had ceased to be dangerous, the mate came down from his eyrie, to seat himself and begin wiping his dripping face.“You look tired, Mr Burgess,” said Fitz, going up to him, “Shall I get you a tin of water?”“Thank you, my lad,” said the rugged fellow huskily. “I am nearly choked with thirst.”Fitz ran to the breaker, took the tin that stood ready, dipped it, and bore it to the mate, who drained it to the last drop.“Thank you, my lad. That’s the sweetest drop I ever tasted in my life. Hard work for the body will make a man thirsty, but work like that I have just been doing is ten times as bad. Hah! It’s horrid!—horrid! I believed I knew that channel pretty well, but for the last hour, and every minute of it, I have been waiting to hear the little schooner go scrunch on to some hidden rock; and now I feel quite done.”“It must have been horrible,” said the middy, looking his sympathy. “Of course we all knew it was dangerous, but none of us could have felt like that.”“No, my lad,” said the mate, holding out his rough hand. “I don’t believe anybody felt like that,” and he gripped the boy’s hand firmly. “But I say, between ourselves, I didn’t mean to speak. It’s made me feel a little soft like, and I shouldn’t like anybody to know what I said.”“You may trust me, Mr Burgess,” said the lad warmly.“I do, my lad; I do, for I know what a gentleman you are. But to nobody, please, not even to young Poole.”The rough mate nodded his satisfaction as he met the middy’s eyes, and somehow from that minute it seemed to Fitz that they had become great friends.“Now, that’s what I call the prettiest view we’ve seen of that gunboat yet, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the carpenter a short time later, as the lad strolled up to where he was leaning over the bulwarks shading his eyes from the sun. “I don’t profess to be a artist, sir; nighest I ever come to making a picter was putting a frame round it and a bit of glass in front, as I kep’ in tight with brads. But I’ve seen a deal of natur’ in my time, hot and cold, and I say that’s the prettiest bit of a sea-view I ever set eyes on. She’s a fine-built boat—nice shape. Looks like about half-way between a flat-iron and one of them as the laundresses use with a red-hot thing in their insides. But it ain’t only her shape as takes my fancy. It’s her position, and that’s one that everybody on board must admire, as she lies there nice and distant with the coast behind, sea in front, and a lovely bit of foam and breakers both sides. Ah! she makes a lovely pictur’. She don’t want no frame, and the beauty of her is that she’s one of them what they used to call dissolving views. You see, we shan’t see her no more, and don’t want to, and that’s the beauty of it.”“Yes, you’re right, Chips,” said Poole, laughing. “We’ve seen rather too much of her as it is. But you are a bit wrong. I dare say we shall see her again. Don Ramon will be for trying to get her off the rocks when he hears how she lies. Why, Chips, that’s in your way. What a job it would be for you!”“Job for me, sir?” said the man, staring.“Yes. That gunboat and her fittings must have cost a tremendous sum of money. It would be the making of you if you could get her off.”The carpenter stared, and then gave his thigh a slap which sounded like the crack of a revolver.“Yuss!” he cried. “I never thought of that. My word, shouldn’t I like the job!”“Think you could do it, Chips?” cried Fitz.“I’d try, sir. Only let ’em give me the job. But the skipper wouldn’t let me go.”“Well, you don’t want to go, Winks,” said Poole.“That’s a true word, sir. I don’t want to go. TheTeal’sgood enough for me. But I should like to have the getting of that gunboat off all the same. Let’s see; that there Don Ramon wants it, doesn’t he?”“Yes,” cried Poole.“I say, look out!” cried Fitz. “Here’s Chips’s dissolving view dissolving away.”The declaration was quite true, for the gunboat was slowly disappearing, as theTealsailed on, to reach Velova Bay without further adventure or mishap.All seemed well as they sighted the port, and Don Ramon’s flag was fluttering out jauntily; but to the astonishment of all on board, as they drew nearer the fort there was a white puff of smoke, and then another and another.The British colours were run up, but the firing went on, and the skipper grew uneasy.“Villarayo must have captured the place,” he said, as he looked through his double glass.“Here, I don’t see any shot striking up the water, father,” cried Poole.“No; I tell you what it is,” cried Fitz. “They are glad to see us back. They are firing a salute.”Fitz was right, and before long a barge was coming off, with the national colours trailing behind, Don Ramon being made out seated in the stern-sheets in uniform, and surrounded by his officers. He looked ceremonious and grand enough in his State barge, but there was no ceremony in his acts. He sprang up the side as soon as the coxswain hooked on, and embraced the skipper with the tears in his eyes, the two lads having to suffer the same greeting in turn, so as not to hurt the feelings of one whose warmth was very genuine.“Oh, my friend the captain,” he cried, “I have been wasting tears on your behalf. You did notcomeback, and the news was brought by three different fishing-boats that the enemy had driven you ashore and wrecked and burned your beautiful schooner, while there had been a desperate fight, they said, and they had heard the firing, so that I could only guess what must have been the result. I believed my brave true friend and all on board had been slain, while now I have you all safely back again, and my heart is very glad.”“And so am I, Don Ramon,” said the skipper warmly, for he felt how genuine the greeting was. “But things are much better than you thought.”“Yes, better far,” cried the Don. “But make haste. Let us get ashore. My people are getting up a banquet in your honour and that of everyoneon board.”“Oh, I’m not a banqueting man,” said the skipper, laughing.“Ha, ha! We shall see,” said the Don, laughing in his turn. “How came they, though, to tell me such false news? I believed the men who brought it could be trusted.”“Well, I dare say they can be,” said the skipper. “But they didn’t stay long enough. We had almost to run ashore, and there were two or three fights; that was true enough. But if they had stayed long enough they could have brought you the best news that you have had for months.”“Best news!” cried the Don excitedly.“Yes; the gunboat, with her big breech-loader and propeller disabled, is fast upon the rocks.”“Captain Reed!” cried the Don, seizing him by both hands. “Is this true?”“As true as that I am telling you.”“But the captain and his men?”“They’re standing by her. But they will never get her off.”“Oh!” shouted Fitz, giving a sudden jump and turning sharply round, to see the carpenter backing away confused and shamefaced, for he had been listening eagerly to the conversation, and at the critical point alluding to the gunboat being got off, he had in his excitement given Fitz a vigorous pinch.“Here, what are you thinking of doing?” said the skipper.“Doing?” said the Don excitedly. “There will be no banquet to-night. I must gather together my men, and make for the gunboat at once.”“What for?” cried the skipper.“To strike the last blow for victory,” cried the Don. “We must surround and take the gunboat’s crew, and then at any cost that gunboat must be floated. I don’t quite see yet how it is to be done, but the attempt must be made before there is another gale. That gunboat must be saved. No,” he continued thoughtfully, “I don’t see yet how it can be done.”“I do, sir,” cried Winks, dashing forward. “I’ll take the job, sir, and do it cheap. Say a word for me, skipper. You know me. It’s fust come fust served at times like this. Say a word for me, sir, afore some other lubber steps in and gets the job as won’t do it half so well. Mr Burnett, sir—Mr Poole, you will put a word in too, won’t you?”“I do not want any words put in,” said the new President gravely. “I know you, my man, and what you can do. I know you too as one of the friends who have fought for me so bravely and so well. You shall get the gunboat off the rocks.”In his excitement Chips did the first steps of the sailor’s hornpipe, but suddenly awakening to a sense of his great responsibility, he pulled himself up short with a sharp stamp upon the deck, thrust his right fore-finger into his cheek, and brought it out againplop.“Stand by there, sir! Steady it is. I like things right and square. I never did a job like this afore; but you trust me, and I’ll do my best.”“I do trust you,” said Don Ramon, smiling and holding out his hand, “and I know such a British seaman as you will do his best.”The carpenter flushed like a girl and raised his hand to grasp the President’s, but snatched his own back again to give it three or four rubs up and down, back and front, upon the leg of his trousers, like a barber’s finishing-touch to a razor, and then gave the much smaller Spanish hand such a grip as brought tears not of emotion but of pain into the President’s eyes.“Now then, for the shore!” cried the Don. “But, Captain Reed, my friend, I am never satisfied. You will help me once again?”“You know,” replied the skipper, “as far as I can.”“Oh, you will not refuse this,” said the President, laughingly. “It is only to transport as many of my people as the schooner will bear. I shall have to trust to fishing-boats and the two small trading vessels that are in the port to bear the rest, I must take a strong force, and make many prisoners, for not one of the gunboat’s crew must escape.”“Oh, you won’t have much trouble with that,” said the skipper. “Once you have the full upper hand—”“I have it now,” said the Spaniard haughtily.“Then they will all come over to your side.”“You will come with me ashore?” said the Don.“Yes; but when shall you want to sail? To-morrow—the next day?”“Within an hour,” cried the Spaniard, “or as soon after as I can. I must strike, as you English say, while the iron is in the fire.”“Well, that’s quick enough for anything,” whispered Fitz.The two lads stood watching the departing barge, with the skipper by the President’s side, and then turned to go aft to the cabin.“This is rather a bother,” said Fitz. “I should have liked to have gone ashore and seen the banquet, and gone up the country. I am getting rather sick of being a prisoner, and always set to work. But—hullo, Chips!”“Just one moment, sir; and you too, Mr Poole.”“Yes; what is it?”“That’s rather a large order, gentlemen, aren’t it? That there Don will be wanting to make me his chief naval constructor, perhaps. But that wouldn’t do. I say, though, Mr Burnett, sir, can you give a poor fellow a tip or two?”“What about?” said Fitz.“What about, sir? Oh, I say, come! I like that! How am I going to get off that there gunboat? She’s a harmoured vessel, you know.”“Oh, you’ll do it, Chips. You could always do anything, even when you hadn’t got any stuff. What about pulling up the hacienda floor?”“To make fortifications, sir? Yes, we did work that to rights. But iron’s iron, and wood’s wood. You can drive one into t’other, but you can’t drive t’other into one.”“No, Chips,” said Fitz, laughing. “But there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging.”“So there are, sir; toe be sure. Making up your mind to do a thing is half the battle. I should like to have the help of you two young gents, though, all the same. A word from a young officer as knows how to disable a Armstrong gun, and from another who thinks nothing of tying a screw-propeller up in a knot, is worth having.”“Oh, I’ll help you,” said Fitz. “But I am afraid my help won’t be of much use.”“The same here,” said Poole. “Ditto and ditto.”“Then I shall do it, sir,” cried the carpenter confidently. “Of course,” cried Fitz. “But that gunboat must be very heavy. How shall you go to work?”The carpenter gave a sharp look round, and then said in a low confidential tone—“A deal too heavy, sir, for us to lift her. The only way to do is to make her lift herself.”“How?”“Taking out of her everything that can be moved; guns first, then shot and shell, and laying them overboard outside upon the rocks, ready for hoisting in again at low water when she’s afloat. Next thing I should do would be to find out whether she’s got any holes in her, and if she hasn’t—and I don’t believe she has, for there’s been no storm to bump her on the rocks—then I shall pump her dry, have her fires got up, and at high water full steam ahead, and if she don’t come off then I’m a double Dutchman.”“But what about the screw?”“Them as hides can find, sir, which means them as tie can untie. I think we can get her off, sir, if we put our backs into it. What say you?”“Get her off?” cried Fitz. “Of course we will!”
The next morning reconnoitring began once more, prior to the skipper giving his orders, and the schooner dropping down slowly towards the mouth of the river; for the mate had been up on the cliff soon after daybreak, busy with his glass, and had returned to report that the spot where the gunboat lay still fast on the rocks was so distant from the Channel through which the schooner had sailed, that it was doubtful whether, if they attempted to sail out, she could be reached by the small pieces that the enemy had on board.
“Then we won’t give them the chance to attack again,” was the skipper’s comment, and the wind favouring, the channel was soon reached, and with the mate conning the craft, they sailed outward along the clear water, with the men armed and ready for any attack that might be attempted by the man-of-war’s boats.
It was not very long before the boys, who had mounted aloft with their glass to watch the deck of the foe, were able to announce that boats were being manned for lowering, and the tortuous nature of the channel now began to lead the schooner ominously near; but both the skipper and the mate were of opinion that at the rate they were sailing they would be able to evade an attack.
“And if they are not very careful,” growled the latter, “it strikes me I shall be running one if not two of them down. They’d be much safer if they stopped aboard.”
But still the dangerous nature of the rocks forced them nearer and nearer to the enemy.
“Not much doubt about the big gun being disabled,” Poole remarked to his companion, as they noted how busily the crew were preparing to lower the boats. “We should have had a shot long before this.”
“And there’s no doubt either about the screw being fouled,” said Fitz. “I say, take the glass. They’re doing something which I can’t make out. You try.”
Poole re-focussed the binocular, but it was some moments before he spoke.
“Can’t you?” cried Fitz excitedly.
“Yes, but I’m not quite sure. Yes, now I am. Right!”
For at that moment a white ball of smoke shot out from the gunboat’s deck, followed by a dull thud, and something came skipping over the heaving sea, before there was another sharp crack and a shell burst about a hundred yards from the schooner’s stern.
“I wonder whether we shall have to go any nearer,” said Poole excitedly. “They’d be able to do us a deal of mischief like that. I believe she’s got four of those small guns on board.”
“Judging from their gunnery,” said Fitz coolly, “they are not likely to hit us, even if we go much more near.”
“Well, I hope not,” said Poole. “Those are nasty waspish things, those shells. There she goes again. I wonder whether we could do anything with rifles at this range.”
The skipper proved to be of opinion that they could, but he preferred to devote all his attention to the navigation of the schooner, and in fact there was plenty to do, for every now and then they found themselves dangerously near the spots where a little creamy foam showed upon the surface of the sea, insidious, beautiful patches that would have meant destruction to the slight timbers of the yacht-like craft.
But the mate was perched up on high, and between him and the steersman the skipper stood ready to transmit the keen chief officer’s signals to the man at the wheel, so that they rode in safety through the watery maze, paying no heed whatever to the shells which came at intervals from the gunboat’s deck, the small modern guns having a terribly long range. The boats filled with men still hung from the davits, ready for the order to start, which was never given, the captain of the gunboat evidently being of opinion that his rowing men would not be able to compete with the schooner’s sails, and waiting as he was for the bursting of some shell overhead bringing down one of the important spars by the run, while it was always possible that the schooner’s fate might be the same as his, to wit, running stem on to some rock, to sink or remain fast.
Under these circumstances the boats would have been of avail, and another attempt might have been made to board and take the little schooner.
But the Spaniards’ gunnery was not good enough; the shells were startling, but their segments did no worse than speckle the surface of the sea, and at last involuntarily cheers rang out, for theTealwas running swiftly away from the danger, and the shells that came dropping were far astern. About half-an-hour later, and long after the firing had ceased to be dangerous, the mate came down from his eyrie, to seat himself and begin wiping his dripping face.
“You look tired, Mr Burgess,” said Fitz, going up to him, “Shall I get you a tin of water?”
“Thank you, my lad,” said the rugged fellow huskily. “I am nearly choked with thirst.”
Fitz ran to the breaker, took the tin that stood ready, dipped it, and bore it to the mate, who drained it to the last drop.
“Thank you, my lad. That’s the sweetest drop I ever tasted in my life. Hard work for the body will make a man thirsty, but work like that I have just been doing is ten times as bad. Hah! It’s horrid!—horrid! I believed I knew that channel pretty well, but for the last hour, and every minute of it, I have been waiting to hear the little schooner go scrunch on to some hidden rock; and now I feel quite done.”
“It must have been horrible,” said the middy, looking his sympathy. “Of course we all knew it was dangerous, but none of us could have felt like that.”
“No, my lad,” said the mate, holding out his rough hand. “I don’t believe anybody felt like that,” and he gripped the boy’s hand firmly. “But I say, between ourselves, I didn’t mean to speak. It’s made me feel a little soft like, and I shouldn’t like anybody to know what I said.”
“You may trust me, Mr Burgess,” said the lad warmly.
“I do, my lad; I do, for I know what a gentleman you are. But to nobody, please, not even to young Poole.”
The rough mate nodded his satisfaction as he met the middy’s eyes, and somehow from that minute it seemed to Fitz that they had become great friends.
“Now, that’s what I call the prettiest view we’ve seen of that gunboat yet, Mr Burnett, sir,” said the carpenter a short time later, as the lad strolled up to where he was leaning over the bulwarks shading his eyes from the sun. “I don’t profess to be a artist, sir; nighest I ever come to making a picter was putting a frame round it and a bit of glass in front, as I kep’ in tight with brads. But I’ve seen a deal of natur’ in my time, hot and cold, and I say that’s the prettiest bit of a sea-view I ever set eyes on. She’s a fine-built boat—nice shape. Looks like about half-way between a flat-iron and one of them as the laundresses use with a red-hot thing in their insides. But it ain’t only her shape as takes my fancy. It’s her position, and that’s one that everybody on board must admire, as she lies there nice and distant with the coast behind, sea in front, and a lovely bit of foam and breakers both sides. Ah! she makes a lovely pictur’. She don’t want no frame, and the beauty of her is that she’s one of them what they used to call dissolving views. You see, we shan’t see her no more, and don’t want to, and that’s the beauty of it.”
“Yes, you’re right, Chips,” said Poole, laughing. “We’ve seen rather too much of her as it is. But you are a bit wrong. I dare say we shall see her again. Don Ramon will be for trying to get her off the rocks when he hears how she lies. Why, Chips, that’s in your way. What a job it would be for you!”
“Job for me, sir?” said the man, staring.
“Yes. That gunboat and her fittings must have cost a tremendous sum of money. It would be the making of you if you could get her off.”
The carpenter stared, and then gave his thigh a slap which sounded like the crack of a revolver.
“Yuss!” he cried. “I never thought of that. My word, shouldn’t I like the job!”
“Think you could do it, Chips?” cried Fitz.
“I’d try, sir. Only let ’em give me the job. But the skipper wouldn’t let me go.”
“Well, you don’t want to go, Winks,” said Poole.
“That’s a true word, sir. I don’t want to go. TheTeal’sgood enough for me. But I should like to have the getting of that gunboat off all the same. Let’s see; that there Don Ramon wants it, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” cried Poole.
“I say, look out!” cried Fitz. “Here’s Chips’s dissolving view dissolving away.”
The declaration was quite true, for the gunboat was slowly disappearing, as theTealsailed on, to reach Velova Bay without further adventure or mishap.
All seemed well as they sighted the port, and Don Ramon’s flag was fluttering out jauntily; but to the astonishment of all on board, as they drew nearer the fort there was a white puff of smoke, and then another and another.
The British colours were run up, but the firing went on, and the skipper grew uneasy.
“Villarayo must have captured the place,” he said, as he looked through his double glass.
“Here, I don’t see any shot striking up the water, father,” cried Poole.
“No; I tell you what it is,” cried Fitz. “They are glad to see us back. They are firing a salute.”
Fitz was right, and before long a barge was coming off, with the national colours trailing behind, Don Ramon being made out seated in the stern-sheets in uniform, and surrounded by his officers. He looked ceremonious and grand enough in his State barge, but there was no ceremony in his acts. He sprang up the side as soon as the coxswain hooked on, and embraced the skipper with the tears in his eyes, the two lads having to suffer the same greeting in turn, so as not to hurt the feelings of one whose warmth was very genuine.
“Oh, my friend the captain,” he cried, “I have been wasting tears on your behalf. You did notcomeback, and the news was brought by three different fishing-boats that the enemy had driven you ashore and wrecked and burned your beautiful schooner, while there had been a desperate fight, they said, and they had heard the firing, so that I could only guess what must have been the result. I believed my brave true friend and all on board had been slain, while now I have you all safely back again, and my heart is very glad.”
“And so am I, Don Ramon,” said the skipper warmly, for he felt how genuine the greeting was. “But things are much better than you thought.”
“Yes, better far,” cried the Don. “But make haste. Let us get ashore. My people are getting up a banquet in your honour and that of everyoneon board.”
“Oh, I’m not a banqueting man,” said the skipper, laughing.
“Ha, ha! We shall see,” said the Don, laughing in his turn. “How came they, though, to tell me such false news? I believed the men who brought it could be trusted.”
“Well, I dare say they can be,” said the skipper. “But they didn’t stay long enough. We had almost to run ashore, and there were two or three fights; that was true enough. But if they had stayed long enough they could have brought you the best news that you have had for months.”
“Best news!” cried the Don excitedly.
“Yes; the gunboat, with her big breech-loader and propeller disabled, is fast upon the rocks.”
“Captain Reed!” cried the Don, seizing him by both hands. “Is this true?”
“As true as that I am telling you.”
“But the captain and his men?”
“They’re standing by her. But they will never get her off.”
“Oh!” shouted Fitz, giving a sudden jump and turning sharply round, to see the carpenter backing away confused and shamefaced, for he had been listening eagerly to the conversation, and at the critical point alluding to the gunboat being got off, he had in his excitement given Fitz a vigorous pinch.
“Here, what are you thinking of doing?” said the skipper.
“Doing?” said the Don excitedly. “There will be no banquet to-night. I must gather together my men, and make for the gunboat at once.”
“What for?” cried the skipper.
“To strike the last blow for victory,” cried the Don. “We must surround and take the gunboat’s crew, and then at any cost that gunboat must be floated. I don’t quite see yet how it is to be done, but the attempt must be made before there is another gale. That gunboat must be saved. No,” he continued thoughtfully, “I don’t see yet how it can be done.”
“I do, sir,” cried Winks, dashing forward. “I’ll take the job, sir, and do it cheap. Say a word for me, skipper. You know me. It’s fust come fust served at times like this. Say a word for me, sir, afore some other lubber steps in and gets the job as won’t do it half so well. Mr Burnett, sir—Mr Poole, you will put a word in too, won’t you?”
“I do not want any words put in,” said the new President gravely. “I know you, my man, and what you can do. I know you too as one of the friends who have fought for me so bravely and so well. You shall get the gunboat off the rocks.”
In his excitement Chips did the first steps of the sailor’s hornpipe, but suddenly awakening to a sense of his great responsibility, he pulled himself up short with a sharp stamp upon the deck, thrust his right fore-finger into his cheek, and brought it out againplop.
“Stand by there, sir! Steady it is. I like things right and square. I never did a job like this afore; but you trust me, and I’ll do my best.”
“I do trust you,” said Don Ramon, smiling and holding out his hand, “and I know such a British seaman as you will do his best.”
The carpenter flushed like a girl and raised his hand to grasp the President’s, but snatched his own back again to give it three or four rubs up and down, back and front, upon the leg of his trousers, like a barber’s finishing-touch to a razor, and then gave the much smaller Spanish hand such a grip as brought tears not of emotion but of pain into the President’s eyes.
“Now then, for the shore!” cried the Don. “But, Captain Reed, my friend, I am never satisfied. You will help me once again?”
“You know,” replied the skipper, “as far as I can.”
“Oh, you will not refuse this,” said the President, laughingly. “It is only to transport as many of my people as the schooner will bear. I shall have to trust to fishing-boats and the two small trading vessels that are in the port to bear the rest, I must take a strong force, and make many prisoners, for not one of the gunboat’s crew must escape.”
“Oh, you won’t have much trouble with that,” said the skipper. “Once you have the full upper hand—”
“I have it now,” said the Spaniard haughtily.
“Then they will all come over to your side.”
“You will come with me ashore?” said the Don.
“Yes; but when shall you want to sail? To-morrow—the next day?”
“Within an hour,” cried the Spaniard, “or as soon after as I can. I must strike, as you English say, while the iron is in the fire.”
“Well, that’s quick enough for anything,” whispered Fitz.
The two lads stood watching the departing barge, with the skipper by the President’s side, and then turned to go aft to the cabin.
“This is rather a bother,” said Fitz. “I should have liked to have gone ashore and seen the banquet, and gone up the country. I am getting rather sick of being a prisoner, and always set to work. But—hullo, Chips!”
“Just one moment, sir; and you too, Mr Poole.”
“Yes; what is it?”
“That’s rather a large order, gentlemen, aren’t it? That there Don will be wanting to make me his chief naval constructor, perhaps. But that wouldn’t do. I say, though, Mr Burnett, sir, can you give a poor fellow a tip or two?”
“What about?” said Fitz.
“What about, sir? Oh, I say, come! I like that! How am I going to get off that there gunboat? She’s a harmoured vessel, you know.”
“Oh, you’ll do it, Chips. You could always do anything, even when you hadn’t got any stuff. What about pulling up the hacienda floor?”
“To make fortifications, sir? Yes, we did work that to rights. But iron’s iron, and wood’s wood. You can drive one into t’other, but you can’t drive t’other into one.”
“No, Chips,” said Fitz, laughing. “But there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging.”
“So there are, sir; toe be sure. Making up your mind to do a thing is half the battle. I should like to have the help of you two young gents, though, all the same. A word from a young officer as knows how to disable a Armstrong gun, and from another who thinks nothing of tying a screw-propeller up in a knot, is worth having.”
“Oh, I’ll help you,” said Fitz. “But I am afraid my help won’t be of much use.”
“The same here,” said Poole. “Ditto and ditto.”
“Then I shall do it, sir,” cried the carpenter confidently. “Of course,” cried Fitz. “But that gunboat must be very heavy. How shall you go to work?”
The carpenter gave a sharp look round, and then said in a low confidential tone—
“A deal too heavy, sir, for us to lift her. The only way to do is to make her lift herself.”
“How?”
“Taking out of her everything that can be moved; guns first, then shot and shell, and laying them overboard outside upon the rocks, ready for hoisting in again at low water when she’s afloat. Next thing I should do would be to find out whether she’s got any holes in her, and if she hasn’t—and I don’t believe she has, for there’s been no storm to bump her on the rocks—then I shall pump her dry, have her fires got up, and at high water full steam ahead, and if she don’t come off then I’m a double Dutchman.”
“But what about the screw?”
“Them as hides can find, sir, which means them as tie can untie. I think we can get her off, sir, if we put our backs into it. What say you?”
“Get her off?” cried Fitz. “Of course we will!”