Chapter Forty Six.To cut and run.The mate’s face lit up in a way that those who knew him had not seen for months.“Well done, youngster!” he said, in quite a musical growl. “Splendid! Here, Poole Reed, you ought to have thought of that.”“How could I?” said the lad. “I never learnt anything about breech-loading cannon.”“No more you did, my boy,” said the skipper; “and we don’t want to take the honour from Mr Burnett. We shall have to do this, sir, but it will be risky work, and I don’t know what to say about letting you go.”“Oh, I don’t think that there will be much risk, Captain Reed,” said Fitz nonchalantly. “It only means going very quietly in the dark. It would be done best from the dinghy, because it’s so small.”“And how would you go to work?” said the skipper.“Oh,” said Fitz, “I should arrange to go about two bells, let the dinghy drift close in under her bows after studying the gunboat well with a glass, and I think one ought to be able to mount by climbing up the anchor on the starboard side. If not, by the fore-chains.”“And what about the watch?”“I’ve thought about that, sir, and I don’t believe that they keep a good one at all. It won’t be like trying to board a gunboat in the British Navy. Like as not those on deck will be asleep.”“Yes, I think so too,” said Poole.“Well,” said the skipper, “I have something of the same sort of idea. They’d never believe that any one from the schooner would do such a daring thing. What do you say, Burgess?”“Same as you do, sir,” said the mate gruffly.“But what do you think would be the great advantage of doing this, Mr Burnett?” said the skipper.“The advantage, sir?” replied the middy, staring. “Why, it would be like drawing a snake’s fangs! You wouldn’t be afraid of the gunboat without her gun.”“No,” said the skipper thoughtfully, “I don’t think I should; and for certain she’d be spoiled for doing any mischief to Don Ramon’s forts.”“Oh yes, father,” cried Poole excitedly. “It would turn the tables completely. You remember what Don Ramon said?”“What, about the power going with the party who held the gunboat? Well, it’s a pity we can’t capture her too.”“Or run her ashore, father.”“What, wreck her? That would be a pity.”“I meant get her ashore so that she’d be helpless for a time.”“Well, now’s your time, my boy. It has come to a pretty pass, though, Burgess, for these young chaps to be taking the wind out of our sails.”“Oh, I don’t mind,” growled the mate. “Here, let’s have it, Poole. Look at him! He’s got something bottled up as big as young Mr Burnett, I dare say.”“Eh? Is that so, my boy? Have you been planning some scheme as well?”“Well, father, I had some sort of an idea. It came all of a jump after Burnett had proposed disabling the gun.”“Well done!” whispered Fitz excitedly.“What is it, my lad?” said the skipper.“Oh, I feel rather nervous about it, father, and I don’t know that it would answer; but I should like to try.”“Go on, then; let’s hear what it is.”“You see, I noticed that they have always got steam up ready to come in chase at any time if we try to slip out.”“That’s right,” growled the mate.“Well, I was thinking, father, how would it be if we could foul the screw?”“Why, a job, my lad, for them to clear it again.”“But wouldn’t it be very risky work lying waiting while they tried to clear the screw? You know what tremendous currents there are running along the coast.”“But they wouldn’t affect a craft lying at anchor, my lad,” growled the mate.“No,” said Poole excitedly; “but I should expect to foul the screw just when they had given orders to up with the anchor to come in chase of us or to resist attack.”“And how would you do it, my lad?” said the skipper.“Well, father, I was thinking—But I don’t profess for a moment that it would succeed.”“Let’s have what you thought, and don’t talk so much,” cried the skipper. “How could you foul the screw?”“Well, the dinghy wouldn’t do, father; it would be too small. We should have to go in the gig, with four men to row. I should like to take the big coil of Manilla cable aboard, with one end loose and handy, and a good rope ready. Then I should get astern and make the end fast to one of the fans of the screw, and give the cable a hitch round as well so as to give a good hold with the loop before we lowered it overboard to sink.”“Good,” said Burgess. “Capital! And then if the fans didn’t cut it when they began to revolve, they’d wind the whole of that cable round and round, and most likely regularly foul the screw badly before they found out what was wrong.”“Yes,” said the skipper quietly. “The idea is excellent if it answered, but means the loss of a good new cable that I can’t spare if things went wrong; and that’s what they’d be pretty sure to do.”Poole drew a deep breath, and his face grew cloudy.“The idea is too good, my lad. It is asking too much of luck, and we couldn’t expect two such plans to succeed. What do you say, Burgess?”“Same as you do,” said the mate roughly. “But if we got one of our shots to go off right we ought to be satisfied, and if it was me I should have a try at both.”“Yes,” said the skipper, “and we will. But it seems to me, Burgess, that you and I are going to be out of it all.”“Oh yes. They’ve planned it; let ’em do it, I say.”“Yes,” said the skipper; “they shall. But look here, do you lads propose to do all this in one visit to the gunboat?”“Poole’s idea, sir, is all fresh to me,” cried Fitz. “I knew nothing of it till he began to speak, but it seems to me that it must all be done in one visit. They’d never give us a chance to go twice.”“No,” said the mate laconically, and as he uttered the word he shut his teeth with a snap.“When’s it to be, then?”“To-night, sir,” said Fitz, “while it’s all red-hot.”“Yes, father; it ought to be done to-night. It’s not likely to be darker than it is just now.”“Very well,” said the skipper; “then I give you both authority to make your plans before night. But the dinghy is out of the question. With the current running off the coast here you’d never get back in that. You must take the gig, and five men. Pick out who you like, Poole: the men you would rather trust. You’d better let him choose, Mr Burnett; he knows the men so much better than you, and besides, it would be better that they should be under his orders than under yours. There, I have no more to say, except this—whether they succeed or not, your plans are both excellent; but you cannot expect to do anything by force. This is a case for scheme and cunning. Under the darkness it may be done. What I should like best would be for you to get that breech-block overboard. If you can do the other too, so much the better, but I shall be perfectly satisfied if you can do one, and get back safely into the river. There, Poole; make what arrangements you like. I shall not interfere in the least.”“Nor I,” said the mate. “Good luck to you both! But I shouldn’t worry much about preparing for a fight. What you have got to do is to act, cut, and run.”
The mate’s face lit up in a way that those who knew him had not seen for months.
“Well done, youngster!” he said, in quite a musical growl. “Splendid! Here, Poole Reed, you ought to have thought of that.”
“How could I?” said the lad. “I never learnt anything about breech-loading cannon.”
“No more you did, my boy,” said the skipper; “and we don’t want to take the honour from Mr Burnett. We shall have to do this, sir, but it will be risky work, and I don’t know what to say about letting you go.”
“Oh, I don’t think that there will be much risk, Captain Reed,” said Fitz nonchalantly. “It only means going very quietly in the dark. It would be done best from the dinghy, because it’s so small.”
“And how would you go to work?” said the skipper.
“Oh,” said Fitz, “I should arrange to go about two bells, let the dinghy drift close in under her bows after studying the gunboat well with a glass, and I think one ought to be able to mount by climbing up the anchor on the starboard side. If not, by the fore-chains.”
“And what about the watch?”
“I’ve thought about that, sir, and I don’t believe that they keep a good one at all. It won’t be like trying to board a gunboat in the British Navy. Like as not those on deck will be asleep.”
“Yes, I think so too,” said Poole.
“Well,” said the skipper, “I have something of the same sort of idea. They’d never believe that any one from the schooner would do such a daring thing. What do you say, Burgess?”
“Same as you do, sir,” said the mate gruffly.
“But what do you think would be the great advantage of doing this, Mr Burnett?” said the skipper.
“The advantage, sir?” replied the middy, staring. “Why, it would be like drawing a snake’s fangs! You wouldn’t be afraid of the gunboat without her gun.”
“No,” said the skipper thoughtfully, “I don’t think I should; and for certain she’d be spoiled for doing any mischief to Don Ramon’s forts.”
“Oh yes, father,” cried Poole excitedly. “It would turn the tables completely. You remember what Don Ramon said?”
“What, about the power going with the party who held the gunboat? Well, it’s a pity we can’t capture her too.”
“Or run her ashore, father.”
“What, wreck her? That would be a pity.”
“I meant get her ashore so that she’d be helpless for a time.”
“Well, now’s your time, my boy. It has come to a pretty pass, though, Burgess, for these young chaps to be taking the wind out of our sails.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” growled the mate. “Here, let’s have it, Poole. Look at him! He’s got something bottled up as big as young Mr Burnett, I dare say.”
“Eh? Is that so, my boy? Have you been planning some scheme as well?”
“Well, father, I had some sort of an idea. It came all of a jump after Burnett had proposed disabling the gun.”
“Well done!” whispered Fitz excitedly.
“What is it, my lad?” said the skipper.
“Oh, I feel rather nervous about it, father, and I don’t know that it would answer; but I should like to try.”
“Go on, then; let’s hear what it is.”
“You see, I noticed that they have always got steam up ready to come in chase at any time if we try to slip out.”
“That’s right,” growled the mate.
“Well, I was thinking, father, how would it be if we could foul the screw?”
“Why, a job, my lad, for them to clear it again.”
“But wouldn’t it be very risky work lying waiting while they tried to clear the screw? You know what tremendous currents there are running along the coast.”
“But they wouldn’t affect a craft lying at anchor, my lad,” growled the mate.
“No,” said Poole excitedly; “but I should expect to foul the screw just when they had given orders to up with the anchor to come in chase of us or to resist attack.”
“And how would you do it, my lad?” said the skipper.
“Well, father, I was thinking—But I don’t profess for a moment that it would succeed.”
“Let’s have what you thought, and don’t talk so much,” cried the skipper. “How could you foul the screw?”
“Well, the dinghy wouldn’t do, father; it would be too small. We should have to go in the gig, with four men to row. I should like to take the big coil of Manilla cable aboard, with one end loose and handy, and a good rope ready. Then I should get astern and make the end fast to one of the fans of the screw, and give the cable a hitch round as well so as to give a good hold with the loop before we lowered it overboard to sink.”
“Good,” said Burgess. “Capital! And then if the fans didn’t cut it when they began to revolve, they’d wind the whole of that cable round and round, and most likely regularly foul the screw badly before they found out what was wrong.”
“Yes,” said the skipper quietly. “The idea is excellent if it answered, but means the loss of a good new cable that I can’t spare if things went wrong; and that’s what they’d be pretty sure to do.”
Poole drew a deep breath, and his face grew cloudy.
“The idea is too good, my lad. It is asking too much of luck, and we couldn’t expect two such plans to succeed. What do you say, Burgess?”
“Same as you do,” said the mate roughly. “But if we got one of our shots to go off right we ought to be satisfied, and if it was me I should have a try at both.”
“Yes,” said the skipper, “and we will. But it seems to me, Burgess, that you and I are going to be out of it all.”
“Oh yes. They’ve planned it; let ’em do it, I say.”
“Yes,” said the skipper; “they shall. But look here, do you lads propose to do all this in one visit to the gunboat?”
“Poole’s idea, sir, is all fresh to me,” cried Fitz. “I knew nothing of it till he began to speak, but it seems to me that it must all be done in one visit. They’d never give us a chance to go twice.”
“No,” said the mate laconically, and as he uttered the word he shut his teeth with a snap.
“When’s it to be, then?”
“To-night, sir,” said Fitz, “while it’s all red-hot.”
“Yes, father; it ought to be done to-night. It’s not likely to be darker than it is just now.”
“Very well,” said the skipper; “then I give you both authority to make your plans before night. But the dinghy is out of the question. With the current running off the coast here you’d never get back in that. You must take the gig, and five men. Pick out who you like, Poole: the men you would rather trust. You’d better let him choose, Mr Burnett; he knows the men so much better than you, and besides, it would be better that they should be under his orders than under yours. There, I have no more to say, except this—whether they succeed or not, your plans are both excellent; but you cannot expect to do anything by force. This is a case for scheme and cunning. Under the darkness it may be done. What I should like best would be for you to get that breech-block overboard. If you can do the other too, so much the better, but I shall be perfectly satisfied if you can do one, and get back safely into the river. There, Poole; make what arrangements you like. I shall not interfere in the least.”
“Nor I,” said the mate. “Good luck to you both! But I shouldn’t worry much about preparing for a fight. What you have got to do is to act, cut, and run.”
Chapter Forty Seven.’Cause why.“Now we know,” said Poole joyously, as they left the cabin and went forward to their old place to discuss their plans: “what we have got to do is to cut and run. Come on; let’s go and sit on the bowsprit again. It will soon be dinner-time. I wonder what the Camel has got?”“Oh, don’t talk about eating now,” cried Fitz, as they reached the big spar, upon which he scrambled out, to sit swinging his legs, and closely followed by Poole. “What’s the first thing?”“Who’s to man the gig,” said Poole; “and I’ve got to pick the crew.”“I should like to pick one,” cried Fitz.“All right, go on; only don’t choose the Camel, nor Bob Jackson.”“No, no; neither of them,” cried Fitz. “I say, we ought to have old Butters.”“One,” said Poole sharply. “Now it’s my turn; Chips.”“Yes, I should like to have him,” cried the middy. “But I don’t know,” he continued seriously. “He’s a splendid fellow, and so handy; but he might want to turn it all into a lark.”“Not he,” cried Poole. “He likes his bit of fun sometimes, but for a good man and true to have at my back in a job like this, he’s the pick of the whole crew.”“Chips it is, then,” said Fitz. “That’s two.”“Dick Boulter, then.”“Three!” cried Fitz.“Harry Smith.”“Four,” said Fitz.“Four, four, four, four,” said Poole thoughtfully. “Who shall we have for number five? Here, we’ll have the Camel, after all.”“Oh,” cried Fitz; “there’ll be nothing to cook.”“Yes, there will; the big gun and the propeller. He’s cook, of course, but he’s nearly as good a seaman as there is on board the schooner, and he’ll row all right and never utter a word. There, we’ve got a splendid boat’s crew, and I vote we go and tell father what we’ve done.”“I wouldn’t,” said Fitz. “It’ll make him think that we hadn’t confidence in ourselves. Unless he asks us, I wouldn’t say a word.”“You are right,” said Poole; “right as right. Now then, what’s next? I know: we’ll go and make the lads get up the Manilla rope and lay it down again in rings as close as they’ll go.”“On the deck here?” said Fitz.“No, no; right along the bottom of the gig. And we must have her lowered down first with two men in her, ready to coil the cable as the others pass it down. Now then, let’s get inboard again and find old Butters.”“But he’ll be wanting to know what we want with that rope.”“Sure to,” said Poole; “but he’ll have to wait. Oh, here he comes. Here, bosun!” he cried. “I want you to get up that new Manilla cable, lower down the gig, and coil it in the bottom so that it will take up as little room as possible, and not be in the men’s way.”“What men’s way?” said the boatswain. “Chips, Harry Smith, the Camel, and Dick Boulter,” said Poole.“Ho!” grunted the boatswain, and he took off his cap and began to scratch his head, staring at both in turn. “Whose orders?” he grunted, at last. “I just seen Mr Burgess, and he never said a word.”“The skipper’s orders,” cried Poole.“Ho!” said the boatswain again. “Well, that’s good enough for me,” and he stood staring at them.“Well, get the men together and see about the rope,” cried Poole.“What’s your game? Going to take the end out to a steam-tug, or is the gunboat going to tow us out to sea?”“Don’t ask questions, please. It’s private business of the skipper’s, under the orders of Mr Burnett and me.”“Ho! All right, my lad; only oughtn’t I to know what we are going to do? You are going off somewhere in the boat, eh?”“Yes, that’s right.”“And I’m not to come?”“Oh, but you are,” cried Poole, “and I’ve told you the men I’ve picked for the job. Don’t you think it’s a good crew?”“Middling,” said the boatswain grudgingly. “Might be better; might be wuss. But look here, young fellow; I don’t like working in the dark.”“I am sorry for you,” said Fitz, “for this will be an all-night job.”“Then I’d better take my nightcap,” said the boatswain quietly. “But what’s up? Are you going to make fast to the gunboat and tow her in?”“You know we are not,” replied Poole.“Well, I did think it was rather an unpossible sort of job. But hadn’t you better be open and above-board with a man, and say what it all means?”“It means that you and the other men are under the orders of Mr Burnett and me, and that we look to you to do your best over what’s going to be a particular venture. You’ll know soon enough. Till then, please wait.”“All right,” said the boatswain. “I’m your man. For the skipper wouldn’t have given you these orders if it wasn’t square;” saying which the man walked off to rouse up the little crew, all but the Camel, whom he left to his regular work in the galley. “We shan’t want him yet,” said Butters, as the boys followed him. “Had he better get us some rations to take with us?”“Oh no,” said Poole. “We oughtn’t to be away more than three or four hours if we are lucky.”“Why, this ’ere gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser,” grumbled the boatswain. “But I suppose it’s going to be all right,” and he proceeded to give his orders to the men.“Now we shall begin to have them full of questions,” said Poole. “I begin to wish we were making it all open and above-aboard.”“I don’t,” said Fitz; “I like it as it is. If we told everybody it would spoil half the fun.”“Fun!” cried Poole, screwing up his face into a quaint smile. “Fun, do you call it? Do you know that this is going to be a very risky job?”“Well, I suppose there’ll be some risk in it,” replied the middy; “but it will be all in the dark, and we ought to get it done without a shot being fired. I say, though, I have been thinking that you and I must keep together, for I am afraid to trust myself over getting out that block. I should have liked to have done that first, but the splash it would make is bound to give the alarm, and there would be no chance afterwards to get that cable fast, without you let old Butters and the men do that while we were busy with the gun.”“No,” said Poole decisively; “everything depends upon our doing these things ourselves. The cable can be made fast without a sound, and as soon as it is passed over the side of the boat, the men must lay the gig alongside the bows for us to swarm up, do our part, and then get to them the best way we can. I expect it will mean a jump overboard and a swim till they pick us up.”“Yes,” said Fitz; “that’s right. Ah, there comes the end of the cable. It’s nice and soft to handle.”“Yes,” said Poole, “and needn’t make any noise.”The lads sauntered up to where the men were at work, three of them lowering down the gig, while the carpenter and boatswain were bringing up the cable out of the tier, the former on deck, the boatswain down below.“So you’re going to have a night’s fishing, my lad?” said the carpenter. “Well, you’ll find this ’ere a splendid line. But what about a hook?”“Oh, we shan’t want that yet, Chips,” said Poole coolly.“Nay, I know that, my lad; but you’ve got to think about it all the same, and you’ll want a pretty tidy one for a line like this. I didn’t know the fish run so big along this coast. Any one would think you’d got whales in your heads. I never ’eard, though, as there was any harpoons on board.”“Oh no, we are not going whale-fishing,” said Poole quietly.“What’s it to be then, sir? Bottom fishing or top?”“Top,” said Poole.“Then you’ll be wanting me to make you a float. What’s it to be? One of them big water-barrels with the topsail-yard run through? And you’ll want a sinker. And what about a bait?”“We haven’t thought about that yet, Chips.”“Ah, you aren’t like what I was when I was a boy, Mr Poole, sir. I used to think about it the whole day before, and go to the butcher’s for my maggits, and down the garden for my wums. Of course I never fished in a big way like this ’ere; but I am thinking about a bait. I should like you to have good sport. Means hard work for the Camel to-morrow, I suppose.”“And to-night too, Chips, I hope,” said Poole.“That’s right, sir,” said the man cheerily, as he hauled upon the cable. “But what about that bait? I know what would be the right thing; perhaps the skipper mightn’t approve, and not being used to it Mr Burnett here mightn’t like to use such a bait.”“Oh, I don’t suppose I should mind, Chips,” said Fitz, laughing. “What should you recommend?”“Well, sir, I should say, have the dinghy and go up the river a mile or two till we could land and catch a nice lively little nigger—one of them very shiny ones. That would be the sort.”The two lads forgot the seriousness of the mission they had in view, exchanged glances, and began to laugh, with the result that the man turned upon them quite an injured look.“Oh, it’s quite right, gentlemen; fishes have their fancies and likings for a tasty bit, same as crocodiles has. I arn’t sailed all round the world without picking up a few odds and ends to pack up in my knowledge-box. Why, look at sharks. They don’t care for nigger; it’s too plentiful. But let them catch sight of a leg or a wing of a nice smart white sailor, they’re after it directly. Them crocs too! Only think of a big ugly lizardy-looking creetur boxed up in a skin half rhinoceros, half cow-horn—just fancy him having his fads and fancies! Do you know what the crocodile as lives in the river Nile thinks is the choicest tit-bit he can get hold of?”“Not I,” said Poole. “Giraffe perhaps.”“No, sir; what he says is dog, and if he only hears a dog running along the bank yelping and snapping and chy-iking, he’s after him directly, finishes him up, and then goes and lies down in the hot sun with his mouth wide open, and goes to sleep. Ah, you may laugh, sir; but I’ve been up there in one of them barges as they calls darbyers, though how they got hold of such an Irish name as that I don’t know. It was along with a orficer as went up there shooting crocs and pottomhouses. Oh, I’ve seen the crocs there often—lots of them. Do you know what they opens their mouths for when they goes to sleep, Mr Burnett, sir?”“To yawn, I suppose,” said Fitz. “Haul away there, my lad! Look alive!” came in a deep growl from below; and Chips winked and made the great muscles stand out in his brown arms as he hauled, but kept on talking all the same.“Yawn, sir! Nay, that isn’t it. It’s a curiosity in nat’ral history, and this ’ere’s fact. You young gents may believe it or not, just as you like.”“Thank you,” said Fitz dryly; “I’ll take my choice.”“Ah, I expect you won’t believe it, sir. But this ’ere’s what it’s for. He leaves his front-door wide open like that, and there’s a little bird with a long beak as has been waiting comes along, hippity-hop, and settles on the top of Mr Croc’s head, and looks at first one eye and then at the other to see if he’s really asleep, and that there is no gammon. He aren’t a-going to run no risks, knowing as he does that a croc’s about one of the artfullest beggars as ever lived. I suppose that’s why they calls ’em amphibious. Oh, they’re rum ’uns, they are! They can sham being dead, and make theirselves look like logs of wood with the rough bark on, and play at being in great trouble and cry, so as to get people to come nigh them to help, and then snip, snap, they has ’em by the leg, takes them under water to drown, and then goes and puts ’em away in the cupboard under the bank.”“What for?” said Poole.“What for, sir? Why, to keep till they gets tender. Them there Errubs of the desert gets so sun-tanned that they are as tough as string; so hard, you know, that they wouldn’t even agree with a croc. Yo-hoy! Haul oh, and here she comes!” added the man, in a low musical bass voice to himself, as he kept on dragging at the soft Manilla rope.“I say, Burnett,” said Poole seriously, “don’t you think we’d better get pencil and paper and put all this down—Natural History Notes by Peter Winks, Head Carpenter of the SchoonerTeal?”“Nay, nay, sir, don’t you do that. Stick to fact. That’s what I don’t like in people as writes books about travel. They do paint it up so, and lay it on so thick that the stuff cracks, comes off, and don’t look nat’ral.”“Then you wouldn’t put down about that little bird that comes hippity-hop and looks at the crocodile’s eyes?”“What, sir! Why, that’s the best part of it. That’s the crumb of the whole business.”“Oh, I see,” said Fitz. “Then that’s a fact?”“To be sure, sir. He’s larnt it from old experience. I dare say he’s seen lots go down through the croc turning them big jaws of his into a bird-trap and shutting them up sudden, when of course there aren’t no more bird. But that’s been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, and the birds know better now, and wait till it’s quite safe before they begin.”“Begin what?” said Fitz sharply.“Well, sir,” said the carpenter, as he hauled away, “that’s what I want to tell you, only you keep on interrupting me so.”Fitz closed his teeth with a snap.“Go on, Chips,” he said. “I’ll be mute as a fish.”“Well, sir, as I said afore, you young gents can believe it or you can let it alone: that there little bird, or them little birds, for there’s thousands of them, just the same as there is crocodiles, and they are all friendly together, I suppose because crocs is like birds in one thing—they makes nests and lays eggs, and the birds, as I’m telling of you, does this as reg’lar as clockwork. When the croc’s had his dinner and gone to sleep with his front-door wide open, the little chap comes hopping and peeping along close round the edge, and then gets his own living by picking the crocodile’s teeth.”“Ha-ha!” laughed Fitz. “’Pon my word, Poole, I should like to put this down.”“Oh, it don’t want no putting down, sir; it’s a fact; a cracker turns mouldy and drops off.”“Well, won’t this go bad?” cried Fitz, laughing.“Not it, sir. You don’t believe it, I see, but it’s all natur’. It’s a-using up of the good food as the croc don’t want, and which would all be wasted, for he ain’t a clean-feeding sort of beast. He takes his food in chops and chunks, and swallows it indecent-like all in lumps. A croc ain’t like a cow as sits down with her eyes half shut and chews and chews away, sentimental-like, turning herself into a dairy and making a good supply of beautiful milk such as we poor sailors never hardly gets a taste on in our tea. A croc is as bad as a shark, a nasty sort of feeder, and if I was you young gents I’d have a study when I got ashore again, and look in some of your big books, and you’d find what I says is all there.”“Did you find what you’ve been telling us all there?” said Poole.“Nay, my lad; I heard best part of it from my officer that I used to go with. Restless sort of chap he was—plenty of money, and he liked spending it in what he called exhibitions—No, that aren’t right—expeditions—that’s it; and he used to take me. What he wanted to find was what he called the Nile Sauce; but he never found it, and we never wanted it. My word, the annymiles as he used to shoot when we was hungry, and that was always. My word, the fires I used to make, and the way I used to cook! Why, I could have given the Camel fifty out of a hundred and beat him. We didn’t want any sauce. Did either of you gents ever taste heland steak? No, I suppose not. Fresh cut, frizzled brown, sprinkled with salt, made hotter with a dash of pepper, and then talk about juice and gravy! Lovely! Wish we’d got some now. Why, in some of our journeys up there in what you may call the land of nowhere and nobody, we was weeks sometimes without seeing a soul, only annymiles—ah, and miles and miles of them. I never see such droves and never shall again. They tell me that no end of them has got shot.—Beautiful creatures they were too! Such coats; and such long thin legs and arms, and the way they’d go over the sandy ground was wonderful. They never seemed to get tired. I’ve seen a drove of them go along like a hurricane, and when they have pulled up short to stare at us, and you’d think that they hadn’t got a bit of breath left in their bodies, they set-to larking, hip, snip, jumping over one another’s backs like a lot of school-boys at leap-frog, only ten times as high.”“Did you ever see any lions?” said Fitz, growing more serious as he began to realise that there was very little fiction and a great deal of fact in the sailor’s yarn.“Lots, sir. There have been times when you could hear them roaring all round our camp. Here, I want to speak the truth. My governor used to call it camp, but it was only a wagging, and we used to sleep on the sand among the wheels. Why, I’ve lain there with my hand making my gun rusty, it got so hot and wet with listening to them pretty pussy-cats come creeping round us, and one of them every now and then putting up his head and roaring till you could almost feel the ground shake. Ah, you may chuckle, Mr Poole, but that’s a fact too; I’ve felt it, and I know. And do you know why they roared?”“Because they were hungry?”“Partly, sir; but most of it’s artfulness. It’s because they know that it will make the bullocks break away—stampede, as they calls it—and rush off from where there’s people to take care of them with rifles, and then they can pick off just what they like. But they don’t care much about big bullock. They’ve got tasty ideas of their own, same as crocs have. What they likes is horse, and the horses knows it too, poor beggars! It’s been hard work to hold them sometimes—my governor’s horse, you know, as he hunted on; and I’ve heard them sigh and groan as if with satisfaction when the governor’s fired with his big double breech-loader and sent the lions off with their tails trailing behind and leaving a channel among their footprints in the sand. I’ve seen it, Mr Burnett, next morning, and I know.”“All right, Chips,” cried Poole. “We won’t laugh at you and your yarns. But now look here; there must be no more chaff. This is serious work.”“All right, sir,” said the man good-humouredly, as he wiped his dripping face. “No one can’t say as I aren’t working—not even old Butters.”“No, no,” said Poole hastily. “You are working well.”“And no one can’t say, sir, as I’ve got my grumbling stop out, which I do have sometimes,” he added, with a broad grin, “and lets go a bit.”“You do, Chips; but I want you to understand that this is a very serious bit of business we are on.”“O!”A very large, round, thoughtfulO, and the man hauled steadily away, nodding his head the while.“Serous, eh? Then you aren’t going fishing?”“Fishing, no!”“Then it’s something to do with the gunboat?”“Don’t ask questions,” cried Poole. “Be satisfied that we are going on a very serious expedition, and we want you to help us all you can.”“Of course, my lads. Shall I want my tools?”“No.”The man was silent for a few moments, looking keenly from one to the other, and then at the rope, before giving his leg a sharp slap, and whispering with his face full of animation—“Why, you’re going to steal aboard the gunboat in the dark, and make fast one end of this ’ere rope to that there big pocket-pistol, so as we can haul her overboard. But no, lads, it can’t be done. But even if it could it would only stick fast among them coral rocks that lie off yonder.”“And what would that matter, so long as we got it overboard?”“Ah, I never thought of that. But no, my lad; you may give that up. It couldn’t be done.”“Well, it isn’t going to be done,” said Fitz sharply; “and now let’s have no more talk. But mind this—Mr Poole and I don’t want you to say anything to the other men. It’s a serious business, and we want you to wait.”“That’s right, sir. I’ll wait and help you all I can; and I’ll make half-a-davy, as the lawyers calls it, that I won’t tell the other lads anything. ’Cause why—I don’t know.”
“Now we know,” said Poole joyously, as they left the cabin and went forward to their old place to discuss their plans: “what we have got to do is to cut and run. Come on; let’s go and sit on the bowsprit again. It will soon be dinner-time. I wonder what the Camel has got?”
“Oh, don’t talk about eating now,” cried Fitz, as they reached the big spar, upon which he scrambled out, to sit swinging his legs, and closely followed by Poole. “What’s the first thing?”
“Who’s to man the gig,” said Poole; “and I’ve got to pick the crew.”
“I should like to pick one,” cried Fitz.
“All right, go on; only don’t choose the Camel, nor Bob Jackson.”
“No, no; neither of them,” cried Fitz. “I say, we ought to have old Butters.”
“One,” said Poole sharply. “Now it’s my turn; Chips.”
“Yes, I should like to have him,” cried the middy. “But I don’t know,” he continued seriously. “He’s a splendid fellow, and so handy; but he might want to turn it all into a lark.”
“Not he,” cried Poole. “He likes his bit of fun sometimes, but for a good man and true to have at my back in a job like this, he’s the pick of the whole crew.”
“Chips it is, then,” said Fitz. “That’s two.”
“Dick Boulter, then.”
“Three!” cried Fitz.
“Harry Smith.”
“Four,” said Fitz.
“Four, four, four, four,” said Poole thoughtfully. “Who shall we have for number five? Here, we’ll have the Camel, after all.”
“Oh,” cried Fitz; “there’ll be nothing to cook.”
“Yes, there will; the big gun and the propeller. He’s cook, of course, but he’s nearly as good a seaman as there is on board the schooner, and he’ll row all right and never utter a word. There, we’ve got a splendid boat’s crew, and I vote we go and tell father what we’ve done.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Fitz. “It’ll make him think that we hadn’t confidence in ourselves. Unless he asks us, I wouldn’t say a word.”
“You are right,” said Poole; “right as right. Now then, what’s next? I know: we’ll go and make the lads get up the Manilla rope and lay it down again in rings as close as they’ll go.”
“On the deck here?” said Fitz.
“No, no; right along the bottom of the gig. And we must have her lowered down first with two men in her, ready to coil the cable as the others pass it down. Now then, let’s get inboard again and find old Butters.”
“But he’ll be wanting to know what we want with that rope.”
“Sure to,” said Poole; “but he’ll have to wait. Oh, here he comes. Here, bosun!” he cried. “I want you to get up that new Manilla cable, lower down the gig, and coil it in the bottom so that it will take up as little room as possible, and not be in the men’s way.”
“What men’s way?” said the boatswain. “Chips, Harry Smith, the Camel, and Dick Boulter,” said Poole.
“Ho!” grunted the boatswain, and he took off his cap and began to scratch his head, staring at both in turn. “Whose orders?” he grunted, at last. “I just seen Mr Burgess, and he never said a word.”
“The skipper’s orders,” cried Poole.
“Ho!” said the boatswain again. “Well, that’s good enough for me,” and he stood staring at them.
“Well, get the men together and see about the rope,” cried Poole.
“What’s your game? Going to take the end out to a steam-tug, or is the gunboat going to tow us out to sea?”
“Don’t ask questions, please. It’s private business of the skipper’s, under the orders of Mr Burnett and me.”
“Ho! All right, my lad; only oughtn’t I to know what we are going to do? You are going off somewhere in the boat, eh?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And I’m not to come?”
“Oh, but you are,” cried Poole, “and I’ve told you the men I’ve picked for the job. Don’t you think it’s a good crew?”
“Middling,” said the boatswain grudgingly. “Might be better; might be wuss. But look here, young fellow; I don’t like working in the dark.”
“I am sorry for you,” said Fitz, “for this will be an all-night job.”
“Then I’d better take my nightcap,” said the boatswain quietly. “But what’s up? Are you going to make fast to the gunboat and tow her in?”
“You know we are not,” replied Poole.
“Well, I did think it was rather an unpossible sort of job. But hadn’t you better be open and above-board with a man, and say what it all means?”
“It means that you and the other men are under the orders of Mr Burnett and me, and that we look to you to do your best over what’s going to be a particular venture. You’ll know soon enough. Till then, please wait.”
“All right,” said the boatswain. “I’m your man. For the skipper wouldn’t have given you these orders if it wasn’t square;” saying which the man walked off to rouse up the little crew, all but the Camel, whom he left to his regular work in the galley. “We shan’t want him yet,” said Butters, as the boys followed him. “Had he better get us some rations to take with us?”
“Oh no,” said Poole. “We oughtn’t to be away more than three or four hours if we are lucky.”
“Why, this ’ere gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser,” grumbled the boatswain. “But I suppose it’s going to be all right,” and he proceeded to give his orders to the men.
“Now we shall begin to have them full of questions,” said Poole. “I begin to wish we were making it all open and above-aboard.”
“I don’t,” said Fitz; “I like it as it is. If we told everybody it would spoil half the fun.”
“Fun!” cried Poole, screwing up his face into a quaint smile. “Fun, do you call it? Do you know that this is going to be a very risky job?”
“Well, I suppose there’ll be some risk in it,” replied the middy; “but it will be all in the dark, and we ought to get it done without a shot being fired. I say, though, I have been thinking that you and I must keep together, for I am afraid to trust myself over getting out that block. I should have liked to have done that first, but the splash it would make is bound to give the alarm, and there would be no chance afterwards to get that cable fast, without you let old Butters and the men do that while we were busy with the gun.”
“No,” said Poole decisively; “everything depends upon our doing these things ourselves. The cable can be made fast without a sound, and as soon as it is passed over the side of the boat, the men must lay the gig alongside the bows for us to swarm up, do our part, and then get to them the best way we can. I expect it will mean a jump overboard and a swim till they pick us up.”
“Yes,” said Fitz; “that’s right. Ah, there comes the end of the cable. It’s nice and soft to handle.”
“Yes,” said Poole, “and needn’t make any noise.”
The lads sauntered up to where the men were at work, three of them lowering down the gig, while the carpenter and boatswain were bringing up the cable out of the tier, the former on deck, the boatswain down below.
“So you’re going to have a night’s fishing, my lad?” said the carpenter. “Well, you’ll find this ’ere a splendid line. But what about a hook?”
“Oh, we shan’t want that yet, Chips,” said Poole coolly.
“Nay, I know that, my lad; but you’ve got to think about it all the same, and you’ll want a pretty tidy one for a line like this. I didn’t know the fish run so big along this coast. Any one would think you’d got whales in your heads. I never ’eard, though, as there was any harpoons on board.”
“Oh no, we are not going whale-fishing,” said Poole quietly.
“What’s it to be then, sir? Bottom fishing or top?”
“Top,” said Poole.
“Then you’ll be wanting me to make you a float. What’s it to be? One of them big water-barrels with the topsail-yard run through? And you’ll want a sinker. And what about a bait?”
“We haven’t thought about that yet, Chips.”
“Ah, you aren’t like what I was when I was a boy, Mr Poole, sir. I used to think about it the whole day before, and go to the butcher’s for my maggits, and down the garden for my wums. Of course I never fished in a big way like this ’ere; but I am thinking about a bait. I should like you to have good sport. Means hard work for the Camel to-morrow, I suppose.”
“And to-night too, Chips, I hope,” said Poole.
“That’s right, sir,” said the man cheerily, as he hauled upon the cable. “But what about that bait? I know what would be the right thing; perhaps the skipper mightn’t approve, and not being used to it Mr Burnett here mightn’t like to use such a bait.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose I should mind, Chips,” said Fitz, laughing. “What should you recommend?”
“Well, sir, I should say, have the dinghy and go up the river a mile or two till we could land and catch a nice lively little nigger—one of them very shiny ones. That would be the sort.”
The two lads forgot the seriousness of the mission they had in view, exchanged glances, and began to laugh, with the result that the man turned upon them quite an injured look.
“Oh, it’s quite right, gentlemen; fishes have their fancies and likings for a tasty bit, same as crocodiles has. I arn’t sailed all round the world without picking up a few odds and ends to pack up in my knowledge-box. Why, look at sharks. They don’t care for nigger; it’s too plentiful. But let them catch sight of a leg or a wing of a nice smart white sailor, they’re after it directly. Them crocs too! Only think of a big ugly lizardy-looking creetur boxed up in a skin half rhinoceros, half cow-horn—just fancy him having his fads and fancies! Do you know what the crocodile as lives in the river Nile thinks is the choicest tit-bit he can get hold of?”
“Not I,” said Poole. “Giraffe perhaps.”
“No, sir; what he says is dog, and if he only hears a dog running along the bank yelping and snapping and chy-iking, he’s after him directly, finishes him up, and then goes and lies down in the hot sun with his mouth wide open, and goes to sleep. Ah, you may laugh, sir; but I’ve been up there in one of them barges as they calls darbyers, though how they got hold of such an Irish name as that I don’t know. It was along with a orficer as went up there shooting crocs and pottomhouses. Oh, I’ve seen the crocs there often—lots of them. Do you know what they opens their mouths for when they goes to sleep, Mr Burnett, sir?”
“To yawn, I suppose,” said Fitz. “Haul away there, my lad! Look alive!” came in a deep growl from below; and Chips winked and made the great muscles stand out in his brown arms as he hauled, but kept on talking all the same.
“Yawn, sir! Nay, that isn’t it. It’s a curiosity in nat’ral history, and this ’ere’s fact. You young gents may believe it or not, just as you like.”
“Thank you,” said Fitz dryly; “I’ll take my choice.”
“Ah, I expect you won’t believe it, sir. But this ’ere’s what it’s for. He leaves his front-door wide open like that, and there’s a little bird with a long beak as has been waiting comes along, hippity-hop, and settles on the top of Mr Croc’s head, and looks at first one eye and then at the other to see if he’s really asleep, and that there is no gammon. He aren’t a-going to run no risks, knowing as he does that a croc’s about one of the artfullest beggars as ever lived. I suppose that’s why they calls ’em amphibious. Oh, they’re rum ’uns, they are! They can sham being dead, and make theirselves look like logs of wood with the rough bark on, and play at being in great trouble and cry, so as to get people to come nigh them to help, and then snip, snap, they has ’em by the leg, takes them under water to drown, and then goes and puts ’em away in the cupboard under the bank.”
“What for?” said Poole.
“What for, sir? Why, to keep till they gets tender. Them there Errubs of the desert gets so sun-tanned that they are as tough as string; so hard, you know, that they wouldn’t even agree with a croc. Yo-hoy! Haul oh, and here she comes!” added the man, in a low musical bass voice to himself, as he kept on dragging at the soft Manilla rope.
“I say, Burnett,” said Poole seriously, “don’t you think we’d better get pencil and paper and put all this down—Natural History Notes by Peter Winks, Head Carpenter of the SchoonerTeal?”
“Nay, nay, sir, don’t you do that. Stick to fact. That’s what I don’t like in people as writes books about travel. They do paint it up so, and lay it on so thick that the stuff cracks, comes off, and don’t look nat’ral.”
“Then you wouldn’t put down about that little bird that comes hippity-hop and looks at the crocodile’s eyes?”
“What, sir! Why, that’s the best part of it. That’s the crumb of the whole business.”
“Oh, I see,” said Fitz. “Then that’s a fact?”
“To be sure, sir. He’s larnt it from old experience. I dare say he’s seen lots go down through the croc turning them big jaws of his into a bird-trap and shutting them up sudden, when of course there aren’t no more bird. But that’s been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, and the birds know better now, and wait till it’s quite safe before they begin.”
“Begin what?” said Fitz sharply.
“Well, sir,” said the carpenter, as he hauled away, “that’s what I want to tell you, only you keep on interrupting me so.”
Fitz closed his teeth with a snap.
“Go on, Chips,” he said. “I’ll be mute as a fish.”
“Well, sir, as I said afore, you young gents can believe it or you can let it alone: that there little bird, or them little birds, for there’s thousands of them, just the same as there is crocodiles, and they are all friendly together, I suppose because crocs is like birds in one thing—they makes nests and lays eggs, and the birds, as I’m telling of you, does this as reg’lar as clockwork. When the croc’s had his dinner and gone to sleep with his front-door wide open, the little chap comes hopping and peeping along close round the edge, and then gets his own living by picking the crocodile’s teeth.”
“Ha-ha!” laughed Fitz. “’Pon my word, Poole, I should like to put this down.”
“Oh, it don’t want no putting down, sir; it’s a fact; a cracker turns mouldy and drops off.”
“Well, won’t this go bad?” cried Fitz, laughing.
“Not it, sir. You don’t believe it, I see, but it’s all natur’. It’s a-using up of the good food as the croc don’t want, and which would all be wasted, for he ain’t a clean-feeding sort of beast. He takes his food in chops and chunks, and swallows it indecent-like all in lumps. A croc ain’t like a cow as sits down with her eyes half shut and chews and chews away, sentimental-like, turning herself into a dairy and making a good supply of beautiful milk such as we poor sailors never hardly gets a taste on in our tea. A croc is as bad as a shark, a nasty sort of feeder, and if I was you young gents I’d have a study when I got ashore again, and look in some of your big books, and you’d find what I says is all there.”
“Did you find what you’ve been telling us all there?” said Poole.
“Nay, my lad; I heard best part of it from my officer that I used to go with. Restless sort of chap he was—plenty of money, and he liked spending it in what he called exhibitions—No, that aren’t right—expeditions—that’s it; and he used to take me. What he wanted to find was what he called the Nile Sauce; but he never found it, and we never wanted it. My word, the annymiles as he used to shoot when we was hungry, and that was always. My word, the fires I used to make, and the way I used to cook! Why, I could have given the Camel fifty out of a hundred and beat him. We didn’t want any sauce. Did either of you gents ever taste heland steak? No, I suppose not. Fresh cut, frizzled brown, sprinkled with salt, made hotter with a dash of pepper, and then talk about juice and gravy! Lovely! Wish we’d got some now. Why, in some of our journeys up there in what you may call the land of nowhere and nobody, we was weeks sometimes without seeing a soul, only annymiles—ah, and miles and miles of them. I never see such droves and never shall again. They tell me that no end of them has got shot.—Beautiful creatures they were too! Such coats; and such long thin legs and arms, and the way they’d go over the sandy ground was wonderful. They never seemed to get tired. I’ve seen a drove of them go along like a hurricane, and when they have pulled up short to stare at us, and you’d think that they hadn’t got a bit of breath left in their bodies, they set-to larking, hip, snip, jumping over one another’s backs like a lot of school-boys at leap-frog, only ten times as high.”
“Did you ever see any lions?” said Fitz, growing more serious as he began to realise that there was very little fiction and a great deal of fact in the sailor’s yarn.
“Lots, sir. There have been times when you could hear them roaring all round our camp. Here, I want to speak the truth. My governor used to call it camp, but it was only a wagging, and we used to sleep on the sand among the wheels. Why, I’ve lain there with my hand making my gun rusty, it got so hot and wet with listening to them pretty pussy-cats come creeping round us, and one of them every now and then putting up his head and roaring till you could almost feel the ground shake. Ah, you may chuckle, Mr Poole, but that’s a fact too; I’ve felt it, and I know. And do you know why they roared?”
“Because they were hungry?”
“Partly, sir; but most of it’s artfulness. It’s because they know that it will make the bullocks break away—stampede, as they calls it—and rush off from where there’s people to take care of them with rifles, and then they can pick off just what they like. But they don’t care much about big bullock. They’ve got tasty ideas of their own, same as crocs have. What they likes is horse, and the horses knows it too, poor beggars! It’s been hard work to hold them sometimes—my governor’s horse, you know, as he hunted on; and I’ve heard them sigh and groan as if with satisfaction when the governor’s fired with his big double breech-loader and sent the lions off with their tails trailing behind and leaving a channel among their footprints in the sand. I’ve seen it, Mr Burnett, next morning, and I know.”
“All right, Chips,” cried Poole. “We won’t laugh at you and your yarns. But now look here; there must be no more chaff. This is serious work.”
“All right, sir,” said the man good-humouredly, as he wiped his dripping face. “No one can’t say as I aren’t working—not even old Butters.”
“No, no,” said Poole hastily. “You are working well.”
“And no one can’t say, sir, as I’ve got my grumbling stop out, which I do have sometimes,” he added, with a broad grin, “and lets go a bit.”
“You do, Chips; but I want you to understand that this is a very serious bit of business we are on.”
“O!”
A very large, round, thoughtfulO, and the man hauled steadily away, nodding his head the while.
“Serous, eh? Then you aren’t going fishing?”
“Fishing, no!”
“Then it’s something to do with the gunboat?”
“Don’t ask questions,” cried Poole. “Be satisfied that we are going on a very serious expedition, and we want you to help us all you can.”
“Of course, my lads. Shall I want my tools?”
“No.”
The man was silent for a few moments, looking keenly from one to the other, and then at the rope, before giving his leg a sharp slap, and whispering with his face full of animation—
“Why, you’re going to steal aboard the gunboat in the dark, and make fast one end of this ’ere rope to that there big pocket-pistol, so as we can haul her overboard. But no, lads, it can’t be done. But even if it could it would only stick fast among them coral rocks that lie off yonder.”
“And what would that matter, so long as we got it overboard?”
“Ah, I never thought of that. But no, my lad; you may give that up. It couldn’t be done.”
“Well, it isn’t going to be done,” said Fitz sharply; “and now let’s have no more talk. But mind this—Mr Poole and I don’t want you to say anything to the other men. It’s a serious business, and we want you to wait.”
“That’s right, sir. I’ll wait and help you all I can; and I’ll make half-a-davy, as the lawyers calls it, that I won’t tell the other lads anything. ’Cause why—I don’t know.”
Chapter Forty Eight.Very wrong.Very little more was said, and the preparations were soon finished, with the rest of the crew looking on in silence. It seemed to be an understood thing, after a few words had passed with the selected men, that there was to be no palaver, as they termed it.As for Fitz and Poole, they had nothing to do but think, and naturally they thought a great deal, especially when the night came on, with the watching party who had been sent below to the mouth of the river back with the announcement that the gunboat was in its old place, the boats all up to the davits, and not a sign of anything going on. But far from taking this as a token of safety, the skipper and mate made their arrangements to give the enemy a warm welcome if they should attack, and also despatched a couple of men in the dinghy to make fast just off the edge of the first bend and keep watch there, trusting well to their ears for the first warning of any boat that might be coming up.The two lads stole away into their favourite place for consultations as soon as it was dark, to have what they called a quiet chat over their plans.“I don’t see that we could do any more,” said Fitz, “but we must keep talking about it. The time goes so horribly slowly. Generally speaking when you are expecting anything it goes so fast; now it crawls as if the time would never be here.”“Well, that’s queer,” said Poole. “Ever since I knew that we were going it has seemed to gallop.”“Well, whether it gallops or whether it crawls it can’t be very long before it’s time to start. I say, how do you feel?”“Horrible,” said Poole. “It makes me think that I must be a bit of a coward, for I want to shirk the responsibility and be under somebody’s command. My part seems to be too much for a fellow like me to undertake. You don’t feel like that, of course.”Fitz sat there in the darkness for a few minutes without speaking. Then after heaving a deep sigh—“I say,” he whispered, “shall you think me a coward if I say I feel just like that?”“No. Feeling as I do, of course I can’t.”“Well, that’s just how I am,” said Fitz. “Sometimes I feel as if I were quite a man, but now it’s as if I was never so young before, and that it is too much for chaps like us to understand such a thing.”“Then if we are both like that,” said Poole sadly, “I suppose we ought to be honest and go straight to the dad and tell him that we don’t feel up to it. What do you say?”“What!” cried Fitz. “Go and tell him coolly that we are a pair of cowardly boys, for him and Mr Burgess to laugh at, and the men—for they’d be sure to hear—to think of us always afterwards as a pair of curs? I’d go and be killed first! And so would you; so don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”“Not going to,” said Poole. “I’ll only own up that I’m afraid of the job; but as we’ve proposed it, and it would be doing so much good if we were to succeed, I mean to go splash at it and carry it through to the end. You will too, won’t you?”“Yes, of course.”There was a slight rustling sound then, caused by the two lads reaching towards one another and joining hands in a long firm grip.“Hah!” exclaimed Fitz, with a long-drawn expiration of the breath. “I’m glad I’ve got that off my mind. I feel better now.”“Same here. Now, what shall we do next? Go and talk to old Butters and tell him what we want him to do?”“No,” cried Fitz excitedly. “You forget that we are in command. We’ve no business to do anything till the time comes, and then give the men their orders sharp and short, as if we were two skippers.”“Ah, yes,” said Poole, “that’s right. That’s what I want to do, only it seems all so new.”“I tell you what, though,” said Fitz. “We shall be going for hours and hours without getting anything, and that’ll make us done up and weak. I vote that as we are to do as we like, we go and stir up the Camel and tell him to send us in a nice meal to the cabin.”“But it isn’t long since we had something,” suggested Poole.“Yes, but neither of us could eat nor enjoy it. I couldn’t, and I was watching you; but I feel that I could eat now, so come on. It’ll help to pass the time, and make us fit to do anything.”“All right,” said Poole, and they fetched Andy from where he was sitting forward talking in whispers with his messmates, told him what they wanted, and ordered him to prepare a sort of tea-supper for the little crew of the gig.The Camel was ready enough, and within half-an-hour the two lads were doing what Poole termed stowing cargo, the said cargo consisting of rashers of prime fried ham, cold bread-cake, hot coffee and preserved milk.They did good justice to the meal too, and before they had ended the skipper came down to them, looked on for a minute or two, and then nodded his satisfaction.“That looks well, my lads,” he said. “It’s business-like, and as if your hearts were so much in your work that you didn’t feel disposed to shirk it. It makes me comfortable, for I was getting a little nervous about you, I must own.”The boys exchanged glances, but said nothing.“Here, don’t mind me,” continued the skipper. “Make a good hearty meal, and I’ll talk to you as you eat.”“About our going and what we are about to do, father?” said Poole.“Well, my boy, yes, of course.”“I wish you wouldn’t, father. It’s too late now to be planning and altering, and that sort of thing.”“Yes, please, Captain Reed,” cried Fitz excitedly. “It’s like lessons at school. We ought to know what we’ve got to do by now, and learning at the last minute won’t do a bit of good. If we succeed we succeed, and if we fail we fail.”“Do you know what a big writer said, my boy, when one of his characters was going off upon an expedition?”“No, sir,” said Fitz.“Good luck to you, perhaps,” said Poole, laughing, though the laugh was not cheery.“No, my lad,” said the skipper. “I have not been much of a reader, and I’m not very good at remembering wise people’s sayings, but he said to the young fellow when he talked as you did about failing, ‘In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail,’ which I suppose was a fine way of saying, Go and do what you have got to do, and never think of not succeeding. You’re not going to fail. You mustn’t. There’s too much hanging to it, my boys; and now I quite agree with you that we’ll let things go as they are.”
Very little more was said, and the preparations were soon finished, with the rest of the crew looking on in silence. It seemed to be an understood thing, after a few words had passed with the selected men, that there was to be no palaver, as they termed it.
As for Fitz and Poole, they had nothing to do but think, and naturally they thought a great deal, especially when the night came on, with the watching party who had been sent below to the mouth of the river back with the announcement that the gunboat was in its old place, the boats all up to the davits, and not a sign of anything going on. But far from taking this as a token of safety, the skipper and mate made their arrangements to give the enemy a warm welcome if they should attack, and also despatched a couple of men in the dinghy to make fast just off the edge of the first bend and keep watch there, trusting well to their ears for the first warning of any boat that might be coming up.
The two lads stole away into their favourite place for consultations as soon as it was dark, to have what they called a quiet chat over their plans.
“I don’t see that we could do any more,” said Fitz, “but we must keep talking about it. The time goes so horribly slowly. Generally speaking when you are expecting anything it goes so fast; now it crawls as if the time would never be here.”
“Well, that’s queer,” said Poole. “Ever since I knew that we were going it has seemed to gallop.”
“Well, whether it gallops or whether it crawls it can’t be very long before it’s time to start. I say, how do you feel?”
“Horrible,” said Poole. “It makes me think that I must be a bit of a coward, for I want to shirk the responsibility and be under somebody’s command. My part seems to be too much for a fellow like me to undertake. You don’t feel like that, of course.”
Fitz sat there in the darkness for a few minutes without speaking. Then after heaving a deep sigh—
“I say,” he whispered, “shall you think me a coward if I say I feel just like that?”
“No. Feeling as I do, of course I can’t.”
“Well, that’s just how I am,” said Fitz. “Sometimes I feel as if I were quite a man, but now it’s as if I was never so young before, and that it is too much for chaps like us to understand such a thing.”
“Then if we are both like that,” said Poole sadly, “I suppose we ought to be honest and go straight to the dad and tell him that we don’t feel up to it. What do you say?”
“What!” cried Fitz. “Go and tell him coolly that we are a pair of cowardly boys, for him and Mr Burgess to laugh at, and the men—for they’d be sure to hear—to think of us always afterwards as a pair of curs? I’d go and be killed first! And so would you; so don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”
“Not going to,” said Poole. “I’ll only own up that I’m afraid of the job; but as we’ve proposed it, and it would be doing so much good if we were to succeed, I mean to go splash at it and carry it through to the end. You will too, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
There was a slight rustling sound then, caused by the two lads reaching towards one another and joining hands in a long firm grip.
“Hah!” exclaimed Fitz, with a long-drawn expiration of the breath. “I’m glad I’ve got that off my mind. I feel better now.”
“Same here. Now, what shall we do next? Go and talk to old Butters and tell him what we want him to do?”
“No,” cried Fitz excitedly. “You forget that we are in command. We’ve no business to do anything till the time comes, and then give the men their orders sharp and short, as if we were two skippers.”
“Ah, yes,” said Poole, “that’s right. That’s what I want to do, only it seems all so new.”
“I tell you what, though,” said Fitz. “We shall be going for hours and hours without getting anything, and that’ll make us done up and weak. I vote that as we are to do as we like, we go and stir up the Camel and tell him to send us in a nice meal to the cabin.”
“But it isn’t long since we had something,” suggested Poole.
“Yes, but neither of us could eat nor enjoy it. I couldn’t, and I was watching you; but I feel that I could eat now, so come on. It’ll help to pass the time, and make us fit to do anything.”
“All right,” said Poole, and they fetched Andy from where he was sitting forward talking in whispers with his messmates, told him what they wanted, and ordered him to prepare a sort of tea-supper for the little crew of the gig.
The Camel was ready enough, and within half-an-hour the two lads were doing what Poole termed stowing cargo, the said cargo consisting of rashers of prime fried ham, cold bread-cake, hot coffee and preserved milk.
They did good justice to the meal too, and before they had ended the skipper came down to them, looked on for a minute or two, and then nodded his satisfaction.
“That looks well, my lads,” he said. “It’s business-like, and as if your hearts were so much in your work that you didn’t feel disposed to shirk it. It makes me comfortable, for I was getting a little nervous about you, I must own.”
The boys exchanged glances, but said nothing.
“Here, don’t mind me,” continued the skipper. “Make a good hearty meal, and I’ll talk to you as you eat.”
“About our going and what we are about to do, father?” said Poole.
“Well, my boy, yes, of course.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, father. It’s too late now to be planning and altering, and that sort of thing.”
“Yes, please, Captain Reed,” cried Fitz excitedly. “It’s like lessons at school. We ought to know what we’ve got to do by now, and learning at the last minute won’t do a bit of good. If we succeed we succeed, and if we fail we fail.”
“Do you know what a big writer said, my boy, when one of his characters was going off upon an expedition?”
“No, sir,” said Fitz.
“Good luck to you, perhaps,” said Poole, laughing, though the laugh was not cheery.
“No, my lad,” said the skipper. “I have not been much of a reader, and I’m not very good at remembering wise people’s sayings, but he said to the young fellow when he talked as you did about failing, ‘In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail,’ which I suppose was a fine way of saying, Go and do what you have got to do, and never think of not succeeding. You’re not going to fail. You mustn’t. There’s too much hanging to it, my boys; and now I quite agree with you that we’ll let things go as they are.”
Chapter Forty Nine.Chips sniffs.The silence and darkness made the lads’ start for their venturesome expedition doubly impressive, the more so that the men were looking on in silence and wonder, and no light was shown on board the schooner. The gig with its load of cable had been swinging for hours by the painter, and midnight was near at hand, when the little crew, each armed with cutlass and revolver, stood waiting for their orders to slip down into their seats.This order came at last, accompanied by one command from the skipper, and it was this—“Perfect silence, my lads. Obey orders, and do your best.—Now, my boys,” he continued, as soon as the men were in the boat, “do not fire a shot unless you are absolutely obliged. Mr Burgess will follow in the large boat with a dozen men, to lie off the mouth of the river ready to help you if you are in trouble; so make for there. If you want to signal to them to come to you, strike a couple of matches one after the other, and throw them into the water at once. Last night the gunboat did not show a light. I expect that it will be the same to-night, as they will think they are safer; but I fancy amongst you, you will have eyes sharp enough to make her out, and the darkness will be your best friend, so I hope the sea will not brime. There, your hand, Mr Burnett. Now yours, Poole, my boy. Over with you at once.”The next minute the boys had slid down into the boat, to seat themselves in the stern-sheets with the boatswain; the carpenter pulled the stroke oar, so that he was within reach if they wished to speak, and with the boatswain taking the rudder-lines they glided slowly down the stream.“Tell them just to dip their oars to keep her head straight, boatswain,” said Poole quietly. “We have plenty of time, and we had better keep out in mid-stream. A sharp look-out for anything coming up.”“Ay, ay, my lad,” was the reply, and they seemed to slip on into the black darkness which rose before them like a wall, while overhead, like a deep purple band studded with gold, the sky stretched from cliff to cliff of the deep ravine through which the river ran.“Now, Poole,” said Fitz suddenly, speaking in a low voice, almost a whisper, “you had better say a word or two to Mr Butters about the work we are on.”“No,” replied Poole; “it was your idea, and you’re accustomed to take command of a boat, so you had better speak, for the boatswain and the carpenter ought to know. The other men will have nothing to do but manage the gig—”“Hah!” ejaculated the boatswain, in a deep sigh, while Chips, who had heard every word, only gave vent to a sniff.Fitz coughed slightly, as if troubled with something that checked his breath.“Then look here, Mr Butters,” he said quickly; “we’re off to disable the gunboat yonder, and do two things.”“Good!” came like a croak.“First thing is to foul the screw.”There was another croak, followed by—“Lay that there cable so that she tangles herself up first time she turns. That’s one.”Fitz coughed again slightly.“You will run the boat up in silence, the men will hold on, while you and Chips make fast the end to one of the fans, and then let the cable glide out into the water as we pass round to the bows. It must all be done without a sound. All the rope must be run out, to sink, and then I propose that you hold on again under the starboard anchor.”“Suppose starboard anchor’s down?” growled the boatswain.“Pass the boat round to the port; either will do; but if we are seen or heard, all is over.”“Won’t be seen,” growled the boatswain. “It’s black enough to puzzle a cat.”“Very well, then—heard,” continued Fitz.“Right, sir. What next?”“There are no more orders. You will hold on while Mr Poole and I get aboard. We shall do the rest.”“Hah!” sighed the boatswain; and like an echo came a similar sound from the carpenter.Thenpat, pat, patcame the kissing of the water against the bows of the gig, and the sides of the ravine seemed as weird and strange as ever, while the darkness if anything grew more profound.At this point, with the boat gliding swiftly down stream, Poole leaned sideways to run his hand down Fitz’s sleeve, feel for his hand, and give it a warm pressure, which was returned.Then they went on round bend after bend, the current keeping them pretty well in the centre, till at last the final curve was reached, the starry band overhead seemed to have suddenly grown wider and the air less oppressive, both hints that they were getting out to sea, and that the time for the performance of the daring enterprise was close at hand.Most fortunately the sea did not “brime,” as the West-countrymen say, when the very meshes of their nets turn into threads of gold through the presence of the myriad phosphorescent creatures that swarm so thickly at times that the surface of the sea looks as if it could be skimmed to clear it of so much lambent liquid gold.This was what was wanted, for with a phosphorescent sea, every dip of the oar, every wavelet which broke against the boat, would have served as signal to warn the watch on board the gunboat that enemies were near.But unfortunately, on the other hand, there was the darkness profound, and not the scintillation of a riding light to show where the gunboat lay. They knew that she was about two miles from shore, and as nearly as could be made out just at the mouth of the channel along which theTealhad been piloted to enable her to reach the sanctuary in which she lay.But where was she now? The answer did not come to the watchers who with straining eyes strove to make out the long, low, dark hull, the one mast, and the dwarfed and massive funnel, but strove in vain.Fitz’s heart sank, for the successful issue of his exploit seemed to be fading away, and minute by minute it grew more evident that there was not the slightest likelihood of their discovering the object of their search; so that in a voice tinged by the despair he felt, he whispered his orders to the boatswain to tell the men to cease rowing.Then for what seemed to be quite a long space of time, they lay rising and falling upon the heaving sea, listening, straining their eyes, but all in vain; and at last, warned by the feeling that unless something was done they were bound to lose touch of their position when they wanted to make back for the mouth of the little river, Fitz whispered an order to the boatswain to keep the gig’s head straight off shore, and then turned to lay his hand on Poole’s shoulder and, with his lips close to his ear, whisper—“What’s to be done?”“Don’t know,” came back. “This is a regular floorer.”The boy’s heart sank lower still at this, but feeling that he was in command, he made an effort to pull himself together.“In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail,” seemed to begin ringing as if at a great distance into his ears, and he rose up in his place, steadied himself by a hand on his companion’s shoulder, and slowly swept the horizon; that is to say, the lower portion of the sky, to which the stars did not descend.In vain!There was no sign of gunboat funnel, nothing to help them in the least, and coming to the conclusion that their only chance of finding her was by quartering the sea as a sporting dog does a field, and at the same time telling himself that the task was hopeless, he bent down to try if he could get a hint from the boatswain, when he muttered to himself the words that had now ceased to ring, and his heart gave quite a jump. For apparently about a hundred yards away there appeared a faint speck of light which burned brightly for a few moments before with a sudden dart it described a curve, descending towards the level of the sea; and then all was black again.For a moment or two the darkness upon the sea seemed to lie there thicker and heavier than ever, till, faint, so dim that it was hardly visible, the lad was conscious of a tiny light which brightened slightly, grew dim, brightened again, and then the boatswain uttered a low “Hah!” and Chips sniffed softly, this time for a reason, for he was inhaling the aroma of a cigar, borne towards them upon the soft damp night air.The lads joined hands again, and in the warm pressure a thrill of exultation seemed to run from their fingers right up their arms and into their breasts, to set their hearts pumping with a heavy throb.Neither dared venture upon a whisper to inform his comrade of that which he already knew—that some one on board the gunboat was smoking, probably the officer of the watch, and that they must wait in the hope that he might go below after a look round, when there was still a possibility that the crew might sleep, or at least be sufficiently lax in their duty to enable the adventurers to carry out their plans. They could do nothing else, only wait; but as they waited, with Fitz still grasping his companion’s hand, they both became conscious of the fact that by slow degrees the glowing end of that cigar grew brighter; and the reason became patent—that the current running outward from the river, even at that distance from the shore, was bearing them almost imperceptibly nearer to where the gunboat lay.The idea was quite right, for fortune was after all favouring them, more than they dared to have hoped. All at once, as they were watching the glowing light, whose power rose and fell, those on board the gig were conscious of a slight jerk, accompanied by a grating sound. This was followed by a faint rustle from the fore part of the boat. What caused this, for a few moments no one in the after part could tell.They knew that they had run upon something, and by degrees Fitz worked out the mental problem in his mind, as with his heart beating fast he watched the glowing light, in expectation of some sign that the smoker had heard the sound as well.But he still smoked on, and nothing happened to the boat, which had careened over at first and threatened to capsize, but only resumed her level trim and completely reversed her position, head taking the place of stern, so that to continue to watch the light the middy had to wrench himself completely round; and then he grasped the fact that the current had carried them right on to the anchor-chain where it dipped beneath the surface, before bearing them onward, still to swing at ease.The man who acted as coxswain—the Camel to wit—having leaned over, grasped the chain-cable and almost without a sound made fast the painter to one of the links.
The silence and darkness made the lads’ start for their venturesome expedition doubly impressive, the more so that the men were looking on in silence and wonder, and no light was shown on board the schooner. The gig with its load of cable had been swinging for hours by the painter, and midnight was near at hand, when the little crew, each armed with cutlass and revolver, stood waiting for their orders to slip down into their seats.
This order came at last, accompanied by one command from the skipper, and it was this—
“Perfect silence, my lads. Obey orders, and do your best.—Now, my boys,” he continued, as soon as the men were in the boat, “do not fire a shot unless you are absolutely obliged. Mr Burgess will follow in the large boat with a dozen men, to lie off the mouth of the river ready to help you if you are in trouble; so make for there. If you want to signal to them to come to you, strike a couple of matches one after the other, and throw them into the water at once. Last night the gunboat did not show a light. I expect that it will be the same to-night, as they will think they are safer; but I fancy amongst you, you will have eyes sharp enough to make her out, and the darkness will be your best friend, so I hope the sea will not brime. There, your hand, Mr Burnett. Now yours, Poole, my boy. Over with you at once.”
The next minute the boys had slid down into the boat, to seat themselves in the stern-sheets with the boatswain; the carpenter pulled the stroke oar, so that he was within reach if they wished to speak, and with the boatswain taking the rudder-lines they glided slowly down the stream.
“Tell them just to dip their oars to keep her head straight, boatswain,” said Poole quietly. “We have plenty of time, and we had better keep out in mid-stream. A sharp look-out for anything coming up.”
“Ay, ay, my lad,” was the reply, and they seemed to slip on into the black darkness which rose before them like a wall, while overhead, like a deep purple band studded with gold, the sky stretched from cliff to cliff of the deep ravine through which the river ran.
“Now, Poole,” said Fitz suddenly, speaking in a low voice, almost a whisper, “you had better say a word or two to Mr Butters about the work we are on.”
“No,” replied Poole; “it was your idea, and you’re accustomed to take command of a boat, so you had better speak, for the boatswain and the carpenter ought to know. The other men will have nothing to do but manage the gig—”
“Hah!” ejaculated the boatswain, in a deep sigh, while Chips, who had heard every word, only gave vent to a sniff.
Fitz coughed slightly, as if troubled with something that checked his breath.
“Then look here, Mr Butters,” he said quickly; “we’re off to disable the gunboat yonder, and do two things.”
“Good!” came like a croak.
“First thing is to foul the screw.”
There was another croak, followed by—
“Lay that there cable so that she tangles herself up first time she turns. That’s one.”
Fitz coughed again slightly.
“You will run the boat up in silence, the men will hold on, while you and Chips make fast the end to one of the fans, and then let the cable glide out into the water as we pass round to the bows. It must all be done without a sound. All the rope must be run out, to sink, and then I propose that you hold on again under the starboard anchor.”
“Suppose starboard anchor’s down?” growled the boatswain.
“Pass the boat round to the port; either will do; but if we are seen or heard, all is over.”
“Won’t be seen,” growled the boatswain. “It’s black enough to puzzle a cat.”
“Very well, then—heard,” continued Fitz.
“Right, sir. What next?”
“There are no more orders. You will hold on while Mr Poole and I get aboard. We shall do the rest.”
“Hah!” sighed the boatswain; and like an echo came a similar sound from the carpenter.
Thenpat, pat, patcame the kissing of the water against the bows of the gig, and the sides of the ravine seemed as weird and strange as ever, while the darkness if anything grew more profound.
At this point, with the boat gliding swiftly down stream, Poole leaned sideways to run his hand down Fitz’s sleeve, feel for his hand, and give it a warm pressure, which was returned.
Then they went on round bend after bend, the current keeping them pretty well in the centre, till at last the final curve was reached, the starry band overhead seemed to have suddenly grown wider and the air less oppressive, both hints that they were getting out to sea, and that the time for the performance of the daring enterprise was close at hand.
Most fortunately the sea did not “brime,” as the West-countrymen say, when the very meshes of their nets turn into threads of gold through the presence of the myriad phosphorescent creatures that swarm so thickly at times that the surface of the sea looks as if it could be skimmed to clear it of so much lambent liquid gold.
This was what was wanted, for with a phosphorescent sea, every dip of the oar, every wavelet which broke against the boat, would have served as signal to warn the watch on board the gunboat that enemies were near.
But unfortunately, on the other hand, there was the darkness profound, and not the scintillation of a riding light to show where the gunboat lay. They knew that she was about two miles from shore, and as nearly as could be made out just at the mouth of the channel along which theTealhad been piloted to enable her to reach the sanctuary in which she lay.
But where was she now? The answer did not come to the watchers who with straining eyes strove to make out the long, low, dark hull, the one mast, and the dwarfed and massive funnel, but strove in vain.
Fitz’s heart sank, for the successful issue of his exploit seemed to be fading away, and minute by minute it grew more evident that there was not the slightest likelihood of their discovering the object of their search; so that in a voice tinged by the despair he felt, he whispered his orders to the boatswain to tell the men to cease rowing.
Then for what seemed to be quite a long space of time, they lay rising and falling upon the heaving sea, listening, straining their eyes, but all in vain; and at last, warned by the feeling that unless something was done they were bound to lose touch of their position when they wanted to make back for the mouth of the little river, Fitz whispered an order to the boatswain to keep the gig’s head straight off shore, and then turned to lay his hand on Poole’s shoulder and, with his lips close to his ear, whisper—
“What’s to be done?”
“Don’t know,” came back. “This is a regular floorer.”
The boy’s heart sank lower still at this, but feeling that he was in command, he made an effort to pull himself together.
“In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail,” seemed to begin ringing as if at a great distance into his ears, and he rose up in his place, steadied himself by a hand on his companion’s shoulder, and slowly swept the horizon; that is to say, the lower portion of the sky, to which the stars did not descend.
In vain!
There was no sign of gunboat funnel, nothing to help them in the least, and coming to the conclusion that their only chance of finding her was by quartering the sea as a sporting dog does a field, and at the same time telling himself that the task was hopeless, he bent down to try if he could get a hint from the boatswain, when he muttered to himself the words that had now ceased to ring, and his heart gave quite a jump. For apparently about a hundred yards away there appeared a faint speck of light which burned brightly for a few moments before with a sudden dart it described a curve, descending towards the level of the sea; and then all was black again.
For a moment or two the darkness upon the sea seemed to lie there thicker and heavier than ever, till, faint, so dim that it was hardly visible, the lad was conscious of a tiny light which brightened slightly, grew dim, brightened again, and then the boatswain uttered a low “Hah!” and Chips sniffed softly, this time for a reason, for he was inhaling the aroma of a cigar, borne towards them upon the soft damp night air.
The lads joined hands again, and in the warm pressure a thrill of exultation seemed to run from their fingers right up their arms and into their breasts, to set their hearts pumping with a heavy throb.
Neither dared venture upon a whisper to inform his comrade of that which he already knew—that some one on board the gunboat was smoking, probably the officer of the watch, and that they must wait in the hope that he might go below after a look round, when there was still a possibility that the crew might sleep, or at least be sufficiently lax in their duty to enable the adventurers to carry out their plans. They could do nothing else, only wait; but as they waited, with Fitz still grasping his companion’s hand, they both became conscious of the fact that by slow degrees the glowing end of that cigar grew brighter; and the reason became patent—that the current running outward from the river, even at that distance from the shore, was bearing them almost imperceptibly nearer to where the gunboat lay.
The idea was quite right, for fortune was after all favouring them, more than they dared to have hoped. All at once, as they were watching the glowing light, whose power rose and fell, those on board the gig were conscious of a slight jerk, accompanied by a grating sound. This was followed by a faint rustle from the fore part of the boat. What caused this, for a few moments no one in the after part could tell.
They knew that they had run upon something, and by degrees Fitz worked out the mental problem in his mind, as with his heart beating fast he watched the glowing light, in expectation of some sign that the smoker had heard the sound as well.
But he still smoked on, and nothing happened to the boat, which had careened over at first and threatened to capsize, but only resumed her level trim and completely reversed her position, head taking the place of stern, so that to continue to watch the light the middy had to wrench himself completely round; and then he grasped the fact that the current had carried them right on to the anchor-chain where it dipped beneath the surface, before bearing them onward, still to swing at ease.
The man who acted as coxswain—the Camel to wit—having leaned over, grasped the chain-cable and almost without a sound made fast the painter to one of the links.
Chapter Fifty.A daring deed.The brains of the other occupants of the boat had been as active as those of Fitz, and their owners had come to pretty well the same conclusion, as they all involuntarily lowered their heads and sat perfectly still listening, and hardly able to believe that the man who was smoking was not watching them and about to give the alarm.But the moments glided by and became minutes, while the silence on board the gunboat seemed painful. The perspiration stood upon Fitz’s brow, forming drops which gradually ran together and then began to trickle down the sides of his nose, tickling horribly; but he dared not even raise his hand to wipe them away.By degrees, though, all became convinced that they could not be seen, and something in the way of relief came at the end of about a quarter of an hour, when all at once the cigar in the man’s mouth glowed more brightly, and then brighter still as it made a rush through the air, describing a curve and falling into the sea, when the silence was broken by a hiss so faint that it was hardly heard, and by something else which was heard plainly.Some one, evidently the smoker, gave vent to a yawn, a Spanish yawn, no doubt, but as much like an English one as it could be. Then, just audible in the silence, there was the faint sound of feet, as of some one pacing up and down the deck, another yawn, and then utter silence once again.No one stirred in the gig; no one seemed to breathe; till at last Poole raised his hand to Fitz’s shoulder, leaned closer till he could place his lips close to his companion’s ear, and whispered softly—“I think they’ve let the fires out. I’ve been watching where the funnel must be, and I haven’t seen a spark come out.”Fitz changed his position a little so as to follow his companion’s example, and whispered in turn—“Nor I neither, but I fancy I can see a quivering glow, and I’ve smelt the sulphur quite plainly.”There was another pause, and Poole whispered—“Think there’s anybody on deck?”The answer came—“If there is he must be asleep.”“What about that chap who was smoking?”“I think after that last yawn he went below.”“Then isn’t it time we began?”Fitz whispered back—“Yes, if we are going to do anything; but our plans seem turned topsy-turvy. We are close to the bows, where we ought to get up for me to tackle the gun.”“Yes,” whispered Poole, “but if we do that there’ll be no chance afterwards to foul the screw; and that ought to be done, so that we can get rid of this cable. It will be horribly in the way if we have to row for our lives.”Fitz pressed his companion’s arm sharply, for at that moment there was another yawn from the gunboat’s deck, followed by a muttering grumbling sound as of two men talking, suggesting that one had woke the other, who was finding fault. But all sound died out, and then there was the deep silence once again.The lads waited till they thought all was safe, while their crew never stirred, and Poole whispered once more—“Well, what is to be done?”The next moment Fitz’s lips were sending tickling words into the lad’s ear, as he said sharply—“Mustn’t change—stick to our plans. I am going to tell Butters to work the boat alongside, and then pass her to the stern.”“Hah!” breathed Poole, as he listened for the faint rustle made by his companion in leaning towards the boatswain and whispering his commands.The next minute the boat was in motion, being paddled slowly towards the gunboat in a way the boys did not know till afterwards, for it was as if the gig as it lay there in the black darkness was some kind of fish, which had suddenly put its fins in motion, the five men having leaned sideways, each to lower a hand into the water and paddle the boat along without a sound.The darkness seemed to be as black as it could possibly be, but all at once, paradoxical as it may seem, it grew thicker, for a great black wall had suddenly appeared looming over the boat, and Poole put out his hand, to feel the cold armour-plating gliding by his fingers, as the men, to his astonishment, kept the craft in motion till they had passed right along and their progress was checked by the gig being laid bow-on beside the gunboat’s rudder; and as soon as the lads could fully realise their position they grasped the fact that the propeller must be just beneath the water the boat’s length in front of where they sat.Then silence once again, every one’s heart beating slowly, but with a dull heavy throb that seemed to send the blood rushing through the arteries and veins, producing in the case of the lads a sensation of dizziness that was some moments before it passed off, driven away as it was by the tension and the acute desire to grasp the slightest sound where there was none to grasp.Every one was waiting now—as all felt sure that so far they had not been heard—for the middy’s order to commence, while he felt as if he dared not give it, sitting there and letting the time glide by, convinced as he was now that the end of the Manilla cable could not be attached to one of the fans without their being heard, and in imagination he fancied the alarm spread, and saw his chance of ascending to the deck and reaching the gun, die away.Then he started, for Poole pinched his arm, sending a thrill through him, and as it were setting the whole of his human machine in action.“Now or never,” he said to himself, and leaning forward to the boatswain he whispered a few words in the man’s ear, with the result that a very faint rustling began, a sound so slight that it was almost inaudible to him who gave the order; but he could feel the boat move slightly, as it was held fast beside the rudder, and the next minute when the young captain of the adventure raised his hand—as he could not see—to feel how the boatswain was getting on, he touched nothing, for the big sturdy fellow was already half-way to the bows of the gig.Fitz breathed hard again, and listened trembling now lest they should fail; but all was perfectly still save that the boat rocked slightly, which rocking ceased and gave place to a quivering pulsation, as if the slight craft had been endowed with life. This went on while the two lads gazed forward and with their minds’ eyes saw the boatswain reach the bows and join the Camel, while two of the men who had not stirred from their places held on by the rudder and stern-post, one of them having felt about till his hand encountered a ring-bolt, into which he had thrust a finger to form a living hook.And as the lads watched they saw in imagination all that went on. They did not hear a sound, either in the bows or from above upon the gunboat’s deck, while the two handy men were hard at work laying out the rope that was already securely attached to the cable; and then came the first sound, just after the boat moved sharply, as if it had given a slight jump.The slight sound was the faintest of splashes, such as might have been caused by a small fish, and it was due to the end of the rope slipping down into the water, while the jump on the part of the boat was caused by its having been lightened of Chips’s weight, for he had drawn himself upwards by grasping the rudder, across which he now sat astride, to grip it with his knees. The man wanted no telling what to do. He had rehearsed it all mentally again and again, and quick and clever of finger, he passed the rope through the opening between rudder and stern-post, and drew upon it softly and steadily till he had it taut, and was dragging upon the cable. Old Burgess was working with him as if one mind animated the two bodies.He knew what would come, and waited as the spiral strands of the rope passed through his hand; and when it began to grow taut he was ready to raise up the end of the big soft cable, pass it upwards, and hold it in place, so that it gradually assumed the form of a loop some ten feet long, and it was the head of that loop that jammed as it was drawn tight against the opening between stern-post and rudder, and very slowly laced tightly in position by means of the rope.But this took time, and twice over Chips ceased working, as if he had failed; but it was only for a rest and a renewal of his strength, before he ceased for the third time and made a longer wait. But no one made a sign; no one stirred, though the two lads sat in agony, building up in imagination a very mountain of horror and despair branded failure in their minds, for they could hardly conceive that their plans were being carried out so silently and so well.At last Fitz gripped Poole’s arm again so as to whisper to him; but the whisper did not pass, for at that moment, after being perfectly still for some time, the boat began to pulsate again, for the carpenter was hard at work once more, his hands acting in combination with those of the boatswain, for, still very slowly, working like a piece of machinery, they began to haul upon the cable in the boat. At the first tightening that cable now seemed to begin to live like some huge serpent, and creep towards them, the life with which it was infused coming, however, from the Camel’s hands, as, feeling that it was wanted, he began to pass it along, raising each coil so that it should not touch against the gunwale of the boat, or scrape upon a thwart.He too knew what was going on, as between them, the boatswain in the bows, the carpenter still astride the upper portion of the rudder, they got up enough of the cable to form another loop, whose head was softly plunged down into the water, passed under one fan of the great screw and over another, and then, its elasticity permitting, drawn as tight as the men could work it.This feat was performed again, and as final security the boatswain formed a bight, which he thrust down and passed over the fan whose edge was almost level with the surface.Then as the boys sat breathing hard, and fancying that the daylight must be close at hand, the boat gave another jerk, careening over sideways towards the rudder, for the carpenter had slowly descended into the bows, to crouch down and rest.But the boatswain was still at work, with the Camel now for mate, and between them they two were keeping up the quivering motion of the gig, as, slowly and silently, they went on passing the thick soft Manilla cable over the side, to sink down into the sea until the last of the long snaky coils had gone.The announcement of this fact was conveyed to the two lads by the motion of the boat, Fitz learning it first by feeling his right hand as it hung over the side begin to pass steadily through the water, which rippled between his fingers; and as he snatched it out to stretch it forth as far as he could reach, he for a few moments touched nothing. Then it came in contact with the sides of the gunboat, and his heart gave a jump and his nerves thrilled, for he knew that the first act of their desperate venture was at an end, that the gig was gliding forward, paddled by the sailors’ hands, towards the gunboat’s bows, so as to reach one or other of the hanging anchors, up which he had engaged to scramble and get on board to do his part, which, now that the other had been achieved, seemed to be the most desperate of all.“I shall never be able to go through with it,” he seemed to groan to himself in his despair; but at that moment, as if by way of encouragement, he felt Poole’s hand grip his arm, and at the touch the remembrance of the skipper’s words thrilled through his nerves, to give him strength.The next moment he was sitting up firmly and bravely in his place, tucking up his cuffs as if for the fight, as he softly muttered—“There is no such word as fail.”
The brains of the other occupants of the boat had been as active as those of Fitz, and their owners had come to pretty well the same conclusion, as they all involuntarily lowered their heads and sat perfectly still listening, and hardly able to believe that the man who was smoking was not watching them and about to give the alarm.
But the moments glided by and became minutes, while the silence on board the gunboat seemed painful. The perspiration stood upon Fitz’s brow, forming drops which gradually ran together and then began to trickle down the sides of his nose, tickling horribly; but he dared not even raise his hand to wipe them away.
By degrees, though, all became convinced that they could not be seen, and something in the way of relief came at the end of about a quarter of an hour, when all at once the cigar in the man’s mouth glowed more brightly, and then brighter still as it made a rush through the air, describing a curve and falling into the sea, when the silence was broken by a hiss so faint that it was hardly heard, and by something else which was heard plainly.
Some one, evidently the smoker, gave vent to a yawn, a Spanish yawn, no doubt, but as much like an English one as it could be. Then, just audible in the silence, there was the faint sound of feet, as of some one pacing up and down the deck, another yawn, and then utter silence once again.
No one stirred in the gig; no one seemed to breathe; till at last Poole raised his hand to Fitz’s shoulder, leaned closer till he could place his lips close to his companion’s ear, and whispered softly—
“I think they’ve let the fires out. I’ve been watching where the funnel must be, and I haven’t seen a spark come out.”
Fitz changed his position a little so as to follow his companion’s example, and whispered in turn—
“Nor I neither, but I fancy I can see a quivering glow, and I’ve smelt the sulphur quite plainly.”
There was another pause, and Poole whispered—
“Think there’s anybody on deck?”
The answer came—
“If there is he must be asleep.”
“What about that chap who was smoking?”
“I think after that last yawn he went below.”
“Then isn’t it time we began?”
Fitz whispered back—
“Yes, if we are going to do anything; but our plans seem turned topsy-turvy. We are close to the bows, where we ought to get up for me to tackle the gun.”
“Yes,” whispered Poole, “but if we do that there’ll be no chance afterwards to foul the screw; and that ought to be done, so that we can get rid of this cable. It will be horribly in the way if we have to row for our lives.”
Fitz pressed his companion’s arm sharply, for at that moment there was another yawn from the gunboat’s deck, followed by a muttering grumbling sound as of two men talking, suggesting that one had woke the other, who was finding fault. But all sound died out, and then there was the deep silence once again.
The lads waited till they thought all was safe, while their crew never stirred, and Poole whispered once more—“Well, what is to be done?”
The next moment Fitz’s lips were sending tickling words into the lad’s ear, as he said sharply—
“Mustn’t change—stick to our plans. I am going to tell Butters to work the boat alongside, and then pass her to the stern.”
“Hah!” breathed Poole, as he listened for the faint rustle made by his companion in leaning towards the boatswain and whispering his commands.
The next minute the boat was in motion, being paddled slowly towards the gunboat in a way the boys did not know till afterwards, for it was as if the gig as it lay there in the black darkness was some kind of fish, which had suddenly put its fins in motion, the five men having leaned sideways, each to lower a hand into the water and paddle the boat along without a sound.
The darkness seemed to be as black as it could possibly be, but all at once, paradoxical as it may seem, it grew thicker, for a great black wall had suddenly appeared looming over the boat, and Poole put out his hand, to feel the cold armour-plating gliding by his fingers, as the men, to his astonishment, kept the craft in motion till they had passed right along and their progress was checked by the gig being laid bow-on beside the gunboat’s rudder; and as soon as the lads could fully realise their position they grasped the fact that the propeller must be just beneath the water the boat’s length in front of where they sat.
Then silence once again, every one’s heart beating slowly, but with a dull heavy throb that seemed to send the blood rushing through the arteries and veins, producing in the case of the lads a sensation of dizziness that was some moments before it passed off, driven away as it was by the tension and the acute desire to grasp the slightest sound where there was none to grasp.
Every one was waiting now—as all felt sure that so far they had not been heard—for the middy’s order to commence, while he felt as if he dared not give it, sitting there and letting the time glide by, convinced as he was now that the end of the Manilla cable could not be attached to one of the fans without their being heard, and in imagination he fancied the alarm spread, and saw his chance of ascending to the deck and reaching the gun, die away.
Then he started, for Poole pinched his arm, sending a thrill through him, and as it were setting the whole of his human machine in action.
“Now or never,” he said to himself, and leaning forward to the boatswain he whispered a few words in the man’s ear, with the result that a very faint rustling began, a sound so slight that it was almost inaudible to him who gave the order; but he could feel the boat move slightly, as it was held fast beside the rudder, and the next minute when the young captain of the adventure raised his hand—as he could not see—to feel how the boatswain was getting on, he touched nothing, for the big sturdy fellow was already half-way to the bows of the gig.
Fitz breathed hard again, and listened trembling now lest they should fail; but all was perfectly still save that the boat rocked slightly, which rocking ceased and gave place to a quivering pulsation, as if the slight craft had been endowed with life. This went on while the two lads gazed forward and with their minds’ eyes saw the boatswain reach the bows and join the Camel, while two of the men who had not stirred from their places held on by the rudder and stern-post, one of them having felt about till his hand encountered a ring-bolt, into which he had thrust a finger to form a living hook.
And as the lads watched they saw in imagination all that went on. They did not hear a sound, either in the bows or from above upon the gunboat’s deck, while the two handy men were hard at work laying out the rope that was already securely attached to the cable; and then came the first sound, just after the boat moved sharply, as if it had given a slight jump.
The slight sound was the faintest of splashes, such as might have been caused by a small fish, and it was due to the end of the rope slipping down into the water, while the jump on the part of the boat was caused by its having been lightened of Chips’s weight, for he had drawn himself upwards by grasping the rudder, across which he now sat astride, to grip it with his knees. The man wanted no telling what to do. He had rehearsed it all mentally again and again, and quick and clever of finger, he passed the rope through the opening between rudder and stern-post, and drew upon it softly and steadily till he had it taut, and was dragging upon the cable. Old Burgess was working with him as if one mind animated the two bodies.
He knew what would come, and waited as the spiral strands of the rope passed through his hand; and when it began to grow taut he was ready to raise up the end of the big soft cable, pass it upwards, and hold it in place, so that it gradually assumed the form of a loop some ten feet long, and it was the head of that loop that jammed as it was drawn tight against the opening between stern-post and rudder, and very slowly laced tightly in position by means of the rope.
But this took time, and twice over Chips ceased working, as if he had failed; but it was only for a rest and a renewal of his strength, before he ceased for the third time and made a longer wait. But no one made a sign; no one stirred, though the two lads sat in agony, building up in imagination a very mountain of horror and despair branded failure in their minds, for they could hardly conceive that their plans were being carried out so silently and so well.
At last Fitz gripped Poole’s arm again so as to whisper to him; but the whisper did not pass, for at that moment, after being perfectly still for some time, the boat began to pulsate again, for the carpenter was hard at work once more, his hands acting in combination with those of the boatswain, for, still very slowly, working like a piece of machinery, they began to haul upon the cable in the boat. At the first tightening that cable now seemed to begin to live like some huge serpent, and creep towards them, the life with which it was infused coming, however, from the Camel’s hands, as, feeling that it was wanted, he began to pass it along, raising each coil so that it should not touch against the gunwale of the boat, or scrape upon a thwart.
He too knew what was going on, as between them, the boatswain in the bows, the carpenter still astride the upper portion of the rudder, they got up enough of the cable to form another loop, whose head was softly plunged down into the water, passed under one fan of the great screw and over another, and then, its elasticity permitting, drawn as tight as the men could work it.
This feat was performed again, and as final security the boatswain formed a bight, which he thrust down and passed over the fan whose edge was almost level with the surface.
Then as the boys sat breathing hard, and fancying that the daylight must be close at hand, the boat gave another jerk, careening over sideways towards the rudder, for the carpenter had slowly descended into the bows, to crouch down and rest.
But the boatswain was still at work, with the Camel now for mate, and between them they two were keeping up the quivering motion of the gig, as, slowly and silently, they went on passing the thick soft Manilla cable over the side, to sink down into the sea until the last of the long snaky coils had gone.
The announcement of this fact was conveyed to the two lads by the motion of the boat, Fitz learning it first by feeling his right hand as it hung over the side begin to pass steadily through the water, which rippled between his fingers; and as he snatched it out to stretch it forth as far as he could reach, he for a few moments touched nothing. Then it came in contact with the sides of the gunboat, and his heart gave a jump and his nerves thrilled, for he knew that the first act of their desperate venture was at an end, that the gig was gliding forward, paddled by the sailors’ hands, towards the gunboat’s bows, so as to reach one or other of the hanging anchors, up which he had engaged to scramble and get on board to do his part, which, now that the other had been achieved, seemed to be the most desperate of all.
“I shall never be able to go through with it,” he seemed to groan to himself in his despair; but at that moment, as if by way of encouragement, he felt Poole’s hand grip his arm, and at the touch the remembrance of the skipper’s words thrilled through his nerves, to give him strength.
The next moment he was sitting up firmly and bravely in his place, tucking up his cuffs as if for the fight, as he softly muttered—
“There is no such word as fail.”