Chapter Sixteen.Land ho!Two days passed, during which time Fitz kept to his cabin, and towards evening Poole came down, to find the middy seated with his back to the door gazing through the cabin-window at what seemed to be a beautiful blue cloud low-down on the horizon.“Hullo!” cried Poole cheerily. “You can see it, then?”“Yes,” said Fitz, without looking round. “That’s land, I suppose.”“Yes, that’s one of the islands; but look here, what’s the good of going on like this?”“If I choose to sit at my prison-window and look out for the islands, I suppose I have a right to do so,” said Fitz coldly.“I say, take care. Recollect you have not quite got your strength up again. Mind you don’t fall.”“May I inquire what you mean?” said Fitz haughtily.“Of course. I mean, take care you don’t tumble off the stilts now you have got on to them again.”“Bah!” ejaculated the boy.“Well, what’s the good of going on like that, sulking and pretending you are a prisoner?”“There’s no pretence in that,” said Fitz bitterly.“Yes, there is,” retorted Poole quickly. “It’s all shammon and gam—I mean, gammon and sham. You are no more a prisoner than I am. Why, even father says you seem to be riding the high horse. I suppose you do feel a bit awkward about coming on deck amongst the men, after going through that—I mean, after what happened.”“Oh, say it!” cried Fitz angrily. “After going through that performance, you meant.”“I am not going to argue and fence. Look here, you have got to face the men, so why not make a plunge and do it? You think the lads will be winking and exchanging glances and whispering to one another, when all the time there’s only one body on board theTealwho gives all that business a thought, and that’s you. Tchah! Sailors have no time to think about what’s past. They have always got to keep a sharp look-out for the rocks ahead. You are such a sensitive chap. Come on up, and let’s have a turn at fishing.”“Is your father quite well again?” said Fitz, without heeding his companion’s proposal.“Oh yes; that was only one of his fits. They come and go.”“And how’s Mr Burgess?”“Pretty well right again. Come up. Have the glass. You can see another island astern, one of the little ones, and I think we are going to have one of these lovely tropic sunsets, same as we had last night when you wouldn’t come and see it.”“How can a fellow situated as I am care for sunsets?”“Just in the same way as he can care for sunrises if he’s awake early enough. Oh, do pitch all that up! It has all gone by. But I see how it is. You think that you made a mistake, and that everybody will be ready to laugh at you.”“And so they will,” cried Fitz passionately. “I can never show my face on deck again.”“Ha, ha!” laughed Poole. “Well, you are a rum chap, fancying a thing like that. Why, my father’s too much of a gentleman ever to notice it again, and I’m sure old grumpy Burgess wouldn’t, from what he said to me when I was telling him all about it afterwards.”“What!” cried Fitz, flashing out. “You went down tale-bearing to the mate like that?”“There you go again! I didn’t go tale-bearing. He’d heard about it from one of the men, and next time I took him his quinine he began questioning me.”“And what did he say?” cried Fitz fiercely.“Shan’t tell you.”“What!” cried Fitz. “And you profess to be my friend!”“Yes; that’s why I won’t tell you,” said Poole, with his eyes twinkling. “I want to spare your feelings, or else it will make you so wild.”“The insolent piratical old scoundrel!” cried Fitz. “How dare he!”“Oh, don’t ask me. He’s a regular rough one with his tongue, as you know by the way in which he deals with the men; gives the dad the raspy side of his palaver sometimes, but dad never seems to mind it. He never takes any notice, because Burgess means right, and he’s such a splendid seaman.”“Means right!” cried Fitz angrily. “Is it right to abuse a prisoner behind his back when he’s not in a position to defend himself?”“Yes, it was too bad,” said Poole sympathetically.“What did he say?”“Oh, you had better not know,” replied Poole, winking to himself.“I insist upon your telling me.”“Oh, well, if you will have it—only don’t blame me afterwards for letting it out.”“What did he say?” repeated the boy.“It was while he had got a very bad fit of the shivers on, and the poor fellow’s teeth were all of a chatter with the fever.”“I think your teeth seem to be all of a chatter,” snarled the midshipman fiercely.“Ha, ha! You are a wonderful deal better, Queen’s man,” cried Poole merrily.“Have you come down here like the rest to insult and trample on me?” cried Fitz, springing to his feet.“Ah, now you are getting yourself again.”“I insist upon your telling me what that man Burgess said.”“What he said? Well, he said you were a plucked ’un and no mistake.”“Bah!” ejaculated Fitz, and there was silence for a few moments, during which Poole thrust his head out of the cabin-window to give his companion time to calm down.“Yes,” said the lad, looking round. “Clouds are gathering in the west, and we are going to have a grand show of such colours as I never saw anywhere else. Come on up, there’s a good chap.”Fitz remained silent, and the skipper’s son winked to himself.“Where’s Mr Burgess now?” said Fitz at last.“He’s in his cabin, writing home to his wife. You would never think how particular such a gruff old fellow as he is about writing home. Writes a long letter every week as regular as clockwork. Doesn’t seem like a pirate, does it?”“Is your father on deck?”“No. He’s in his cabin, busy over the chart. We are getting pretty close to the port now.”“Ah!” cried Fitz eagerly. “What port are we making for?”“San Cristobal.”“Where’s that?”“In the Armado Republic, Central America.”“Oh,” said Fitz. “I never heard of it before. Is there a British Consul there?”“Oh, I don’t know. There generally is one everywhere. I think there used to be before Don Villarayo upset the Government and got himself made President.”“And is it to him that you are taking out field-guns and ammunition?”“I never said we were taking out field-guns and ammunition,” said Poole innocently. “There’s nothing of that sort down in the bills of lading—only Birmingham hardware. Oh no, it is not for him. It is for another Don who is opening a new shop there in opposition to Villarayo, and from what I heard he is going to do the best trade.”“What’s the good of your talking all this rubbish to me? Of course I know what it all means.”“That’s right. I supposed you did know something about it, or else your skipper would not have sent you to try and capture our Birmingham goods.”“Birmingham goods!” cried Fitz. “Fire-arms, you mean.”“To be sure, yes,” said Poole. “I forgot them. There are a lot of fireworks ready for a big celebration when the new Don opens his shop!”“Bah!” cried Fitz contemptuously; and then after a few moments’ thought, “Well,” he said shortly, “I suppose I shall have to do it. I can’t stop always in this stuffy cabin. It will make me ill again; and I may just as well face it out now as at some other time.”“Just,” said Poole, “only I am afraid you will be disappointed, for you will find nothing to face.”Fitz turned upon the speaker fiercely, looking as if he were going to make some angry remark; but he found no sneer on the face of the skipper’s son, only a frank genial smile, which, being lit up by the warm glow gradually gathering in the west, seemed to glance upon and soften his own features, till he turned sharply away as if feeling ashamed of what he looked upon as weakness, and the incident ended by his saying suddenly—“Let’s go on deck.”
Two days passed, during which time Fitz kept to his cabin, and towards evening Poole came down, to find the middy seated with his back to the door gazing through the cabin-window at what seemed to be a beautiful blue cloud low-down on the horizon.
“Hullo!” cried Poole cheerily. “You can see it, then?”
“Yes,” said Fitz, without looking round. “That’s land, I suppose.”
“Yes, that’s one of the islands; but look here, what’s the good of going on like this?”
“If I choose to sit at my prison-window and look out for the islands, I suppose I have a right to do so,” said Fitz coldly.
“I say, take care. Recollect you have not quite got your strength up again. Mind you don’t fall.”
“May I inquire what you mean?” said Fitz haughtily.
“Of course. I mean, take care you don’t tumble off the stilts now you have got on to them again.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the boy.
“Well, what’s the good of going on like that, sulking and pretending you are a prisoner?”
“There’s no pretence in that,” said Fitz bitterly.
“Yes, there is,” retorted Poole quickly. “It’s all shammon and gam—I mean, gammon and sham. You are no more a prisoner than I am. Why, even father says you seem to be riding the high horse. I suppose you do feel a bit awkward about coming on deck amongst the men, after going through that—I mean, after what happened.”
“Oh, say it!” cried Fitz angrily. “After going through that performance, you meant.”
“I am not going to argue and fence. Look here, you have got to face the men, so why not make a plunge and do it? You think the lads will be winking and exchanging glances and whispering to one another, when all the time there’s only one body on board theTealwho gives all that business a thought, and that’s you. Tchah! Sailors have no time to think about what’s past. They have always got to keep a sharp look-out for the rocks ahead. You are such a sensitive chap. Come on up, and let’s have a turn at fishing.”
“Is your father quite well again?” said Fitz, without heeding his companion’s proposal.
“Oh yes; that was only one of his fits. They come and go.”
“And how’s Mr Burgess?”
“Pretty well right again. Come up. Have the glass. You can see another island astern, one of the little ones, and I think we are going to have one of these lovely tropic sunsets, same as we had last night when you wouldn’t come and see it.”
“How can a fellow situated as I am care for sunsets?”
“Just in the same way as he can care for sunrises if he’s awake early enough. Oh, do pitch all that up! It has all gone by. But I see how it is. You think that you made a mistake, and that everybody will be ready to laugh at you.”
“And so they will,” cried Fitz passionately. “I can never show my face on deck again.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Poole. “Well, you are a rum chap, fancying a thing like that. Why, my father’s too much of a gentleman ever to notice it again, and I’m sure old grumpy Burgess wouldn’t, from what he said to me when I was telling him all about it afterwards.”
“What!” cried Fitz, flashing out. “You went down tale-bearing to the mate like that?”
“There you go again! I didn’t go tale-bearing. He’d heard about it from one of the men, and next time I took him his quinine he began questioning me.”
“And what did he say?” cried Fitz fiercely.
“Shan’t tell you.”
“What!” cried Fitz. “And you profess to be my friend!”
“Yes; that’s why I won’t tell you,” said Poole, with his eyes twinkling. “I want to spare your feelings, or else it will make you so wild.”
“The insolent piratical old scoundrel!” cried Fitz. “How dare he!”
“Oh, don’t ask me. He’s a regular rough one with his tongue, as you know by the way in which he deals with the men; gives the dad the raspy side of his palaver sometimes, but dad never seems to mind it. He never takes any notice, because Burgess means right, and he’s such a splendid seaman.”
“Means right!” cried Fitz angrily. “Is it right to abuse a prisoner behind his back when he’s not in a position to defend himself?”
“Yes, it was too bad,” said Poole sympathetically.
“What did he say?”
“Oh, you had better not know,” replied Poole, winking to himself.
“I insist upon your telling me.”
“Oh, well, if you will have it—only don’t blame me afterwards for letting it out.”
“What did he say?” repeated the boy.
“It was while he had got a very bad fit of the shivers on, and the poor fellow’s teeth were all of a chatter with the fever.”
“I think your teeth seem to be all of a chatter,” snarled the midshipman fiercely.
“Ha, ha! You are a wonderful deal better, Queen’s man,” cried Poole merrily.
“Have you come down here like the rest to insult and trample on me?” cried Fitz, springing to his feet.
“Ah, now you are getting yourself again.”
“I insist upon your telling me what that man Burgess said.”
“What he said? Well, he said you were a plucked ’un and no mistake.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Fitz, and there was silence for a few moments, during which Poole thrust his head out of the cabin-window to give his companion time to calm down.
“Yes,” said the lad, looking round. “Clouds are gathering in the west, and we are going to have a grand show of such colours as I never saw anywhere else. Come on up, there’s a good chap.”
Fitz remained silent, and the skipper’s son winked to himself.
“Where’s Mr Burgess now?” said Fitz at last.
“He’s in his cabin, writing home to his wife. You would never think how particular such a gruff old fellow as he is about writing home. Writes a long letter every week as regular as clockwork. Doesn’t seem like a pirate, does it?”
“Is your father on deck?”
“No. He’s in his cabin, busy over the chart. We are getting pretty close to the port now.”
“Ah!” cried Fitz eagerly. “What port are we making for?”
“San Cristobal.”
“Where’s that?”
“In the Armado Republic, Central America.”
“Oh,” said Fitz. “I never heard of it before. Is there a British Consul there?”
“Oh, I don’t know. There generally is one everywhere. I think there used to be before Don Villarayo upset the Government and got himself made President.”
“And is it to him that you are taking out field-guns and ammunition?”
“I never said we were taking out field-guns and ammunition,” said Poole innocently. “There’s nothing of that sort down in the bills of lading—only Birmingham hardware. Oh no, it is not for him. It is for another Don who is opening a new shop there in opposition to Villarayo, and from what I heard he is going to do the best trade.”
“What’s the good of your talking all this rubbish to me? Of course I know what it all means.”
“That’s right. I supposed you did know something about it, or else your skipper would not have sent you to try and capture our Birmingham goods.”
“Birmingham goods!” cried Fitz. “Fire-arms, you mean.”
“To be sure, yes,” said Poole. “I forgot them. There are a lot of fireworks ready for a big celebration when the new Don opens his shop!”
“Bah!” cried Fitz contemptuously; and then after a few moments’ thought, “Well,” he said shortly, “I suppose I shall have to do it. I can’t stop always in this stuffy cabin. It will make me ill again; and I may just as well face it out now as at some other time.”
“Just,” said Poole, “only I am afraid you will be disappointed, for you will find nothing to face.”
Fitz turned upon the speaker fiercely, looking as if he were going to make some angry remark; but he found no sneer on the face of the skipper’s son, only a frank genial smile, which, being lit up by the warm glow gradually gathering in the west, seemed to glance upon and soften his own features, till he turned sharply away as if feeling ashamed of what he looked upon as weakness, and the incident ended by his saying suddenly—“Let’s go on deck.”
Chapter Seventeen.“Old Chap”—“Old Fellow.”Days of slow sailing through calm blue waters, with quite an Archipelago of Eden-like islands showing one or another in sight.Very slow progress was made on account of the wind, which was light and generally adverse.Fitz passed his time nearly always on deck with the skipper’s glass in hand, every now and then close enough in to one of the islands to excite an intense longing to land, partly to end his imprisonment, as he called it, partly from sheer desire to plunge into one or another of the glorious valleys which ran upward from the sea, cut deep into the side of some volcanic mountain.“Lovely!” was always on the boy’s lips. “I never saw anything like this before, Poole. But where’s the port we are sailing for? Are we never going to land?”“Oh, it’s only a little farther on,” was the reply. “If this wind only gets up a little more towards sundown I expect we shall soon be there.”“That’s what you always keep saying,” was the impatient retort.“Yes,” said Poole coolly; “but it isn’t my fault. It’s the wind.”“Oh, hang the wind!”“You should say, blow it!” said Poole, laughing. “But I say, old chap, I don’t want to damp you, but you really had better not indulge in any hope of seeing any consul or English people who will help you to get away. San Cristobal is a very solitary place, where the people are all mongrels, a mixture of native Indians and half-bred Spaniards. Father says they are like the volcano at the back of the city, for when it is not blowing up, they are.”“Well, I shall learn all that for myself,” said Fitz coldly.“You will, old fellow, and before long too.”“What do you mean by that?” said Fitz sharply. “Only that we shall be there for certain to-night.” As it happened, the wind freshened a little that evening, while the sunset that Poole had prophesied was glorious in the extreme; a wondrous pile of massive clouds formed up from the horizon almost to the zenith, shutting out the sun, and Fitz watched the resplendent hues until his eyes were ready to ache—purple, scarlet, orange and gold, with flashes in between of the most vivid metallic blue, ever increasing, ever changing, until the eye could bear no more and sought for rest in the sea through which they sailed, a sea that resembled liquid rubies or so much wine.But the end was coming fast, and like some transformation scene, the clouds were slowly drawn aside, the vivid tints began to pale till they died away into a rich, soft, purple gloom spangled with drops of gold. And a deep sigh escaped from the middy’s breast as he stood wondering over the glories of the rapid change from glowing day into the soft, transparent, tropic night.“I never saw anything like that before,” sighed the boy.“No, I suppose not,” was the reply. “It was almost worth coming all this way to see. Doesn’t it seem queer to you where all the clouds are gone?”“Yes,” said Fitz; “I was thinking about that. There is only one left, now, over yonder, with the sun glowing on it still.”“That’s not the sun,” said Poole quietly.“Yes, it is. I mean there, that soft dull red. Look before it dies out.”“That’s the one I was looking at, and it won’t die out; if you like to watch you will see it looking dull and red like that all night.”“Oh, I see,” cried Fitz mockingly; “you mean that the sun goes down only a little way there, and then comes up again in the same place.”“No, I don’t,” said Poole quietly. “What you see is the glow from the volcano a few miles back behind the town.”“What!” cried Fitz. “Then we are as close to the port as that?”“Yes. We are not above a dozen miles away. It’s too dark to see now, or you could make out the mountains that surround the bay.”“Then why couldn’t we see them before the sun was set?” cried Fitz sceptically.“Because they were all hidden by the clouds and golden haze that gather round of an evening. Yes, yonder’s San Cristobal, and as soon as it is a little darker if you use the glass you will be able to make out which are the twinkling electric lights and which are stars.”“Electric lights!” cried Fitz.“Oh yes, they’ve got ’em, and tram-cars too. They are pretty wide-awake in these mushroom Spanish Republic towns.”“Then they will be advanced enough,” thought Fitz, “for me to get help to make my way to rejoin my ship. Sooner or later my chance must come.”Within an hour the soft warm wind had dropped, and the captain gave his orders, to be followed by the rattling out of the chain-cable through the hawse-hole. The schooner swung round, and Fitz had to bring the glass to bear from the other side of the deck to make out the twinkling lights of the semi-Spanish town.Everything was wonderfully still, but it was an exciting time for the lad as he leaned against the bulwarks quite alone, gazing through the soft mysterious darkness at the distant lights.There were thoughts in his breast connected with the lowering down of one of the boats and rowing ashore, but there was the look-out, and the captain and mate were both on deck, talking together as they walked up and down, while instead of the men going below and seeming disposed to sleep, they were lounging about, smoking and chatting together.And then it was that the middy began to think about one of the four life-buoys lashed fore and aft, and how it would be if he cut one of them loose and lowered himself down by a rope, to trust to swimming and the help of the current to bear him ashore.His heart throbbed hard at the idea, and then he turned cold, for he was seaman enough to know the meaning of the tides and currents. Suppose in his ignorance instead of bearing him ashore they swept him out to sea? And then he shuddered at his next thought.There were the sharks, and only that evening he and Poole had counted no less than ten—that is to say, their little triangular back-fins—gliding through the surface of the water.“No,” he said to himself, “I shall have to wait;” and he started violently, for a voice at his elbow said—“Did you speak?”“Eh? No, I don’t think so,” replied the boy.“You must have been talking to yourself. I say, what a lovely night! Did you notice that signal that we ran up?”“No,” cried Fitz eagerly.“It was while you were looking at the sunset. Father made me run up a flag. Don’t you remember my asking you to let me have the glass a minute?”“Yes, of course.”“Well—I don’t mind telling you now—that was to the fort, and they answered it just in time before it was too dark to see. I think they hoisted lights afterwards, three in a particular shape, but there were so many others about that father couldn’t be sure.”“Then I suppose that means going into port at daylight?”“Yes, and land our cargo under the guns of the fort. I say, listen.”“What to?”“That,” said Poole, in a whisper.“Oh yes, that splashing. Fish, I suppose.”“No,” whispered Poole. “I believe it’s oars.”He had hardly spoken when the skipper’s voice was heard giving orders almost in a whisper; but they were loud enough to be heard and understood, for there was a sudden rush and padding of feet about the deck, followed by a soft rattling, and the next minute the middy was aware of the presence of a couple of the sailors armed with capstan-bars standing close at hand.Then all was silence once more, and the darkness suddenly grew more dense, following upon a dull squeaking sound as of a pulley-wheel in a block.“They’ve doused the light,” whispered Poole. “It’s a boat coming off from the shore,” he continued excitedly, with his lips close to the middy’s ear. “It’s the people we expect, I suppose, but father is always suspicious at a time like this, for you never know who they may be. But if they mean mischief they will get it warm.”Fitz’s thoughts went back at a bound to the dark night when he boarded with the cutter’s crew, and his heart beat faster and faster still as, leaning outward to try and pierce the soft transparent darkness of the tropic night, he felt his arm tightly gripped by Poole with one hand, while with the other he pointed to a soft pale flashing of the water, which was accompanied by a dull regularsplash, splash.“Friends or enemies,” whispered Poole, “but they don’t see us yet. I wonder which they are.”Just then the lambent flashing of the phosphorescent water and the soft splashing ceased.It was the reign of darkness far and near.
Days of slow sailing through calm blue waters, with quite an Archipelago of Eden-like islands showing one or another in sight.
Very slow progress was made on account of the wind, which was light and generally adverse.
Fitz passed his time nearly always on deck with the skipper’s glass in hand, every now and then close enough in to one of the islands to excite an intense longing to land, partly to end his imprisonment, as he called it, partly from sheer desire to plunge into one or another of the glorious valleys which ran upward from the sea, cut deep into the side of some volcanic mountain.
“Lovely!” was always on the boy’s lips. “I never saw anything like this before, Poole. But where’s the port we are sailing for? Are we never going to land?”
“Oh, it’s only a little farther on,” was the reply. “If this wind only gets up a little more towards sundown I expect we shall soon be there.”
“That’s what you always keep saying,” was the impatient retort.
“Yes,” said Poole coolly; “but it isn’t my fault. It’s the wind.”
“Oh, hang the wind!”
“You should say, blow it!” said Poole, laughing. “But I say, old chap, I don’t want to damp you, but you really had better not indulge in any hope of seeing any consul or English people who will help you to get away. San Cristobal is a very solitary place, where the people are all mongrels, a mixture of native Indians and half-bred Spaniards. Father says they are like the volcano at the back of the city, for when it is not blowing up, they are.”
“Well, I shall learn all that for myself,” said Fitz coldly.
“You will, old fellow, and before long too.”
“What do you mean by that?” said Fitz sharply. “Only that we shall be there for certain to-night.” As it happened, the wind freshened a little that evening, while the sunset that Poole had prophesied was glorious in the extreme; a wondrous pile of massive clouds formed up from the horizon almost to the zenith, shutting out the sun, and Fitz watched the resplendent hues until his eyes were ready to ache—purple, scarlet, orange and gold, with flashes in between of the most vivid metallic blue, ever increasing, ever changing, until the eye could bear no more and sought for rest in the sea through which they sailed, a sea that resembled liquid rubies or so much wine.
But the end was coming fast, and like some transformation scene, the clouds were slowly drawn aside, the vivid tints began to pale till they died away into a rich, soft, purple gloom spangled with drops of gold. And a deep sigh escaped from the middy’s breast as he stood wondering over the glories of the rapid change from glowing day into the soft, transparent, tropic night.
“I never saw anything like that before,” sighed the boy.
“No, I suppose not,” was the reply. “It was almost worth coming all this way to see. Doesn’t it seem queer to you where all the clouds are gone?”
“Yes,” said Fitz; “I was thinking about that. There is only one left, now, over yonder, with the sun glowing on it still.”
“That’s not the sun,” said Poole quietly.
“Yes, it is. I mean there, that soft dull red. Look before it dies out.”
“That’s the one I was looking at, and it won’t die out; if you like to watch you will see it looking dull and red like that all night.”
“Oh, I see,” cried Fitz mockingly; “you mean that the sun goes down only a little way there, and then comes up again in the same place.”
“No, I don’t,” said Poole quietly. “What you see is the glow from the volcano a few miles back behind the town.”
“What!” cried Fitz. “Then we are as close to the port as that?”
“Yes. We are not above a dozen miles away. It’s too dark to see now, or you could make out the mountains that surround the bay.”
“Then why couldn’t we see them before the sun was set?” cried Fitz sceptically.
“Because they were all hidden by the clouds and golden haze that gather round of an evening. Yes, yonder’s San Cristobal, and as soon as it is a little darker if you use the glass you will be able to make out which are the twinkling electric lights and which are stars.”
“Electric lights!” cried Fitz.
“Oh yes, they’ve got ’em, and tram-cars too. They are pretty wide-awake in these mushroom Spanish Republic towns.”
“Then they will be advanced enough,” thought Fitz, “for me to get help to make my way to rejoin my ship. Sooner or later my chance must come.”
Within an hour the soft warm wind had dropped, and the captain gave his orders, to be followed by the rattling out of the chain-cable through the hawse-hole. The schooner swung round, and Fitz had to bring the glass to bear from the other side of the deck to make out the twinkling lights of the semi-Spanish town.
Everything was wonderfully still, but it was an exciting time for the lad as he leaned against the bulwarks quite alone, gazing through the soft mysterious darkness at the distant lights.
There were thoughts in his breast connected with the lowering down of one of the boats and rowing ashore, but there was the look-out, and the captain and mate were both on deck, talking together as they walked up and down, while instead of the men going below and seeming disposed to sleep, they were lounging about, smoking and chatting together.
And then it was that the middy began to think about one of the four life-buoys lashed fore and aft, and how it would be if he cut one of them loose and lowered himself down by a rope, to trust to swimming and the help of the current to bear him ashore.
His heart throbbed hard at the idea, and then he turned cold, for he was seaman enough to know the meaning of the tides and currents. Suppose in his ignorance instead of bearing him ashore they swept him out to sea? And then he shuddered at his next thought.
There were the sharks, and only that evening he and Poole had counted no less than ten—that is to say, their little triangular back-fins—gliding through the surface of the water.
“No,” he said to himself, “I shall have to wait;” and he started violently, for a voice at his elbow said—
“Did you speak?”
“Eh? No, I don’t think so,” replied the boy.
“You must have been talking to yourself. I say, what a lovely night! Did you notice that signal that we ran up?”
“No,” cried Fitz eagerly.
“It was while you were looking at the sunset. Father made me run up a flag. Don’t you remember my asking you to let me have the glass a minute?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well—I don’t mind telling you now—that was to the fort, and they answered it just in time before it was too dark to see. I think they hoisted lights afterwards, three in a particular shape, but there were so many others about that father couldn’t be sure.”
“Then I suppose that means going into port at daylight?”
“Yes, and land our cargo under the guns of the fort. I say, listen.”
“What to?”
“That,” said Poole, in a whisper.
“Oh yes, that splashing. Fish, I suppose.”
“No,” whispered Poole. “I believe it’s oars.”
He had hardly spoken when the skipper’s voice was heard giving orders almost in a whisper; but they were loud enough to be heard and understood, for there was a sudden rush and padding of feet about the deck, followed by a soft rattling, and the next minute the middy was aware of the presence of a couple of the sailors armed with capstan-bars standing close at hand.
Then all was silence once more, and the darkness suddenly grew more dense, following upon a dull squeaking sound as of a pulley-wheel in a block.
“They’ve doused the light,” whispered Poole. “It’s a boat coming off from the shore,” he continued excitedly, with his lips close to the middy’s ear. “It’s the people we expect, I suppose, but father is always suspicious at a time like this, for you never know who they may be. But if they mean mischief they will get it warm.”
Fitz’s thoughts went back at a bound to the dark night when he boarded with the cutter’s crew, and his heart beat faster and faster still as, leaning outward to try and pierce the soft transparent darkness of the tropic night, he felt his arm tightly gripped by Poole with one hand, while with the other he pointed to a soft pale flashing of the water, which was accompanied by a dull regularsplash, splash.
“Friends or enemies,” whispered Poole, “but they don’t see us yet. I wonder which they are.”
Just then the lambent flashing of the phosphorescent water and the soft splashing ceased.
It was the reign of darkness far and near.
Chapter Eighteen.Anxious times.As the minutes glided by in the midst of that profound silence, a fresh kind of feverish feeling began to steal over Fitz. There in the distance, apparently beyond the dome of great stars which lit up the blackish purple heavens, was the dull glowing cloud which looked like one that the sunset had left behind; beneath that were the twinkling lights of the town, and between the schooner and that, a broad black plain of darkness, looking like a layer which extended as high as the top of the masts.But as Fitz looked down, it was to see that the blackness below his feet was transparent and all in motion with tiny glowing specks gliding here and there as if being swept along by a powerful current.There were moments when he could have fancied that he was gazing into a huge black mirror which reflected the vast dome of stars, but he knew by experience that these moving greenish golden specks were no orbs of light but the tiny phosphorescent medusas gliding in all directions through the transparent water, and every now and then combining to emit a pale green bluish flash of light, as some fish made the current swirl by giving a swoop with its tail.Moment by moment in the silence all seemed to grow more and more unreal, more dream-like, till he felt ready to declare that all was fancy, that he had heard no splash of a coming boat, and that the next minute he would start into wakefulness and find that it was all imagination.Then all at once he was listening with every nerve on the strain, wishing that he knew Spanish instead of Latin, for a low clear voice arose out of the darkness, saying, as he afterwards learned—“Aboard the English vessel there! Where are you? I have lost my way.”The skipper answered directly in Spanish.There was a quick interchange of words, and then the latter gave an order in English which came as a relief to Fitz and made his heart jump, suggesting as it did that the next minute there was going to be a fight.“Get the lads all round you, Burgess, and be on the alert. It seems all right, but it may be a bit of Spanish treachery, so look out.”As he was speaking Fitz with straining eyes and ear saw that the pale golden green water was being lifted from the surface of the sea and falling back like dull golden metal in patches, with an interval of darkness between them, the bestirred water looking like so much molten ore as it splashed about.Then there was the scraping of a boat-hook against the side, close to the gangway, and the dimly-seen figure of a man scrambling on board.No enemy certainly, for Fitz made out that the newcomer grasped both the captain’s hands in his, and began talking to him in a low eager excited tone, the captain’s responses, given in the man’s own tongue, sounding short and sharp, interspersed too with an angry ejaculation or two. The conversation only lasted about five minutes, and then the visitor turned back to the side, uttered an order in a low tone which caused a little stir in the boat below, and stepped down. Fitz could hear him crossing the thwarts to the stern, and the craft was pushed off. Then the golden splashes in the sea came regularly once more, to grow fainter and fainter, in the direction of the city lights; and then they were alone in the silence and darkness of the night.It was not Fitz’s fault that he heard what followed, for the skipper came close up to where he was standing with Poole, followed by the mate, who had sent the men forward as soon as the boat was gone.“Well,” said the skipper, “it’s very unfortunate.”“Is it?” said the mate gruffly.“Yes. Couldn’t you hear?”“I heard part of what he said, but my Spanish is very bad, especially if it’s one of these mongrel half Indian-bred fellows who is talking. You had better tell me plainly how matters stand.”“Very well. Horribly badly. Things have gone wrong since we left England. Our friends were too venturesome, and they were regularly trapped, with the result that they were beaten back out of the town, and the President’s men seized the fort, got hold of their passwords and the signalling flags that they had in the place, and answered our signals, so that they took me in. If it had not been for his man’s coming to-night with a message from Don Ramon, we should have sailed right into the trap as soon as it was day, and been lying under the enemy’s guns.”“Narrow escape, then,” said the mate.“Nearly ruin,” was the reply.“But hold hard a minute. Suppose, after all, this is a bit of a trick, a cooked-up lie to cheat us.”“Not likely,” said the skipper. “What good would it do the enemy to send us away when they had all we brought under their hand? Besides, this messenger had a password to give me that must have been right.”“You know best,” said the mate gruffly. “Then what next?”“Up anchor at once, and we sail round the foreland yonder till we can open out the other valley and the river’s mouth twenty miles along the coast. Don Ramon and his men are gathering at Velova, and they want our munition badly there.”“Right,” said the mate abruptly. “Up anchor at once? Make a big offing, I suppose?”“No, we must hug the coast. I dare say they will have a gunboat patrolling some distance out—a steamer—and with these varying winds and calms we should be at their mercy. If we are taken, Don Ramon’s cause is ruined, poor fellow, and the country will be at the mercy of that half-savage, President Villarayo. Brute! He deserves to be hung!”“I don’t like it,” said Burgess gruffly.“You don’t like it!” cried the skipper. “What do you mean?”“What do I mean? Why, from here to Velova close in it’s all rock-shoal and wild current. It’s almost madness to try and hug the coast.”“Oh, I see. But it’s got to be done, Burgess. You didn’t take soundings and bearings miles each way for nothing last year.”“Tchah!” growled the mate. “One wants an apprenticeship to this coast. I’ll do what you want, of course, but I won’t be answerable for taking theTealsafely into that next port.”“Oh yes, you will,” said the skipper quietly. “If I didn’t think you would I should try to do it myself. Now then, there’s no time to waste. Look yonder. There’s something coming out of the port now—a steamer, I believe, from the way she moves, and most likely it’s in reply to our signals, and they’re coming out to give us a surprise.” The mate stood for a few moments peering over the black waters in the direction of the indicated lights.“Yes,” he growled, “that’s a steamer; one of their gunboats, I should say, and they are coming straight for here.”“How does he know that?” whispered Fitz, as the skipper and the mate now moved away.“The lights were some distance apart,” replied Poole, “and they’ve swung round till one’s close behind the other. Now look, whatever the steamer is she is coming straight for here. Fortunately there is a nice pleasant breeze, but I hope we shall not get upon any of these fang-like rocks.”“Yes, I hope so too,” said Fitz excitedly; and then Poole left him, and he stood listening to the clicking of the capstan as the anchor was raised, while some of the crew busily hoisted sail, so that in a few minutes’ time the schooner began to heel over from the pressure of the wind and glide away, showing that the anchor was clear of the soft ooze in which it had lain.
As the minutes glided by in the midst of that profound silence, a fresh kind of feverish feeling began to steal over Fitz. There in the distance, apparently beyond the dome of great stars which lit up the blackish purple heavens, was the dull glowing cloud which looked like one that the sunset had left behind; beneath that were the twinkling lights of the town, and between the schooner and that, a broad black plain of darkness, looking like a layer which extended as high as the top of the masts.
But as Fitz looked down, it was to see that the blackness below his feet was transparent and all in motion with tiny glowing specks gliding here and there as if being swept along by a powerful current.
There were moments when he could have fancied that he was gazing into a huge black mirror which reflected the vast dome of stars, but he knew by experience that these moving greenish golden specks were no orbs of light but the tiny phosphorescent medusas gliding in all directions through the transparent water, and every now and then combining to emit a pale green bluish flash of light, as some fish made the current swirl by giving a swoop with its tail.
Moment by moment in the silence all seemed to grow more and more unreal, more dream-like, till he felt ready to declare that all was fancy, that he had heard no splash of a coming boat, and that the next minute he would start into wakefulness and find that it was all imagination.
Then all at once he was listening with every nerve on the strain, wishing that he knew Spanish instead of Latin, for a low clear voice arose out of the darkness, saying, as he afterwards learned—
“Aboard the English vessel there! Where are you? I have lost my way.”
The skipper answered directly in Spanish.
There was a quick interchange of words, and then the latter gave an order in English which came as a relief to Fitz and made his heart jump, suggesting as it did that the next minute there was going to be a fight.
“Get the lads all round you, Burgess, and be on the alert. It seems all right, but it may be a bit of Spanish treachery, so look out.”
As he was speaking Fitz with straining eyes and ear saw that the pale golden green water was being lifted from the surface of the sea and falling back like dull golden metal in patches, with an interval of darkness between them, the bestirred water looking like so much molten ore as it splashed about.
Then there was the scraping of a boat-hook against the side, close to the gangway, and the dimly-seen figure of a man scrambling on board.
No enemy certainly, for Fitz made out that the newcomer grasped both the captain’s hands in his, and began talking to him in a low eager excited tone, the captain’s responses, given in the man’s own tongue, sounding short and sharp, interspersed too with an angry ejaculation or two. The conversation only lasted about five minutes, and then the visitor turned back to the side, uttered an order in a low tone which caused a little stir in the boat below, and stepped down. Fitz could hear him crossing the thwarts to the stern, and the craft was pushed off. Then the golden splashes in the sea came regularly once more, to grow fainter and fainter, in the direction of the city lights; and then they were alone in the silence and darkness of the night.
It was not Fitz’s fault that he heard what followed, for the skipper came close up to where he was standing with Poole, followed by the mate, who had sent the men forward as soon as the boat was gone.
“Well,” said the skipper, “it’s very unfortunate.”
“Is it?” said the mate gruffly.
“Yes. Couldn’t you hear?”
“I heard part of what he said, but my Spanish is very bad, especially if it’s one of these mongrel half Indian-bred fellows who is talking. You had better tell me plainly how matters stand.”
“Very well. Horribly badly. Things have gone wrong since we left England. Our friends were too venturesome, and they were regularly trapped, with the result that they were beaten back out of the town, and the President’s men seized the fort, got hold of their passwords and the signalling flags that they had in the place, and answered our signals, so that they took me in. If it had not been for his man’s coming to-night with a message from Don Ramon, we should have sailed right into the trap as soon as it was day, and been lying under the enemy’s guns.”
“Narrow escape, then,” said the mate.
“Nearly ruin,” was the reply.
“But hold hard a minute. Suppose, after all, this is a bit of a trick, a cooked-up lie to cheat us.”
“Not likely,” said the skipper. “What good would it do the enemy to send us away when they had all we brought under their hand? Besides, this messenger had a password to give me that must have been right.”
“You know best,” said the mate gruffly. “Then what next?”
“Up anchor at once, and we sail round the foreland yonder till we can open out the other valley and the river’s mouth twenty miles along the coast. Don Ramon and his men are gathering at Velova, and they want our munition badly there.”
“Right,” said the mate abruptly. “Up anchor at once? Make a big offing, I suppose?”
“No, we must hug the coast. I dare say they will have a gunboat patrolling some distance out—a steamer—and with these varying winds and calms we should be at their mercy. If we are taken, Don Ramon’s cause is ruined, poor fellow, and the country will be at the mercy of that half-savage, President Villarayo. Brute! He deserves to be hung!”
“I don’t like it,” said Burgess gruffly.
“You don’t like it!” cried the skipper. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Why, from here to Velova close in it’s all rock-shoal and wild current. It’s almost madness to try and hug the coast.”
“Oh, I see. But it’s got to be done, Burgess. You didn’t take soundings and bearings miles each way for nothing last year.”
“Tchah!” growled the mate. “One wants an apprenticeship to this coast. I’ll do what you want, of course, but I won’t be answerable for taking theTealsafely into that next port.”
“Oh yes, you will,” said the skipper quietly. “If I didn’t think you would I should try to do it myself. Now then, there’s no time to waste. Look yonder. There’s something coming out of the port now—a steamer, I believe, from the way she moves, and most likely it’s in reply to our signals, and they’re coming out to give us a surprise.” The mate stood for a few moments peering over the black waters in the direction of the indicated lights.
“Yes,” he growled, “that’s a steamer; one of their gunboats, I should say, and they are coming straight for here.”
“How does he know that?” whispered Fitz, as the skipper and the mate now moved away.
“The lights were some distance apart,” replied Poole, “and they’ve swung round till one’s close behind the other. Now look, whatever the steamer is she is coming straight for here. Fortunately there is a nice pleasant breeze, but I hope we shall not get upon any of these fang-like rocks.”
“Yes, I hope so too,” said Fitz excitedly; and then Poole left him, and he stood listening to the clicking of the capstan as the anchor was raised, while some of the crew busily hoisted sail, so that in a few minutes’ time the schooner began to heel over from the pressure of the wind and glide away, showing that the anchor was clear of the soft ooze in which it had lain.
Chapter Nineteen.Ticklish.Burgess the mate went forward, to stand for a few minutes looking into the offing, before going back aft to say a word or two to the man at the wheel, as the schooner was now gliding rapidly on, and then walked sharply to where the skipper was giving orders to the men, which resulted in a big gaff sail being run up, to balloon out and increase the schooner’s rate of speed through the water.A short consultation ensued, another man was put on the look-out forward, and the mate went back to take the wheel himself.“Ah, that’s better,” said Poole quietly.“What’s better?” asked Fitz.“Old Burgess taking the wheel himself. It’s a bad enough place here in the daylight, but it’s awful in the darkness, and we are not quite so likely to be carried by some current crash on to a rock.”“Then why, in the name of common-sense, don’t we lay-to till daylight?”“Because it wouldn’t be common-sense to wait till that steamer comes gliding up, and takes possession of theTeal. Do you know what that means?”“Yes; you would all be made prisoners, and I should be free,” cried Fitz, laughing. “My word, Master Poole, I don’t want you to have a topper first, but I’d let you see then what it is to be a prisoner aboard theSilver Teal.”“Oh yes, of course, I know,” replied Poole mockingly. “But you don’t know everything. When I asked you if you knew what it meant it was this, that our cargo would go into the wrong hands and about ruin Don Ramon’s cause.”“Well, what does that matter?”“Everything. Ramon, who has been striking for freedom and all that’s good and right, would be beaten, and the old President Don Villarayo would carry on as before. He is as bad a tyrant as ever was at the head of affairs, and it’s to help turn him out of the chair that my father and his Spanish friends are making this venture.”“Well, that’s nothing to me,” said Fitz. “I am on the side of right.”“Well, that is the side of right.”“Oh no,” said Fitz. “According to the rule of these things that’s the side of right that has the strongest hold.”“Bah!” said Poole. “That would never do, unless it is when we get the strongest hold, and that we mean to do.”“Well, I hope old Burgess, as you call him, won’t run this wretched schooner crash on to a rock. You might as well hand me out a life-belt, in case.”“Oh, there’s time enough for that,” said Poole coolly.“I’ll take care of you. But I say, look! That gunboat is coming on two knots for our one. Can’t you see?”“I can see her lights, of course, but it doesn’t seem to me that she is getting closer.”“She is, though, and she’s bound to overtake us, for old Burgess is keeping right along the main channel. Why, if I didn’t know who was at the wheel,” cried the lad excitedly, “I should be ready to think that the steersman had proved treacherous, and was playing into the enemy’s hands. Oh, here’s father! I say, dad, do you see how fast that gunboat is overhauling us?”“Oh yes,” said the skipper coolly. “It’s all right, my boy; Burgess knows what he’s about. He wants to get a little more offing, but it’s getting nearly time to lie over on the other tack.”He had hardly spoken when the mate at the wheel called out—“Now!”The skipper gave a short, sharp order or two, the men sprang to the sheets, the schooner was turned right up into the wind, the sails began to shiver, and directly after they began to fill on the other tack, were sheeted home, and theTeallay so over to starboard that Fitz made a snatch at a rope so as to steady himself and keep his feet.“Why, he’ll have the sea over her side,” whispered Fitz excitedly.“Very likely,” said Poole coolly. “Ah, you don’t know how we can sail.”“Sail! Why, you will have her lying flat in the water directly.”“Make the sails more taut,” said Poole coolly. “I say, we are going now. I didn’t see what he meant. We have just turned the South Rocks. Talk about piloting, old Burgess does know what he’s about. We are sailing as fast as the gunboat.”“But she’s overhauling us.”“Yes, but she won’t try to pass those rocks. She will have to keep to the channel. We are skimming along over the rocky shallows now.”“Yes, with the keel nearly up to the surface,” panted Fitz excitedly.“All the better! Less likely to scrape the rocks.”“Well, you are taking it pretty coolly,” continued the midshipman. “This must be risky work.”“Yes, we don’t want to be taken. You wait a few minutes and watch the gunboat’s lights. You will see that she will be getting more distant as she goes straight on for the open sea. Her captain will make for the next channel, two or three miles south, to catch us there as we come out—and we shan’t come out, for we shall go right on in and out among the shallows and get clear off, so as to sail into Velova Bay. We shall be all right if we don’t come crash on to one of the shark’s fin rocks.”“And if we do?”“Well, if we do we shan’t get off again—only in the boats—but old Villarayo’s gang won’t get the ammunition, for that will go down to amuse the sharks.”“Well, this is nice,” said Fitz. “The schooner was bad enough before; now it’s ten times worse.”“Nonsense. See how we are skimming along. This is a new experience for you. You will see more fun with us in a month than you would in your old tea-kettle of a gunboat in twelve.”“Phew!” ejaculated the skipper, coming up, straw hat in one hand, pocket-handkerchief in the other, and mopping his face. “This is rather warm work, Poole, my boy. Well, Mr Burnett, what do you think of blockade running for a change?”“What do I think of it, sir?” said Fitz, who was still holding on tight to one of the ropes.“Yes. Good as yachting, isn’t it?”“Well, I don’t like it a bit, sir. I don’t call it seamanship.”“Indeed, young gentleman! What do you call it, then?”“Utter recklessness, sir.”“Oh!” said the skipper. “Well, it is running it rather close, but you can’t do blockade running without. Not afraid, are you?”“Oh, I don’t know about being afraid, sir, but I think that we shall have to take to the boats.”“Yes, that’s quite likely, but the chances are about equal that we shall not. Mr Burgess knows what he is about, and as likely as not we shall be right into Velova Bay soon after sunrise, and the President’s gunboat twenty miles away.”Several times over during the rest of the night’s run, Fitz observed that there was a little anxious conference between the skipper and the mate, the former speaking very sternly, and on one occasion the latter spoke out loud in a sharp angry voice, the words reaching the middy’s ear.“Of course it is very risky,” he said, “but I feel as if I shall get her through, or I shouldn’t do it. Shall we take soundings and drop anchor in the best bit we can find?”“Where we shall be clearly seen as soon as day breaks? No! Go on.”It was a relief then to both the lads when the day broke, showing them a line of breakers about half-a-mile away on the starboard-bow, and clear open water right ahead, while as the dawn lifted more and more, it was to show a high ground jungle and the beautiful curve of another bay formed by a couple of ridges about three miles apart running down into the sea.“There,” cried Poole triumphantly; “we have been running the gauntlet of dangerous rocks all night, and we’ve won. That’s Velova Bay. You will see the city directly, just at the mouth of the valley. Lovely place. It’s the next city to San Cristobal.”“Fetch my glass, Poole,” said the skipper; and upon its being brought its owner took a long searching sweep of the coast as he stood by the mate’s side.“I can only make out a few small vessels,” he said; “nothing that we need mind. Run straight in, and we can land everything before the gunboat can get round, even if she comes, which is doubtful, after all.”“Yes, knowing how we can sail.”The boys were standing near, and heard all that was said, for their elders spoke freely before them.“What about choice of place for landing?” asked the mate.“Oh, we will go up as close as we can get. Ramon is sure to have a strong party there to help, and in a very short time he would be able to knock up an earthwork and utilise the guns as we get them ashore. That would keep the gunboat off if she comes round.”“Yes,” said the mate quietly, and he handed over the wheel to one of the men, the sea being quite open now between them and the shore a few miles away.“Well,” said the skipper, “what do you make of it?” For the mate was shading his eyes and looking carefully round eastward.“Have a look yourself,” was the gruff reply.The skipper raised the glass he had lowered to his side, and swept the horizon eastward; knowing full well the keenness of his subordinate’s eyes, he fully expected to see some suspicious vessel in sight, but that had not taken the mate’s attention, for as soon as the glass had described about the eighth of a circle the skipper lowered it again and gave an angry stamp with his foot.“Was ever such luck!” he cried.“No,” replied the mate; “it is bad. But there is only one thing to be done.”“Yes, only one thing. We must get out while we can, and I don’t know but what we may be too late even now.”For the next few minutes all was busy on board the schooner. It was ’bout ship, and fresh sail was set, their course being due east, while as soon as Fitz could get Poole to answer a question, what had so far been to him a mystery was explained.“We are in for one of those hurricanes that come on so suddenly here,” said the lad, “and we are going right out to sea, to try and get under shelter of one of the isles before it breaks.”“But why not stop here in harbour?” said Fitz sharply.“Because there is none. When the wind’s easterly you can only expect one thing, and that is to be blown ashore.”“But is there time to get under the lee of some island?”“I don’t know. We are going straight into danger now, for as likely as not we shall meet the gunboat coming right across our bows to cut us off.”
Burgess the mate went forward, to stand for a few minutes looking into the offing, before going back aft to say a word or two to the man at the wheel, as the schooner was now gliding rapidly on, and then walked sharply to where the skipper was giving orders to the men, which resulted in a big gaff sail being run up, to balloon out and increase the schooner’s rate of speed through the water.
A short consultation ensued, another man was put on the look-out forward, and the mate went back to take the wheel himself.
“Ah, that’s better,” said Poole quietly.
“What’s better?” asked Fitz.
“Old Burgess taking the wheel himself. It’s a bad enough place here in the daylight, but it’s awful in the darkness, and we are not quite so likely to be carried by some current crash on to a rock.”
“Then why, in the name of common-sense, don’t we lay-to till daylight?”
“Because it wouldn’t be common-sense to wait till that steamer comes gliding up, and takes possession of theTeal. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes; you would all be made prisoners, and I should be free,” cried Fitz, laughing. “My word, Master Poole, I don’t want you to have a topper first, but I’d let you see then what it is to be a prisoner aboard theSilver Teal.”
“Oh yes, of course, I know,” replied Poole mockingly. “But you don’t know everything. When I asked you if you knew what it meant it was this, that our cargo would go into the wrong hands and about ruin Don Ramon’s cause.”
“Well, what does that matter?”
“Everything. Ramon, who has been striking for freedom and all that’s good and right, would be beaten, and the old President Don Villarayo would carry on as before. He is as bad a tyrant as ever was at the head of affairs, and it’s to help turn him out of the chair that my father and his Spanish friends are making this venture.”
“Well, that’s nothing to me,” said Fitz. “I am on the side of right.”
“Well, that is the side of right.”
“Oh no,” said Fitz. “According to the rule of these things that’s the side of right that has the strongest hold.”
“Bah!” said Poole. “That would never do, unless it is when we get the strongest hold, and that we mean to do.”
“Well, I hope old Burgess, as you call him, won’t run this wretched schooner crash on to a rock. You might as well hand me out a life-belt, in case.”
“Oh, there’s time enough for that,” said Poole coolly.
“I’ll take care of you. But I say, look! That gunboat is coming on two knots for our one. Can’t you see?”
“I can see her lights, of course, but it doesn’t seem to me that she is getting closer.”
“She is, though, and she’s bound to overtake us, for old Burgess is keeping right along the main channel. Why, if I didn’t know who was at the wheel,” cried the lad excitedly, “I should be ready to think that the steersman had proved treacherous, and was playing into the enemy’s hands. Oh, here’s father! I say, dad, do you see how fast that gunboat is overhauling us?”
“Oh yes,” said the skipper coolly. “It’s all right, my boy; Burgess knows what he’s about. He wants to get a little more offing, but it’s getting nearly time to lie over on the other tack.”
He had hardly spoken when the mate at the wheel called out—
“Now!”
The skipper gave a short, sharp order or two, the men sprang to the sheets, the schooner was turned right up into the wind, the sails began to shiver, and directly after they began to fill on the other tack, were sheeted home, and theTeallay so over to starboard that Fitz made a snatch at a rope so as to steady himself and keep his feet.
“Why, he’ll have the sea over her side,” whispered Fitz excitedly.
“Very likely,” said Poole coolly. “Ah, you don’t know how we can sail.”
“Sail! Why, you will have her lying flat in the water directly.”
“Make the sails more taut,” said Poole coolly. “I say, we are going now. I didn’t see what he meant. We have just turned the South Rocks. Talk about piloting, old Burgess does know what he’s about. We are sailing as fast as the gunboat.”
“But she’s overhauling us.”
“Yes, but she won’t try to pass those rocks. She will have to keep to the channel. We are skimming along over the rocky shallows now.”
“Yes, with the keel nearly up to the surface,” panted Fitz excitedly.
“All the better! Less likely to scrape the rocks.”
“Well, you are taking it pretty coolly,” continued the midshipman. “This must be risky work.”
“Yes, we don’t want to be taken. You wait a few minutes and watch the gunboat’s lights. You will see that she will be getting more distant as she goes straight on for the open sea. Her captain will make for the next channel, two or three miles south, to catch us there as we come out—and we shan’t come out, for we shall go right on in and out among the shallows and get clear off, so as to sail into Velova Bay. We shall be all right if we don’t come crash on to one of the shark’s fin rocks.”
“And if we do?”
“Well, if we do we shan’t get off again—only in the boats—but old Villarayo’s gang won’t get the ammunition, for that will go down to amuse the sharks.”
“Well, this is nice,” said Fitz. “The schooner was bad enough before; now it’s ten times worse.”
“Nonsense. See how we are skimming along. This is a new experience for you. You will see more fun with us in a month than you would in your old tea-kettle of a gunboat in twelve.”
“Phew!” ejaculated the skipper, coming up, straw hat in one hand, pocket-handkerchief in the other, and mopping his face. “This is rather warm work, Poole, my boy. Well, Mr Burnett, what do you think of blockade running for a change?”
“What do I think of it, sir?” said Fitz, who was still holding on tight to one of the ropes.
“Yes. Good as yachting, isn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t like it a bit, sir. I don’t call it seamanship.”
“Indeed, young gentleman! What do you call it, then?”
“Utter recklessness, sir.”
“Oh!” said the skipper. “Well, it is running it rather close, but you can’t do blockade running without. Not afraid, are you?”
“Oh, I don’t know about being afraid, sir, but I think that we shall have to take to the boats.”
“Yes, that’s quite likely, but the chances are about equal that we shall not. Mr Burgess knows what he is about, and as likely as not we shall be right into Velova Bay soon after sunrise, and the President’s gunboat twenty miles away.”
Several times over during the rest of the night’s run, Fitz observed that there was a little anxious conference between the skipper and the mate, the former speaking very sternly, and on one occasion the latter spoke out loud in a sharp angry voice, the words reaching the middy’s ear.
“Of course it is very risky,” he said, “but I feel as if I shall get her through, or I shouldn’t do it. Shall we take soundings and drop anchor in the best bit we can find?”
“Where we shall be clearly seen as soon as day breaks? No! Go on.”
It was a relief then to both the lads when the day broke, showing them a line of breakers about half-a-mile away on the starboard-bow, and clear open water right ahead, while as the dawn lifted more and more, it was to show a high ground jungle and the beautiful curve of another bay formed by a couple of ridges about three miles apart running down into the sea.
“There,” cried Poole triumphantly; “we have been running the gauntlet of dangerous rocks all night, and we’ve won. That’s Velova Bay. You will see the city directly, just at the mouth of the valley. Lovely place. It’s the next city to San Cristobal.”
“Fetch my glass, Poole,” said the skipper; and upon its being brought its owner took a long searching sweep of the coast as he stood by the mate’s side.
“I can only make out a few small vessels,” he said; “nothing that we need mind. Run straight in, and we can land everything before the gunboat can get round, even if she comes, which is doubtful, after all.”
“Yes, knowing how we can sail.”
The boys were standing near, and heard all that was said, for their elders spoke freely before them.
“What about choice of place for landing?” asked the mate.
“Oh, we will go up as close as we can get. Ramon is sure to have a strong party there to help, and in a very short time he would be able to knock up an earthwork and utilise the guns as we get them ashore. That would keep the gunboat off if she comes round.”
“Yes,” said the mate quietly, and he handed over the wheel to one of the men, the sea being quite open now between them and the shore a few miles away.
“Well,” said the skipper, “what do you make of it?” For the mate was shading his eyes and looking carefully round eastward.
“Have a look yourself,” was the gruff reply.
The skipper raised the glass he had lowered to his side, and swept the horizon eastward; knowing full well the keenness of his subordinate’s eyes, he fully expected to see some suspicious vessel in sight, but that had not taken the mate’s attention, for as soon as the glass had described about the eighth of a circle the skipper lowered it again and gave an angry stamp with his foot.
“Was ever such luck!” he cried.
“No,” replied the mate; “it is bad. But there is only one thing to be done.”
“Yes, only one thing. We must get out while we can, and I don’t know but what we may be too late even now.”
For the next few minutes all was busy on board the schooner. It was ’bout ship, and fresh sail was set, their course being due east, while as soon as Fitz could get Poole to answer a question, what had so far been to him a mystery was explained.
“We are in for one of those hurricanes that come on so suddenly here,” said the lad, “and we are going right out to sea, to try and get under shelter of one of the isles before it breaks.”
“But why not stop here in harbour?” said Fitz sharply.
“Because there is none. When the wind’s easterly you can only expect one thing, and that is to be blown ashore.”
“But is there time to get under the lee of some island?”
“I don’t know. We are going straight into danger now, for as likely as not we shall meet the gunboat coming right across our bows to cut us off.”
Chapter Twenty.On two sides.The speed they were able to get out of the schooner, and the admirable seamanship of her commander enabled them to reach the sought-for shelter before the fury of the West Indian hurricane came on. It was rough work, but with two anchors down, theTealmanaged to ride out the blast, and fortunately for her crew the storm subsided as quickly as it had risen, leaving them free to run in for Velova with a gentle breeze over a heavy swell, which as evening approached began to subside fast.It still wanted a couple of hours of sunset when the morning’s position was reached, and with favourable wind and the signal flying they were running close in, when Fitz suddenly caught Poole by the arm.“Look yonder,” he said.“What at?—My word!”The boy rushed aft to where his father was standing watching the distant city through his glass; but that which he was about to impart was already clearly seen. From behind a wooded point about a mile behind them the black trail of smoke rising from a steamer’s funnel was slowly ascending into the soft air, and for a few moments the skipper stood with his teeth set and his face contracted with disappointment and rage.“Think they have seen us, Burgess?” he said at last.“Yes; they have been lying in hiding there, watching us till we were well inside.”“Can we get outside again?”“Not a chance of it,” was the reply; “the wind will be dead in our teeth, and we can only tack, while they are coming on full speed, and can begin playing long bowls at us with heavy shot whenever they like.”“What’s to be done?” said the skipper, and without waiting for an answer he added, “Keep on right in. There is one chance yet.”“There, don’t look so precious pleased,” Poole whispered to Fitz. “We are not taken yet.”“I—I wasn’t looking pleased.”“Yes, you were,” said Poole sourly; “but you needn’t be, because you would be no better off with them than you are with us. But you are not with them yet. Father seems to be taking things very easily, and that only means that we are going to get away.”It did not seem like it, though, for as the schooner sailed on into the beautiful orange glow of the coming evening, the gunboat neared them swiftly, spreading a golden trail of light far behind her over the sea which her screw churned up into foam, while overhead trailed backward what seemed to be like a triumphant black feather of smoke.The city before them looked bright and attractive with its gaily-painted houses, green and yellow jalousies, and patches of verdure in the gardens, beyond which the mountains rose in ridge after ridge of green and purple and grey. The bay in front of them was singularly devoid of life. Probably on account of the swell remaining from the hurricane there were no fishing-boats afloat save one, with a long white lateen sail running up into the air like the pointed wing of some sea-bird gliding over the surface of the sea.No one paid any heed to the boat, which drew nearer and nearer from the fact that it was gliding across the bay right in the schooner’s course. In fact, every eye was directed at the gunboat, which came steadily on without hurry, as if her commander felt that he was perfectly certain of his prize, while what went on upon her deck was plainly visible through the glass, the boys noting in turn that her heavy gun was manned and ready to bring them to whensoever the gunboat captain pleased to make her speak.“Oh, Fitz!” groaned Poole. “It does seem so hard. I did think we were going to do it now.”“Well, I can’t help being sorry for you,” said the middy. “Yes, it does seem hard, though I suppose I oughtn’t to speak like this. I say, though, look at those stupid niggers in that boat! Why don’t they get out of the way? We shall run them down.”“Murder! Yes,” cried Poole, and pulling out his knife he ran to one of the life-buoys to cut it free; but ere he could reach it there was a sharp crack as the schooner seemed to glide right over the fishing-boat, the tall white lateen sail disappeared, and Fitz ran to the side, expecting to see those who manned the slight craft struggling in the water.To his surprise, though, he saw that a dark-complexioned man was holding on with a boat-hook, boat and trailing sail were being carried onward by the schooner, and another man was climbing over the port bulwark.What followed passed very quietly. The man gained the deck and ran aft to where the captain and mate were hurrying to meet him.There was a quick passing of something white, and then the man almost glided over the bulwarks again into the boat, which fell astern, and those who manned her began to hoist the long lateen sail once more.“A message from the shore,” whispered Poole excitedly, as he saw his father step into the shelter of one of the boats swinging from the davits, to screen himself from any observant glass on the gunboat’s deck, and there he rapidly tore open a packet and scanned the message that it contained.“Oh, I should like to know what it says,” whispered Poole, “but I mustn’t ask him. It’s lucky to be old Burgess,” he continued, for the captain walked slowly to his chief officer, who stood sulkily apart as if not paying the slightest heed to what was going on.The skipper stood speaking to him for about a minute, and the lad saw the heavy-looking mate give a short nod of the head and then turn his eyes upwards towards the white spread sails as they still glided on through the orange glow.Boom—thud! and Fitz literally jumped; the report, and its echo from the mountain-backed shore, was so sudden and unexpected.“Blank shot,” said Poole, looking at the white smoke curling up from one of the man-of-war’s small guns.“Order to heave-to,” said Fitz; “and you will have to, or a ball will come skipping along next.”“Yes, I suppose so,” said Poole, “across our bows; and if we didn’t stop for that I suppose they would open fire with their big gun. Think they could hit us?”“I don’t know about them,” said Fitz, rather pompously, “but I know our oldTonanswould send you to the bottom with her first shot.”“Then I’m glad it isn’t theTonans” said Poole, laughing. “Here, we are not going to be sunk;” for in obedience to the summons the schooner was thrown up into the wind, the big sails shivering in the soft breeze, and gradually turning of a deeper orange glow. Meanwhile there was a bustle going on aboard the gunboat, and an orange cutter manned by orange men glided down into the sea. Then oars began to dip and at every stroke threw up orange and gold. So beautiful was the scene that Fitz turned from it for a moment to look westward for the source of the vivid colouring, and was startled for the moment at the curious effect, for there, balanced as it were on the highest point of the low ridge of mountains at the back of the city, was the huge orange globe that lit up the whole bay right away to sea, and even as he gazed the sun seemed to touch the mountains whose summit marked a great black notch like a cut out of its lower edge.“Here they come,” said Poole, making Fitz start round again. “What swells,” he continued bitterly. “The dad ought to go below and put on his best jacket. Look at the golden braid.”“I say,” cried Fitz, “he’ll see my uniform. What will he say to me?”“Take you for an English officer helping in a filibustering craft.”“Oh, but I shall explain myself,” cried Fitz. “But it would be rather awkward if they didn’t believe me. Here, you, Poole, I don’t understand a word of Spanish; you will have to stand by me and help me out of a hole.”“And put my father in?” cried Poole. “You are a modest chap!—Why, look there, I am bothered if the dad isn’t going to do it!” cried the lad excitedly.“Do what?”“Put on his best jacket. Look, he’s going to the cabin-hatch. No, he isn’t. What’s he saying to old Butters?”The lad had no verbal answer, but he saw for himself. The gunboat’s cutter was still a couple of hundred yards away, and coming steadily on, when, as if by accident or from the action of the swell, the spokes of the wheel moved a little, with the consequence that the wind began to fill the schooner’s sails, the man at the wheel turned it a little, and the canvas shivered once more.But the schooner had begun to move, gliding imperceptibly along, and as this manoeuvre was repeated, she moved slowly through the water, keeping the row-boat almost at the same distance astern. A full minute had elapsed before the officer noticed this, and he rose in the stern-sheets and shouted an order in Spanish, to which the mate replied by seeming to repeat it to the man at the wheel, who hurriedly gave the spokes a turn, the sails filled, and theTealglided steadily on.“Yah!” roared Butters furiously. “Out of the way, you great clumsy lubber!” And he made a rush at the man, who loosed his hold of the spokes and backed away as if to shelter himself from blows, while, swinging free, the rudder yielded to the pressure of the swell and the schooner glided along faster still.There was a threatening shout from the boat and a hostile movement of weapons, to which Butters responded by roaring out in broad, plain English—“Ay, ay, sir! All right! Clumsy lubber! Break his head.”As he spoke he moved slowly to the wheel, seized the spokes, rammed them down as if confused, and then hurriedly turned them the other way, with the result that the schooner still kept gliding slowly on, with the cutter at the same distance astern.“That’ll do,” said the skipper; “drop it now,” and trembling with excitement as he grasped the manoeuvres being played Fitz made a grab at Poole’s arm, while Poole made a grab at his, and they stood as one, waiting for the result.In obedience to his orders, the boatswain now turned and held the schooner well up in the wind, her forward motion gradually ceasing, and the gunboat’s cutter now gaining upon them fast.“Why, the sun’s gone down,” whispered Fitz excitedly.“Yes,” said Poole, “and the stars are beginning to show.”“In another five minutes,” said Fitz, “it will be getting dusk.”“And in another ten,” whispered Poole hoarsely, “it will be dark. Oh, dad, now I can see through your game.”“So can I,” whispered Fitz, though the words were not addressed to him. “Why, Poole, he means to fight!”“Does he? For a penny he doesn’t mean to let them come on board. Why, look at Butters; he’s lying down on the deck.”“Yes,” whispered Fitz; “to be in shelter if they fire while he’s working the spokes. Look, the sails are filling once again.”“It’s too soon,” whispered Poole hoarsely. “They’ll see from the gunboat and fire, and if they do—”“They will miss us, my boy,” said the skipper, who had approached unseen. “Lie down, my lads—every one on deck.”“And you too, father,” whispered Poole. “They may hit you with a bullet.”“Obey orders,” said the skipper sternly. “The captain must take his chance.”Crack, crack, crack, andwhizz, whizz, whizz!The officer of the cutter saw through the manoeuvre at last, and fired at the retreating schooner’s skipper, while a minute later, as theSilver Tealwas gliding rapidly into a bank of gloom that seemed to come like so much solid blackness down the vale, there was a bright flash as of lightning, a deep boom as of thunder, which shook the very air, and a roar of echoes dying right away, while the great stars overhead now stood out rapidly one by one in the purple velvet arch overhead.
The speed they were able to get out of the schooner, and the admirable seamanship of her commander enabled them to reach the sought-for shelter before the fury of the West Indian hurricane came on. It was rough work, but with two anchors down, theTealmanaged to ride out the blast, and fortunately for her crew the storm subsided as quickly as it had risen, leaving them free to run in for Velova with a gentle breeze over a heavy swell, which as evening approached began to subside fast.
It still wanted a couple of hours of sunset when the morning’s position was reached, and with favourable wind and the signal flying they were running close in, when Fitz suddenly caught Poole by the arm.
“Look yonder,” he said.
“What at?—My word!”
The boy rushed aft to where his father was standing watching the distant city through his glass; but that which he was about to impart was already clearly seen. From behind a wooded point about a mile behind them the black trail of smoke rising from a steamer’s funnel was slowly ascending into the soft air, and for a few moments the skipper stood with his teeth set and his face contracted with disappointment and rage.
“Think they have seen us, Burgess?” he said at last.
“Yes; they have been lying in hiding there, watching us till we were well inside.”
“Can we get outside again?”
“Not a chance of it,” was the reply; “the wind will be dead in our teeth, and we can only tack, while they are coming on full speed, and can begin playing long bowls at us with heavy shot whenever they like.”
“What’s to be done?” said the skipper, and without waiting for an answer he added, “Keep on right in. There is one chance yet.”
“There, don’t look so precious pleased,” Poole whispered to Fitz. “We are not taken yet.”
“I—I wasn’t looking pleased.”
“Yes, you were,” said Poole sourly; “but you needn’t be, because you would be no better off with them than you are with us. But you are not with them yet. Father seems to be taking things very easily, and that only means that we are going to get away.”
It did not seem like it, though, for as the schooner sailed on into the beautiful orange glow of the coming evening, the gunboat neared them swiftly, spreading a golden trail of light far behind her over the sea which her screw churned up into foam, while overhead trailed backward what seemed to be like a triumphant black feather of smoke.
The city before them looked bright and attractive with its gaily-painted houses, green and yellow jalousies, and patches of verdure in the gardens, beyond which the mountains rose in ridge after ridge of green and purple and grey. The bay in front of them was singularly devoid of life. Probably on account of the swell remaining from the hurricane there were no fishing-boats afloat save one, with a long white lateen sail running up into the air like the pointed wing of some sea-bird gliding over the surface of the sea.
No one paid any heed to the boat, which drew nearer and nearer from the fact that it was gliding across the bay right in the schooner’s course. In fact, every eye was directed at the gunboat, which came steadily on without hurry, as if her commander felt that he was perfectly certain of his prize, while what went on upon her deck was plainly visible through the glass, the boys noting in turn that her heavy gun was manned and ready to bring them to whensoever the gunboat captain pleased to make her speak.
“Oh, Fitz!” groaned Poole. “It does seem so hard. I did think we were going to do it now.”
“Well, I can’t help being sorry for you,” said the middy. “Yes, it does seem hard, though I suppose I oughtn’t to speak like this. I say, though, look at those stupid niggers in that boat! Why don’t they get out of the way? We shall run them down.”
“Murder! Yes,” cried Poole, and pulling out his knife he ran to one of the life-buoys to cut it free; but ere he could reach it there was a sharp crack as the schooner seemed to glide right over the fishing-boat, the tall white lateen sail disappeared, and Fitz ran to the side, expecting to see those who manned the slight craft struggling in the water.
To his surprise, though, he saw that a dark-complexioned man was holding on with a boat-hook, boat and trailing sail were being carried onward by the schooner, and another man was climbing over the port bulwark.
What followed passed very quietly. The man gained the deck and ran aft to where the captain and mate were hurrying to meet him.
There was a quick passing of something white, and then the man almost glided over the bulwarks again into the boat, which fell astern, and those who manned her began to hoist the long lateen sail once more.
“A message from the shore,” whispered Poole excitedly, as he saw his father step into the shelter of one of the boats swinging from the davits, to screen himself from any observant glass on the gunboat’s deck, and there he rapidly tore open a packet and scanned the message that it contained.
“Oh, I should like to know what it says,” whispered Poole, “but I mustn’t ask him. It’s lucky to be old Burgess,” he continued, for the captain walked slowly to his chief officer, who stood sulkily apart as if not paying the slightest heed to what was going on.
The skipper stood speaking to him for about a minute, and the lad saw the heavy-looking mate give a short nod of the head and then turn his eyes upwards towards the white spread sails as they still glided on through the orange glow.
Boom—thud! and Fitz literally jumped; the report, and its echo from the mountain-backed shore, was so sudden and unexpected.
“Blank shot,” said Poole, looking at the white smoke curling up from one of the man-of-war’s small guns.
“Order to heave-to,” said Fitz; “and you will have to, or a ball will come skipping along next.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Poole, “across our bows; and if we didn’t stop for that I suppose they would open fire with their big gun. Think they could hit us?”
“I don’t know about them,” said Fitz, rather pompously, “but I know our oldTonanswould send you to the bottom with her first shot.”
“Then I’m glad it isn’t theTonans” said Poole, laughing. “Here, we are not going to be sunk;” for in obedience to the summons the schooner was thrown up into the wind, the big sails shivering in the soft breeze, and gradually turning of a deeper orange glow. Meanwhile there was a bustle going on aboard the gunboat, and an orange cutter manned by orange men glided down into the sea. Then oars began to dip and at every stroke threw up orange and gold. So beautiful was the scene that Fitz turned from it for a moment to look westward for the source of the vivid colouring, and was startled for the moment at the curious effect, for there, balanced as it were on the highest point of the low ridge of mountains at the back of the city, was the huge orange globe that lit up the whole bay right away to sea, and even as he gazed the sun seemed to touch the mountains whose summit marked a great black notch like a cut out of its lower edge.
“Here they come,” said Poole, making Fitz start round again. “What swells,” he continued bitterly. “The dad ought to go below and put on his best jacket. Look at the golden braid.”
“I say,” cried Fitz, “he’ll see my uniform. What will he say to me?”
“Take you for an English officer helping in a filibustering craft.”
“Oh, but I shall explain myself,” cried Fitz. “But it would be rather awkward if they didn’t believe me. Here, you, Poole, I don’t understand a word of Spanish; you will have to stand by me and help me out of a hole.”
“And put my father in?” cried Poole. “You are a modest chap!—Why, look there, I am bothered if the dad isn’t going to do it!” cried the lad excitedly.
“Do what?”
“Put on his best jacket. Look, he’s going to the cabin-hatch. No, he isn’t. What’s he saying to old Butters?”
The lad had no verbal answer, but he saw for himself. The gunboat’s cutter was still a couple of hundred yards away, and coming steadily on, when, as if by accident or from the action of the swell, the spokes of the wheel moved a little, with the consequence that the wind began to fill the schooner’s sails, the man at the wheel turned it a little, and the canvas shivered once more.
But the schooner had begun to move, gliding imperceptibly along, and as this manoeuvre was repeated, she moved slowly through the water, keeping the row-boat almost at the same distance astern. A full minute had elapsed before the officer noticed this, and he rose in the stern-sheets and shouted an order in Spanish, to which the mate replied by seeming to repeat it to the man at the wheel, who hurriedly gave the spokes a turn, the sails filled, and theTealglided steadily on.
“Yah!” roared Butters furiously. “Out of the way, you great clumsy lubber!” And he made a rush at the man, who loosed his hold of the spokes and backed away as if to shelter himself from blows, while, swinging free, the rudder yielded to the pressure of the swell and the schooner glided along faster still.
There was a threatening shout from the boat and a hostile movement of weapons, to which Butters responded by roaring out in broad, plain English—
“Ay, ay, sir! All right! Clumsy lubber! Break his head.”
As he spoke he moved slowly to the wheel, seized the spokes, rammed them down as if confused, and then hurriedly turned them the other way, with the result that the schooner still kept gliding slowly on, with the cutter at the same distance astern.
“That’ll do,” said the skipper; “drop it now,” and trembling with excitement as he grasped the manoeuvres being played Fitz made a grab at Poole’s arm, while Poole made a grab at his, and they stood as one, waiting for the result.
In obedience to his orders, the boatswain now turned and held the schooner well up in the wind, her forward motion gradually ceasing, and the gunboat’s cutter now gaining upon them fast.
“Why, the sun’s gone down,” whispered Fitz excitedly.
“Yes,” said Poole, “and the stars are beginning to show.”
“In another five minutes,” said Fitz, “it will be getting dusk.”
“And in another ten,” whispered Poole hoarsely, “it will be dark. Oh, dad, now I can see through your game.”
“So can I,” whispered Fitz, though the words were not addressed to him. “Why, Poole, he means to fight!”
“Does he? For a penny he doesn’t mean to let them come on board. Why, look at Butters; he’s lying down on the deck.”
“Yes,” whispered Fitz; “to be in shelter if they fire while he’s working the spokes. Look, the sails are filling once again.”
“It’s too soon,” whispered Poole hoarsely. “They’ll see from the gunboat and fire, and if they do—”
“They will miss us, my boy,” said the skipper, who had approached unseen. “Lie down, my lads—every one on deck.”
“And you too, father,” whispered Poole. “They may hit you with a bullet.”
“Obey orders,” said the skipper sternly. “The captain must take his chance.”
Crack, crack, crack, andwhizz, whizz, whizz!
The officer of the cutter saw through the manoeuvre at last, and fired at the retreating schooner’s skipper, while a minute later, as theSilver Tealwas gliding rapidly into a bank of gloom that seemed to come like so much solid blackness down the vale, there was a bright flash as of lightning, a deep boom as of thunder, which shook the very air, and a roar of echoes dying right away, while the great stars overhead now stood out rapidly one by one in the purple velvet arch overhead.
Chapter Twenty One.By the skin of their teeth.“When we have escaped,” cried Fitz excitedly, a few minutes later, a very brief time having sufficed to shut out the cutter and gunboat too.“Escaped!” said Poole, with a little laugh, as he clapped his companion on the shoulder. “Well,wehave.”“Yes, yes, of course,” said Fitz; “I meant you. But what will be done now? We are—you are regularly shut in this bay. The gunboat will keep guard, and her boats will begin patrolling up and down so that you can’t get away. It only means waiting till morning.”“Waiting till morning, eh?”“Of course. And then they’ll sink you as sure as you are here.”“Yes,” said Poole, laughing merrily; “not a doubt about it.”“Well,” said Fitz, “I don’t see anything to laugh at.”“Don’t you? Then I do. Why, you don’t suppose for a moment that we shall be here? The fellows in that fishing-boat brought father some despatch orders for arendezvoussomewhere else, I should say. Just you wait a little, my boy, and you will see what theTealcan do. She can’t dive, but she can dodge.”“Dodge in a little bay like this—dodge a gunboat?”“Of course. Just wait till it’s a little darker. I dare say father has got his plans all ready made, just the same as he had when it seemed all over just now. If he and old Burgess were too much for the Spanish dons in broad daylight, you may depend upon it that they will give them the go-by in the dark. Quiet! Here he is.”“Yes, here I am, my boy,” said the skipper quietly. “Look here, you two. Hear—see—as much as you can:—and say nothing. Everything on board now must be quiet, and not a light seen.”“All right, father,” replied Poole, “but I can’t see anything of the gunboat’s lights.”“No, and I don’t suppose you will. They will take care not to show any. Well, Mr Burnett, may I trust you not to betray us by shouting a warning when the enemy are near? We are going to play a game of hide-and-seek, you know. We shall do the hiding, and the Spaniards will have to seek. Of course you know,” he continued, “it would be very easy for you to shout when we were stealing along through the darkness, and bring the enemy’s boats upon us just when they are not wanted.”“Well, yes, sir, I was thinking so a little while ago,” replied the middy.“Well, that’s frank,” said the skipper; “and is that what I am to expect from your sense of duty?”Fitz was silent.“Well, sir,” he said at last, “I don’t quite know. It’s rather awkward for me, seeing how I am placed.”“Yes—very; but I don’t believe you would think so if you knew what sort of a character this usurping mongrel Spaniard is. There is more of the treacherous Indian in his blood than of the noble Don. Perhaps under the circumstances I had better make you a prisoner in your cabin with the dead-light in, so that you can’t make a signal to the enemy with lamp or match.”“It would be safer, sir,” said Fitz.“But most unpleasant,” continued the skipper. “But there, my lad, situated as you are, I don’t think you need strain a point. Give me your parole that you will content yourself with looking on, and I won’t ask you to go below.”“Oh, he will, father. I’ll answer for that,” cried Poole.“Answer for yourself, my boy. That’s enough for you to do. Let Mr Burnett give me his own assurance. It would be rather mean, wouldn’t it, Mr Burnett, if you did betray us?”“Yes, sir; horrible,” cried Fitz quickly. “But if it were one of our ships I should be obliged.”“Of course,” said the skipper; “but as it is you will hold your tongue?”“Yes, sir; I shall look on.”“That’s right. Now then,” continued the skipper, “the game’s going to begin. There is sure to be some firing, so keep well down under the shelter of the bulwarks. Of course they will never have a chance to take aim, but there is no knowing what a random shot may do.”“Want me to do anything, father?” said Poole eagerly.“No, my boy. There is nothing you can do. It will all lie with Mr Burgess; Butters, who will be at the wheel; myself, and the men who trim the sails.”“You are going to sail right away then; eh, father?”“That all depends, my boy—just as the chances come.”“But as the schooner draws so little water, sir,” said Fitz eagerly, “won’t you sail close in under the shore?”“No, my lad. That’s just what the enemy will expect, and have every boat out on thequi vive. I don’t mind telling you now what my plans will be.”He was silent for a few minutes, and they dimly made out that he was holding up his left hand as a warning to them not to speak, while he placed his right behind his ear and seemed to be listening, as if he heard some sound.“Boat,” he said, at last, in a whisper, “rowing yonder right across our stern. But they didn’t make us out. Oh, I was about to tell you what I meant to do. Run right by the gunboat as closely as I can without touching her, for it strikes me that will be the last thing that they will expect.”He moved away the next moment, leaving the boys together once again, to talk in whispers about the exciting episode that was to come.“I say, Fitz,” whispered Poole excitedly, “isn’t this better than being on board your sleepy oldTonans?”“You leave the sleepy oldTonansalone,” replied the middy. “She’s more lively than you think.”“Could be, perhaps; but you never had a set-out like this.”“No,” said Fitz stiffly, “because theTonansnever runs away.”“That’s one for me,” said Poole, laughing. “There are times when you must run, my lad, and this is one. Hullo, they’re shaking out more canvas. It’s going to be yachting now like a race for a cup. It’s ’bout ship too.”“Yes, by the way one can feel the wind,” replied Fitz; “but I don’t believe your people can see which way to steer.”“Nor I neither,” said Poole coolly. “Father is going to chance it, I believe. He’ll make straight for where he saw the gunboat last, as he thinks, and take it for granted that we can’t run on to her. Besides, she is pretty well sure to be on the move.”“Most likely,” said Fitz; “but it’s terribly risky work.”The rippling of the water under the schooner’s bows came very plainly now, as the boys went right forward, where two men were on the look-out. These they joined, to find that they had the sternest instructions, and these were communicated by the men to the two lads.“Mustn’t speak, gentlemen,” they said.“Just one word,” whispered Fitz. “What are you going to do if you make out that you are running right on to the enemy?”“Whistle,” said the man addressed, laconically.“What, for more wind?” asked Fitz.“No, sir,” said the man, with a low chuckle; “for the man at the wheel. One pipe means starboard; two pipes, port. See?”“No,” said Poole, “but he can hear.”As they were whispering, the louder rippling beneath the schooner’s cut-water plainly told of the rate at which they were gliding through the dark sea. The stars were clear enough overhead, but all in front seemed to be of a deep transparent black, whose hue tinged even the staysail, jib, and flying-jib, bellying out above their heads and in front. As far as the lads could make out they had been running in towards the city, taken a good sweep round, and then been headed out for the open sea, with the schooner careening over and rushing through the water like a racing yacht.There are some things in life which seem to be extended over a considerable space of time, apparently hours, but which afterwards during calmer thought prove to have taken up only minutes, and this was one.Poole had just pointed out in a low whisper that by the stars they were sailing due east, and the man nearest to them, a particularly sharp-eared individual, endorsed his words by whispering laconically—“Straight for the open sea.”The water was gliding beneath them, divided by the sharp keel, with a hissing rush; otherwise all was still; for all they could make out the gunboat and her satellites, sent out to patrol, might have been miles away. There was darkness before them and on either hand, while in front apparently lay the open ocean, and the exhilaration caused by their rapid motion produced a buoyant feeling suggesting to the lads that the danger was passed and that they were free.Then in another moment it seemed to Fitz Burnett as if some giant hand had caught him by the throat and stopped his breath.The sensation was appalling, and consequent upon the suddenly-impressed knowledge that, in spite of the fact that there was about a mile and a half of space of which an infinitesimally small portion was occupied by danger, they were gliding through the black darkness dead on to that little space, for suddenly in front there arose the dull panting, throbbing sound of machinery, the churning up of water to their left, and the hissing ripple caused by a cut-water to their right.It was horrible.They were going dead on to the gunboat, which was steaming slowly across their bows, and it seemed to the breathless, expectant group that the next moment they would be cutting into her side, or more likely crumpling up and shivering to pieces upon her protecting armour. But there is something in having a crew of old man-of-war’s men, disciplined and trained to obey orders in emergencies, and thinking of nothing else. The skipper had given his commands to his two look-out men, and in the imminence of the danger they were obeyed, for as Fitz Burnett gripped his companion’s arm, involuntarily drawing him sideways in the direction of the bulwark, to make a leap for life, a sharp clear pipe, like the cry of some sea-bird, rang out twice, while the panting and quivering of the machinery and the churning rush of the gunboat’s crew seemed right upon them.Suddenly there was a loud shout, followed by a yell, the report of a revolver, succeeded by the deep booming roar of a fog-syren which had been set going by the funnel, and then as Fitz Burnett felt that the crash was upon them, the roar of the fog-horn was behind, for theTealhad as nearly as possible scraped past the gunboat’s stern, and was flying onward towards the open sea.For a few moments no one spoke, and then it was one of the look-out men.“About as near as a toucher, that, messmate.”“Ay, and I seemed to have no wind when I wanted to blow. Once is quite enough for a job like that.”“Is it true, Poole?” whispered Fitz, and his voice sounded hoarse and strange.“I don’t quite know yet,” was the reply as the lad walked aft. “It seemed so impossible and queer—but it is, and, my word, how close!”
“When we have escaped,” cried Fitz excitedly, a few minutes later, a very brief time having sufficed to shut out the cutter and gunboat too.
“Escaped!” said Poole, with a little laugh, as he clapped his companion on the shoulder. “Well,wehave.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Fitz; “I meant you. But what will be done now? We are—you are regularly shut in this bay. The gunboat will keep guard, and her boats will begin patrolling up and down so that you can’t get away. It only means waiting till morning.”
“Waiting till morning, eh?”
“Of course. And then they’ll sink you as sure as you are here.”
“Yes,” said Poole, laughing merrily; “not a doubt about it.”
“Well,” said Fitz, “I don’t see anything to laugh at.”
“Don’t you? Then I do. Why, you don’t suppose for a moment that we shall be here? The fellows in that fishing-boat brought father some despatch orders for arendezvoussomewhere else, I should say. Just you wait a little, my boy, and you will see what theTealcan do. She can’t dive, but she can dodge.”
“Dodge in a little bay like this—dodge a gunboat?”
“Of course. Just wait till it’s a little darker. I dare say father has got his plans all ready made, just the same as he had when it seemed all over just now. If he and old Burgess were too much for the Spanish dons in broad daylight, you may depend upon it that they will give them the go-by in the dark. Quiet! Here he is.”
“Yes, here I am, my boy,” said the skipper quietly. “Look here, you two. Hear—see—as much as you can:—and say nothing. Everything on board now must be quiet, and not a light seen.”
“All right, father,” replied Poole, “but I can’t see anything of the gunboat’s lights.”
“No, and I don’t suppose you will. They will take care not to show any. Well, Mr Burnett, may I trust you not to betray us by shouting a warning when the enemy are near? We are going to play a game of hide-and-seek, you know. We shall do the hiding, and the Spaniards will have to seek. Of course you know,” he continued, “it would be very easy for you to shout when we were stealing along through the darkness, and bring the enemy’s boats upon us just when they are not wanted.”
“Well, yes, sir, I was thinking so a little while ago,” replied the middy.
“Well, that’s frank,” said the skipper; “and is that what I am to expect from your sense of duty?”
Fitz was silent.
“Well, sir,” he said at last, “I don’t quite know. It’s rather awkward for me, seeing how I am placed.”
“Yes—very; but I don’t believe you would think so if you knew what sort of a character this usurping mongrel Spaniard is. There is more of the treacherous Indian in his blood than of the noble Don. Perhaps under the circumstances I had better make you a prisoner in your cabin with the dead-light in, so that you can’t make a signal to the enemy with lamp or match.”
“It would be safer, sir,” said Fitz.
“But most unpleasant,” continued the skipper. “But there, my lad, situated as you are, I don’t think you need strain a point. Give me your parole that you will content yourself with looking on, and I won’t ask you to go below.”
“Oh, he will, father. I’ll answer for that,” cried Poole.
“Answer for yourself, my boy. That’s enough for you to do. Let Mr Burnett give me his own assurance. It would be rather mean, wouldn’t it, Mr Burnett, if you did betray us?”
“Yes, sir; horrible,” cried Fitz quickly. “But if it were one of our ships I should be obliged.”
“Of course,” said the skipper; “but as it is you will hold your tongue?”
“Yes, sir; I shall look on.”
“That’s right. Now then,” continued the skipper, “the game’s going to begin. There is sure to be some firing, so keep well down under the shelter of the bulwarks. Of course they will never have a chance to take aim, but there is no knowing what a random shot may do.”
“Want me to do anything, father?” said Poole eagerly.
“No, my boy. There is nothing you can do. It will all lie with Mr Burgess; Butters, who will be at the wheel; myself, and the men who trim the sails.”
“You are going to sail right away then; eh, father?”
“That all depends, my boy—just as the chances come.”
“But as the schooner draws so little water, sir,” said Fitz eagerly, “won’t you sail close in under the shore?”
“No, my lad. That’s just what the enemy will expect, and have every boat out on thequi vive. I don’t mind telling you now what my plans will be.”
He was silent for a few minutes, and they dimly made out that he was holding up his left hand as a warning to them not to speak, while he placed his right behind his ear and seemed to be listening, as if he heard some sound.
“Boat,” he said, at last, in a whisper, “rowing yonder right across our stern. But they didn’t make us out. Oh, I was about to tell you what I meant to do. Run right by the gunboat as closely as I can without touching her, for it strikes me that will be the last thing that they will expect.”
He moved away the next moment, leaving the boys together once again, to talk in whispers about the exciting episode that was to come.
“I say, Fitz,” whispered Poole excitedly, “isn’t this better than being on board your sleepy oldTonans?”
“You leave the sleepy oldTonansalone,” replied the middy. “She’s more lively than you think.”
“Could be, perhaps; but you never had a set-out like this.”
“No,” said Fitz stiffly, “because theTonansnever runs away.”
“That’s one for me,” said Poole, laughing. “There are times when you must run, my lad, and this is one. Hullo, they’re shaking out more canvas. It’s going to be yachting now like a race for a cup. It’s ’bout ship too.”
“Yes, by the way one can feel the wind,” replied Fitz; “but I don’t believe your people can see which way to steer.”
“Nor I neither,” said Poole coolly. “Father is going to chance it, I believe. He’ll make straight for where he saw the gunboat last, as he thinks, and take it for granted that we can’t run on to her. Besides, she is pretty well sure to be on the move.”
“Most likely,” said Fitz; “but it’s terribly risky work.”
The rippling of the water under the schooner’s bows came very plainly now, as the boys went right forward, where two men were on the look-out. These they joined, to find that they had the sternest instructions, and these were communicated by the men to the two lads.
“Mustn’t speak, gentlemen,” they said.
“Just one word,” whispered Fitz. “What are you going to do if you make out that you are running right on to the enemy?”
“Whistle,” said the man addressed, laconically.
“What, for more wind?” asked Fitz.
“No, sir,” said the man, with a low chuckle; “for the man at the wheel. One pipe means starboard; two pipes, port. See?”
“No,” said Poole, “but he can hear.”
As they were whispering, the louder rippling beneath the schooner’s cut-water plainly told of the rate at which they were gliding through the dark sea. The stars were clear enough overhead, but all in front seemed to be of a deep transparent black, whose hue tinged even the staysail, jib, and flying-jib, bellying out above their heads and in front. As far as the lads could make out they had been running in towards the city, taken a good sweep round, and then been headed out for the open sea, with the schooner careening over and rushing through the water like a racing yacht.
There are some things in life which seem to be extended over a considerable space of time, apparently hours, but which afterwards during calmer thought prove to have taken up only minutes, and this was one.
Poole had just pointed out in a low whisper that by the stars they were sailing due east, and the man nearest to them, a particularly sharp-eared individual, endorsed his words by whispering laconically—
“Straight for the open sea.”
The water was gliding beneath them, divided by the sharp keel, with a hissing rush; otherwise all was still; for all they could make out the gunboat and her satellites, sent out to patrol, might have been miles away. There was darkness before them and on either hand, while in front apparently lay the open ocean, and the exhilaration caused by their rapid motion produced a buoyant feeling suggesting to the lads that the danger was passed and that they were free.
Then in another moment it seemed to Fitz Burnett as if some giant hand had caught him by the throat and stopped his breath.
The sensation was appalling, and consequent upon the suddenly-impressed knowledge that, in spite of the fact that there was about a mile and a half of space of which an infinitesimally small portion was occupied by danger, they were gliding through the black darkness dead on to that little space, for suddenly in front there arose the dull panting, throbbing sound of machinery, the churning up of water to their left, and the hissing ripple caused by a cut-water to their right.
It was horrible.
They were going dead on to the gunboat, which was steaming slowly across their bows, and it seemed to the breathless, expectant group that the next moment they would be cutting into her side, or more likely crumpling up and shivering to pieces upon her protecting armour. But there is something in having a crew of old man-of-war’s men, disciplined and trained to obey orders in emergencies, and thinking of nothing else. The skipper had given his commands to his two look-out men, and in the imminence of the danger they were obeyed, for as Fitz Burnett gripped his companion’s arm, involuntarily drawing him sideways in the direction of the bulwark, to make a leap for life, a sharp clear pipe, like the cry of some sea-bird, rang out twice, while the panting and quivering of the machinery and the churning rush of the gunboat’s crew seemed right upon them.
Suddenly there was a loud shout, followed by a yell, the report of a revolver, succeeded by the deep booming roar of a fog-syren which had been set going by the funnel, and then as Fitz Burnett felt that the crash was upon them, the roar of the fog-horn was behind, for theTealhad as nearly as possible scraped past the gunboat’s stern, and was flying onward towards the open sea.
For a few moments no one spoke, and then it was one of the look-out men.
“About as near as a toucher, that, messmate.”
“Ay, and I seemed to have no wind when I wanted to blow. Once is quite enough for a job like that.”
“Is it true, Poole?” whispered Fitz, and his voice sounded hoarse and strange.
“I don’t quite know yet,” was the reply as the lad walked aft. “It seemed so impossible and queer—but it is, and, my word, how close!”