The peril seemed to increase minute by minute, as the little party watched, straining their ears in the darkness to catch the slightest sound, while it seemed hours since the last party had left them, and they awaited the coming of the two lads to announce that the boat had returned.

It was weary work for these goers to and fro, but excitement and exertion kept them from feeling the agony of the Englishmen who, apparently calm, kept watch and ward at the hacienda, while from time to time the skipper and Winks went from fire to fire, mending them and arranging more fuel so that when they were left for good they might still keep burning.

They had been round for the last visit, and returned to the hacienda, walking very slowly, and pausing from time to time to listen for any movement in the enemy's lines, and at last they stopped short close to the spot where the carpenter had destroyed the snake, when after standing for some time listening to a faint murmur of voices close at hand, coming from the waiting crew, the carpenter uttered a peculiar husky cough. It was so strange and unnatural that the skipper put the right interpretation upon it at once.

"Yes?" he said. "You wanted to ask me something?"

"Yes, sir. It's this waiting makes me want to speak. I can't stand the doing nothing at a time like this. I'd ten times rather be on the fight."

"So would I, Winks, if you come to that. It's a cruel strain, my lad. Worse than being in the wildest storm. But go on; what did you want to say?"

"Oh, only this, sir. I want you to give me orders to go round again and give the fires a poke. You needn't come, sir. You are wanted here. You can trust me to do the lot."

"Yes, I know that," said the skipper sternly; "but that isn't all. You were thinking something else, and now it's come to the point you are afraid to speak."

"How did you know that, sir?" said the man huskily.

"By your manner and the tone of your voice. What is it you are thinking? Out with it at once."

"Well, sir, I dunno how you come to know, but it has come over me just lately like a skeer. Aren't the young gents been much longer this time?"

"Yes, much," replied the skipper; "or else it seems to be."

"I thought so, sir, and I've got so now that I feels as if I can't bear it. What are you going to do, sir? Follow 'em up and see what's wrong?"

"I shall give them ten minutes longer, Winks. I meant to stay here to the very last, ready to give the enemy a volley and a check if they should come on; but now the time has come to hurry on to the wharf and wait there in the hope that the boat may still come and take us off without further waste of time."

"But don't let me make you downhearted, sir," said the carpenter, trying to speak cheerily. "I'm a bit of an old woman in my ways sometimes. Maybe it's all right, after all."

"Maybe it is," said the skipper. "We are tired out and over-anxious now. It's quite possible that we shall have them back here soon."

"Pst!" whispered the carpenter. "There's some one coming."

It was from their rear, and the next moment they were joined by Don Ramon.

"Ah, you are here," he said. "Is it not time that the boys came back?"

"Nearly," said the skipper quietly.

"No, no," said Don Ramon; "they have been twice too long. Something must have happened, or they would have come by now."

"Pst! Look out!" whispered the carpenter, and he cocked his rifle. "No: all right," he continued. "It's not from the enemy's side."

He was quite right, for directly after the two boys trotted up.

"All right, father," cried Poole. "The boat's back."

"We thought she would never have come," added Fitz. "They have had a very hard pull up stream, for the water has risen, and they thought that they'd never get to the landing-place."

"But they are there!" cried the skipper eagerly. "What about the others? Have they got on board?"

"Everything was going right, father. I had a few words with Butters, and he was very eager to know how soon I could get you all down."

"And you couldn't tell him?"

"No, father.—I think that's all."

"Bravo! Magnificent!" cried Don Ramon. "You have both done wonders," and to the lads' disgust he caught them in turn to his breast and kissed them. "It is grand, and your fathers should be proud. My lads, it is the grandest thing in life to be a Spaniard of pure Castilian descent, but next to that the greatest thing in the world is to be an English boy."

"This is no time for compliments, Don Ramon," said the skipper sternly. "They have done their duty; that is all. Now then, will you lead on at once with half our party, and I with the rest will form the rear-guard. If even now the enemy come up we shall be able to hold them in check. We shall fire, and then double past you and your party, who will halt and fire, and then retire past us again. We are very few and they are many, but I think we can reach the boat in safety after all."

The Don made no reply, but put himself at the head of his little party at once, leaving the skipper, the two lads, and the remainder facing the enemy's camp and watching the flickering fires between, the hardest task of all when the way was open and they felt that with a good rush they might reach the boat in safety.

But discipline was master, and fighting down all desire to break away, the remnant of the little force stood waiting, while the carpenter made a last effort to find himself something to do, by suggesting that it would be best perhaps to give them there fires just another touch.

"No," said the skipper sternly. "In another two minutes we shall follow on."

"Thank goodness!" whispered Fitz excitedly. "I don't feel as if I could stand any more."

"Not even one of Don Ramon's speeches and a hug?"

"Oh, don't talk about it," whispered Fitz angrily.

"What! Isn't it grand to be an English boy?"

"Bosh!" cried Fitz, and like an echo of his ejaculation came the skipper's command—

"Forward!" And directly afterwards, "Poole—Mr Burnett—will you watch with me?"

The lads stepped to his side at once.

"The last to turn our backs, Fitz Burnett," whispered Poole. "The place of honour after all."



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

ABOARD AGAIN.

The little party strained their ears as they tramped silently on towards the boat; but not a sound was heard suggesting that the enemy grasped the fact that the strategy had been cleverly carried out. The dull reflection of the fires had from time to time been faintly discernible upon the low-hanging mist; but this soon died out, and fortune seemed to be smiling kindly upon their efforts now.

"I'd give something to know what time it is," whispered Poole, and he took a step nearer to his father to ask him how long he thought it would be before day.

"I haven't the least idea, my boy," he replied. "The night has seemed far too short, but it must be nearly at an end. But if we can once get into the boat and reach the schooner I shall begin to hope that we may reach Velova before the enemy."

"We have got much farther to go than they have, though, father."

"Yes, and everything will depend upon how long it is before the reinforcements come and they make their advance. It may be hours yet, and it may be before the break of day. There, don't talk to me again, my lad; I want to think."

So it was in silence and darkness that the corduroy road was traversed, and the rear-guard reached the little wharf to find the advance gathered-together, waiting to fire or descend at once into the boat.

There was not a sound to be heard from the direction by which they had come, and the skipper giving the order to embark at once, the men stepped down carefully and well, till, dangerously packed, the order was given to push off, Poole and Fitz being together in the stern, where the skipper passed out an oar to steer, and they began rapidly to descend the flooded stream.

"There must have been rain in the mountains," he said quietly, and then aloud, "Sit fast, my lads, and keep her well in trim. Two oars out there, just to give me steering way, but you need hardly pull. Everything depends upon your keeping steady. There, boys," he said, to those at his side, "we are none too soon. It's lightening yonder in the east."

That morning the sun, as it rose high above the mist, shone down upon the crowded decks of the schooner, her white sails glistening as the land was left behind, with Poole and Fitz Burnett using the glass in turn to watch the mouth of the little river; but they watched in vain, for there was no sign of enemy hurrying to the bank, nothing to disturb the peace and beauty of the scene.

Poole scuffled up to the masthead, glass in hand, and Fitz Burnett followed him, to stand as near as he could, with the ratlines cutting into his feet and a crick coming in the back of his neck, as he held on tightly, and leaned back watching his companion's action, longing to get hold of the glass and use it himself. In fact, he was suffering from that impatience which often attacks us all and makes us feel as we watch another's action how much better we could do it ourselves, from the greatest matter down to such a trifle us untying a knot in a piece of string. Meanwhile, with the white sails swelling out above and below, and the double glass to his eye, the skipper's son was slowly sweeping the coast-line, letting nothing escape him, as he looked in vain for some sign of the enemy.

"See her, my boy?" came from the deck, and Fitz looked down, to see that the skipper and Don Ramon were watching them.

"No, father," cried Poole. "I wasn't looking out to sea."

"Then why don't you?" cried the skipper angrily. "Are you trying to see cocoanuts on the trees? Sweep the horizon, sir, and give us the first notice of that gunboat's masts."

"All right, father," said the lad quietly, and he wrenched himself round and made the lenses of the binocular slowly travel along the horizon-line, as he rocked gently here and there with the action of the schooner riding swiftly over the long smooth swell; for there was a pleasant breeze, all possible sail was set, and they were rapidly diminishing the distance between them and Velova Bay.

"See her?" said Fitz, as he noted that the skipper and his Spanish friend had walked together forward—Don Ramon's followers, who crowded the deck and sent up scores of tiny films of smoke from their cigarettes, politely making way and forming quite a lane for their leaders.

They were idling, chattering, and laughing together, the very types of a party of idlers out on a sea-trip, and their rifles were leaning against the bulwarks here and there, lying about the deck, or stuck in sheaves together with their barrels appearing above the sides of the boats swinging from the davits.

No one could have imagined from their careless indolent bearing that they were posing as patriots, men who a short time before had escaped from a deadly peril, and were now for aught they knew sailing straight away into one as great.

They formed a strong contrast to the old men-of-war's men, who retained their well-drilled bearing as the crew of the schooner, eager, alert, and ready at any moment to spring to sheet and brace at the mate's orders when they went upon another tack.

"No," replied Poole, after a long interval. "There's a shoal of fish out yonder, and something sprang out farther to the east and went in again with a splash, and there's a bad sign out yonder; cat's-paws on the surface."

"You don't mean to say that it looks like a calm coming?"

"Just like that," said Poole slowly, with the glass still at his eye.

"Well?" rose from the deck, as the two chiefs came slowly back.

"Nothing, father—not a sign," cried Poole. "Well, you needn't stop up there, my lad. Come down, and go up again in a quarter of an hour's time."

Poole slipped the glass into the case slung from his left shoulder, laid hold of a rope, and looked at his companion, who did the same, and they slid down together and dropped upon the deck, to begin walking forward.

"I shan't be sorry," said Poole quietly, "when all these fellows are ashore."

"Nor I neither," replied Fitz, and then he turned his head sharply, for a familiar head was thrust out of the galley, where the stove was black and cold.

"Weel, laddies," whispered the Camel, "I have had to put up the shutters and shut up shop, for I canna pretend to feed all this lot; but ah'm thenking ye'll feel a bit hungry now and then, and when ye do, joost go below into the cahbin when there's naebody looking, and open the little locker. I dinna mean to say another word, but—" He closed one ferrety-looking red eye, laid a finger alongside of his nose, showed his big teeth, and drew his head in again.

"A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse," said Poole, laughing. "Well done, Camel! But that's all you, Fitz."

"Nonsense! It was a hint for both."

"No. He has taken a fancy to you. He told me himself he had, and that it was his doing that you got up your strength so quickly."

"Oh, gammon!" cried Fitz petulantly.

"No, it was what he calls his pheesic. He told me that when a man was in bad health—crenky, he called it—that the thing to pull him round was soup; and you know how he was always scheming something of the kind for you. I shouldn't like to analyse too strictly what he made it of."

"Why, meat, of course," cried the middy. "I don't know," said Poole dryly. "You see, it's not like being ashore; but you had soup pretty well every day, and you said yourself that it tasted all right. But it doesn't matter. It did you good."

"Don't you think we had better change the subject?" said Fitz sharply. "Yes; and we'll go up aloft again. Coming?"

"Of course," was the reply.

They turned back to go aft towards the mainmast-shrouds, Don Ramon's followers making room for them to pass; but as they reached the part of the deck where they were going to ascend, they came upon the boatswain looking as black as thunder.

"Hullo, Butters! Anything the matter?" said Poole. "Matter!" growled the copper-faced old fellow. "Look at my deck—I mean, as much of it as you can see. I am pretty nigh sick of this! A set of jabbering monkeys; that's about what they are."

"Up aloft again, Poole?" cried the skipper. "Just going," was the reply, and giving up his place by the starboard main-shrouds to Fitz, the lad ran across the deck to the port side, where he began to ascend, the pair meeting at the masthead upon equal terms. "Here, I'd give up the glass to you," cried Poole, "but father mightn't like it, though your eyes are as sharp or sharper than mine. I'll give one sweep round and report to the deck, and then you shall have a turn."

Poole passed his arm round a stay and raised the glass to his eyes, while Fitz took a turn round the rope with one leg, and waited, thinking.

"Isn't such a bad fellow," he said to himself, as he watched the captain's son, "but he's getting a little too familiar. He seems to forget sometimes that I'm an officer; but there, it doesn't much matter, and it won't last long."

"Well, my lad?" came from the deck.

"All clear, father," was the reply, and as Fitz glanced down he saw Don Ramon place the cigarette he was holding between his teeth and clap his hands, while from his crowd of followers who were looking on there ascended a loud Viva!

And the hot day glided on.

There was a fair breeze, and the schooner fairly danced over the laughing waters, sending shoals of flying-fish skimming out before them, with their wing-like fins glistening like those of gigantic dragon-flies, before they dropped back into the sea.

Rations were served out to the eager crowd, and a buzz of conversation was kept up, to ascend to the two lads, who spent most of their time aloft, watching, talking, and comparing notes about what a peaceful time it seemed and how strange a contrast to the excitement of the previous day and night.

"It's too good to be true, my lads," said the skipper quietly, as the afternoon glided by. "We have made such a splendid run that it isn't reasonable to expect fortune will favour us much farther."

"Ah, you think that?" said Don Ramon, who came up rolling a fresh cigarette.

"Yes, sir, I do. In another hour we shall be round that headland, and in sight of Velova if the mate keeps us clear of that long reef of rocks which guards the bay."

"Ah, and then you think Villarayo will be waiting for us with his men?"

"Oh no," said the skipper; "I can't say for certain, but I should doubt whether he has found out as yet that we are gone. I feel certain now that he would not stir till all his reinforcements had reached him."

"That is right," said the Don eagerly, "and even then—I know our people well—they will fight bravely twice, but it is very hard to move them again. But you spoke as if you were in doubt. What is it you expect?"

"I expect, sir, that as soon as we get round that headland we shall see the gunboat waiting for us, and ready to open fire. And once she gets well within range—"

Reed stopped. "Yes, what then?" cried Don Ramon eagerly. The skipper shrugged his shoulders. "What can we do, sir, with my schooner crowded up like this?"

"Fly," said the Don, with his eyes flashing. "Of course; there is nothing else to be done. But if they have decent men to work that gun, one well-placed shot or shell will wreck my rigging, and we shall lie like a wounded bird upon the water."

The Don looked fixedly in the skipper's face for some moments before giving him a short nod and turning away to light his cigarette.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

NO BURGESS ABOARD.

But the skipper's forebodings were needless. As they sailed round the headland it was through a sea of golden light. There lay Velova with every window flashing in the late afternoon sunshine. Small coasting vessels were at anchor, boats were putting out to sea to reach the fishing-grounds; and, save that through the glass a few figures could be seen about the little fort with its flagstaff flying the national colours, and the rough earthworks could be made out mounting a few small guns, all was calm and peaceful.

"There, captain," cried Don Ramon triumphantly, "what do you say now?"

"It is for you to speak, sir. What do you say now?"

"Sail right in as close up to the wharf as you can get; you can lay your vessel alongside in these calm waters."

"And if they open fire?"

"They will not dare," cried the Don, his eyes flashing with excitement. "We must be first, and there will be scarcely any one there."

"But if they did, sir?"

"If they did, my men would crowd into your boats, we should row ashore and carry the fort and earthworks. We can do that with ease while you come right on to where we will meet you, and help to land the guns. Captain Reed, our young friend's plans have opened the way to triumph. You will see that all the people in Velova now will declare for me. I shall arm them with the rifles you have brought, strengthen the fort and earthworks, and plant three of the pieces upon the road leading to the mountain-pass by which the enemy are bound to come. Let them attack then if they dare. Do you see? Do you understand?" he added quickly.

"Yes. Excellent. Nothing could be better than your plan, sir; and if Villarayo should not arrive till morning the game would be your own."

"Would be! Will be," said the Spaniard fiercely. "What is to prevent it now?"

The skipper glanced round as they stood together aft, and saving the two lads there was no one to overhear his words, as he leaned a little nearer to the excited Spaniard and said, almost in a whisper—

"The gunboat."

There was a faint click. Don Ramon had closed his teeth sharply, and he turned half round to gaze out to sea. The next minute he turned back with his brow knit and his eyes half-closed.

"Yes, my good friend," he said quietly; "that is the great enemy. Ah! if you could show me how to get control of that it would mean all. Still I do not despair. She is not here now, and there is the land, the country all before me. Let her keep away till after Villarayo has returned, and I have scattered all his horde of ruffians, the sweepings of the place—as I shall, for once I have landed with my warlike supplies, all that is good and true in Velova will fight for me to the death—and then the march to San Cristobal will be an easy task. The news that Villarayo and his people are scattered will go before me, and the people there will crowd to me for arms, the arms that I shall send round by your vessel to meet me there. Oh, it will be all child's play now, and in another few days my flag will be flying at San Cristobal, as it will be flying here."

"If," said Fitz quietly to Poole, as the Spaniard walked forward to address his men, "he is not counting his chickens before they are hatched."

"Yes," said the skipper, who had heard his words; "and if the gunboat does not return."

"Well, father, there are some things in his favour," said Poole, "even about the gunboat."

"What?"

"This is a very rocky coast. That gunboat must draw a good deal of water."

"True, my boy; true."

"And, father," said Poole, with a smile, "they haven't got a Burgess on board."



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE CONTRABAND.

The evening was coming on fast as the schooner sailed on towards the little port with her overburdened decks.

"Are we going to run right in, Poole?" asked Fitz, as he watched the excitement of the crowd on deck, where every one of Don Ramon's followers was busy polishing up his rifle, to the great amusement of the carpenter, who slouched up to where the lads were standing. "Just look at 'em," he said. "They thinks they're soldiers; that's what they have got in their heads. Rubbing up the outsides of them rifles! I've been watching of them this last half-hour. They're just like an old farmer I used to know. Always werry pertickler, he was, to whitewash the outsides of his pig-sties; but as to the insides—my!"

That last word sounded like a bad note on a clarionet, for, as he spoke, Winks was holding his nose tightly between his finger and thumb.

Fitz laughed, and asked the question that begins the second paragraph of this chapter.

"Seems like it," said Poole, "but I don't know whether it's going to be safe."

"Won't be safe for them," continued the carpenter, "if they don't run their loading-rods and a bit of rag through them barrels. Sore shoulders for some of them. My word, how they will kick! Soldiers!" he chuckled. "I say, Mr Burnett, have you ever seen them there recruiting-sergeants about Trafalgar Square, London?"

"Yes, often," said Fitz. "Why?"

"Nice smart-looking, well-built chaps, as looks as if their uniforms had growed on 'em like their skins."

"Yes, they are smart picked men of course," said Fitz.

"That's so, sir. What do you think they would say to these tan-leather-coloured ragged Jacks, if they went up and offered to take the shilling?"

"Well, they wouldn't take many of them, I think," replied the middy.

"Take many of them, sir? I seem to see one of the sergeants now. He'd hold that little walking-stick of his with both hands tight and close up under his left arm, stand werry stiff, and drop his head a little on one side as he looked down at them; and then he'd give a sniff, and that would be all."

But Don Ramon did not despise his followers. He was bustling about among them, addressing and exhorting and working them up to a tremendous pitch of excitement, making them shout and cheer till they were hoarse. Then they swarmed into the rigging and clustered in the shrouds, to wave their rifles and hats at the crowd gathering upon the shore and cheering shrilly in reply, the men's voices being mingled with those of women and children, who seemed to be welcoming them as their deliverers.

"Well, it's all right, Don Ramon," said the skipper, who was standing by Burgess busily conning the schooner as she glided in now towards the shore.

"Yes," cried the Don proudly; "it is what you call all right. You see there will be no fighting now."

Bang! went a gun from the fort, and the lads started as they gazed at the grey ball of smoke which began to turn golden as it rose in the air.

"They're reckoning without the fort," said Fitz excitedly, as he strained his eyes in vain for the ball which he expected to see come skipping over the smooth water.

"Yes," said Poole.—"No: it was a blank. Look, they are hauling down the flag. Oh, it's all right. A regular walk-over. Three cheers for Don Ramon!"

"Yes," shouted the skipper. "With a will, my lads! Three cheers for Don Ramon!" And they were given with such energy that the Don sprang up upon the cabin-light, to bow and press his hands to his breast.

He was down again the next instant, to run to the skipper and catch and wring his hands.

"You see," he cried, "the people are with me. But you will help me still?"

"As far as I can," was the reply; "but you must not call upon me to land my men and help you in your fight with Villarayo."

"No?" said the Don, in a questioning way.

"No," replied the skipper. "The fight at the hacienda was an exception. I was driven to that."

"But you will help me still? The arms—the ammunition?"

"Yes; it is our duty to land everything safely to your order."

"Then I want the rifles and cartridges now."

"Yes," said the skipper. "You feel satisfied that it will be safe to have them landed?"

"Quite. So as to arm my friends."

"Then as soon as your men are ashore I will have the cases got up from the hold."

"No," said Don Ramon; "you must do it now. Have them up on deck so that my people can bear them ashore as soon as we reach the wharf."

"It shall be done," said the skipper quietly. "All that I require is your authority, that you take them in charge."

"I give you my authority before all your witnesses," replied Don Ramon proudly; "and I take them in charge. Is that sufficient?"

"Quite, sir. Mr Burgess, you will lay the schooner alongside the wharf. Pass the word for the carpenter and eight or ten men. I want these tarpaulins and hatches off. Order your men back, Don Ramon. I want room for mine to work."

It was a busy scene that followed. Sails were lowered, for they were close in now; hammers were ringing; the way down into the hold was laid bare; tackle was rigged up; and by the time the schooner lay alongside a fairly-made wharf, a dozen long white cases bound with hoop-iron lay piled up upon the deck, while dozens more lay waiting to take their place. The excitement was tremendous; the wharf and its approaches were crowded by an enthusiastic mob, eager and clamouring for arms, which during the next hour were lavishly supplied, along with a sufficiency of ammunition, with the result that Don Ramon's little force had grown into a well-armed crowd, so full of enthusiasm that they gave promise, if not of victory, of making a desperate defence.

At last, with the help of those who seemed to be among the chief people of the place, the little army, well-armed, was marched away from the waterside to take up strategic positions under Don Ramon's instructions, after which he returned to where the skipper and his men had opened another hatch and were busily hoisting up the little battery of six-pounder field-guns, with their limbers, everything being of the newest and most finished kind. These, with their cases of ammunition, proving much heavier than they looked, were swung round from the deck with the tackle necessary and landed upon the wharf, where they were seized upon at once by the Don's roughly-selected artillery-men, and at last dragged off by teams of mules to the places of vantage where they were to be stationed; and all amidst a scene of the wildest enthusiasm.

As the last gun was landed, hastily put together, and seized and dragged away by a human team, Don Ramon came back from the shore, palpitating with emotion, and hurrying to where the skipper stood upon the deck with the lads, wiping his face after superintending every part of the delivery himself.

"There, Don Ramon," he cried, "my work's done, and you have got everything safe. I hope your fellows will be careful with the ammunition."

"Yes, yes," was the reply; "everything is being done. I have come back to thank you. If you do not see me again yet awhile, it is because I am over yonder—because I am wanted everywhere at once. Captain Reed, and you, my brave young friends, I want to tell you of the gratitude I feel, but—but—my heart is too full. I cannot speak. But one word; to-morrow the enemy will be here, a great battle will rage, for my people will fight now to the very death. If I fall—" He stopped short.

He truly could say no more, and waving his hands to them, he sprang back on to the wharf out of the light cast by the swinging lanterns, which had for some time past thrown their weird gleams upon the scene, and was gone.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

REAL WAR.

There was little sleep that night for those on board, for once his little cargo was discharged, the skipper had everything made snug and ready for putting to sea if necessary at a moment's notice.

Most of the men had been busy over the landing of the cases and guns, and Fitz had thoroughly enjoyed the looking on, feeling a strange longing the while to go ashore and superintend the unpacking and putting together of the gun-limbers, and the mounting of the pieces. Not that there was a great deal to do, for, in obedience to instructions, the British manufacturers had sent the little field-guns with everything so simplified that the rough artillery-men from the Central American fort had few difficulties with which to contend. He saw little of Poole in the darkness, but knew that he was busy over something with a couple of men at his beck, while a third had had a duty of his own where a bright light had gleamed out and a little chimney had roared in a way which made Poole anxiously consult his father, who was superintending the landing of cases, when in their brief conversation something was said about sparks, and then a couple of tarpaulins were rigged up with lines, in a way which entirely cut off the galley from the rest of the deck.

The result of all this was, that when the deck was clear and hatches replaced, the Camel stood smiling, with glistening face, for his work too was done, and the fresh provisions that had been abundantly brought on board by the women of the place were in a most welcome form for the half-starved, weary crew, and about midnight there was something as nearly like a banquet as could be expected under the circumstances, and to the delight of all.

There had been no form; the only ceremony had been for officers and men to sit down sailor or tailor fashion, cross-legged upon the deck, and eat as much as such men would.

"Hah!" said the boatswain, turning towards the two lads, after being very silent for quite half-an-hour. "I call this something like; but I do hope as the Camel's had time to pick a bit."

So busy had the party on board been, that they had thought little about the proceedings on shore, the less so that the excitement and noise of shouting orders, trampling feet, and the buzz of chattering women and children had drifted farther and farther away to the opposite side of the town, where beyond the low houses and hovels of the poorer part of the population the long low valley commenced which rapidly became a pass, the key, so to speak, of the little city.

Here Don Ramon had mustered his force, and here during the rest of the night his men worked by the light of the stars, making a wall of stones with openings for the field-pieces, and clearing the road behind between them and the earthwork nearer to the fort, to which in case of emergency they could be withdrawn ready for another stand.

He was no novice in such matters, having passed his life as he had amidst a volcanic people where revolutions came and went as if indigenous to the countries bordering upon the Mexican Gulf.

In his way he was no bad soldier, and in fact a better man than his rival the tyrant and oppressor, whom he had been urged by the superior part of his fellow-countrymen to supplant.

Hence it was that before morning, and without interruption, he made the most of the rough but enthusiastic and willing materials to his hand, so that at last he could breathe more freely and accept the congratulations of his friends over the knowledge they shared that Villarayo would find when he came up that not only had he a formidable nut to crack, but the probability before him that the nutcrackers would give way first.

All this was plain enough in the coming daylight, when the skipper and the two lads made their way ashore in one of the boats from the spot where the Teal was moored, floating more lightly now, and almost as gracefully in the pearly grey light as the beautiful little waterfowl after which she was named.

"Why, it looks almost like an anthill," said Fitz, as they approached the mouth of the pass, whose sides were dotted with men, most of whom were carrying rifles, while each displayed a formidable knife in his belt. "But there doesn't seem to be any sign of the enemy as yet."

"No," said Poole; "but I say, father, do you think that they will be able to manage those guns?"

"Yes," said the skipper gravely. "The men who had the gumption to plant them like that will be pretty sure to find out the way to use them with effect. Besides, they have had some experience, of course, with the old-fashioned pieces in the fort."

"There go their colours up!" cried Fitz excitedly, as the national flag was run up to the head of the flagstaff that had been raised during the night. "I hope they'll win, Captain Reed, for the Don's been very plucky, and I suppose he is in the right."

"If he hadn't been in the right I wouldn't have helped him as I have," said the skipper gruffly.

"No," said Poole firmly, as if to endorse his father's words. "But don't you think, father, that if you brought all our chaps ashore to set these men by the guns at liberty and leave our lads to work them, they'd manage them much better—fire more regularly and twice as fast?"

"Yes, that they would," cried Fitz excitedly. "There's hardly one of them who doesn't know his gun-drill."

"How do you know that?" said the skipper grimly.

"Oh, I asked them," replied the lad, flushing. "They all talk to me about their old life on board different Queen's ships. It was because I was a midshipman, I suppose. Why," he continued, growing more excited by what he saw, "our Chips—I mean, your Chips," he said, hastily correcting himself—"would make a splendid captain for one of the guns; Mr Butters another, of course; and the Camel, though he's cook now. Oh, I could man all those guns easily."

"Like to do it, perhaps," said the skipper dryly, "and fancy that battery was the broadside of a ship?"

"Yes, of course," said the lad; "I mean—" he stammered—"that is—Oh, it's nothing to do with me."

"No," said the skipper quietly, as he stood looking critically at the preparations Don Ramon had made, while the scene around seemed to have had the same peculiar exciting effect upon his son as it had upon the midshipman, for Poole said suddenly—

"Why, father, if you were to do that it would make all the difference, and be like turning the scale to Don Ramon's side."

"Yes, my boy," said the skipper, "and here he is;" for the Don suddenly appeared, mounted upon a sturdy mule, cantering towards them, with his steed making very light of the rugged stony ground, and stopping short close up to the group in response to a touch upon its rein, when its rider sprang lightly to the ground, looking as wiry and fresh as the beast he rode, in spite of the labours of the night.

"Ah, my friend! Welcome!" he cried. "And you too, my braves. Now," he added joyously, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "have not my brave fellows worked? Are we not ready for the enemy when he comes? What have you to say? There are the guns! Tell me, are they well-placed? You who have brought them know so much. If they are not right, tell me what to do, and it shall be done."

"I would not alter anything now," said the skipper gravely.

"Why not, if they, are wrong? There is time, and plenty, for my scouts are far enough away, and the enemy is not in sight."

The skipper was silent, but his eyes were not idle, and he seemed to be examining every disposition closely.

"He does not speak," continued Don Ramon. "Then you, my young English officer; you come from a ship with guns, what have you to say?"

"I was wondering," said Fitz, flushing, "not about the guns, for they seem well-placed, but whether the enemy could come down that little valley up yonder or get round by the rear."

"No, no, no," cried the Don exultantly. "Velova can only be reached by this pass, which my guns command. There is no other way—by land—but there is the sea."

"And the gunboat?" said Fitz.

"Ah-h, yes, the gunboat!" cried the Don, with his face convulsed, as he clenched his hands. "The gunboat—yes. It is the key to the Presidency."

"No," said the skipper suddenly, "I would change nothing, Don Ramon. As far as I know, your position is magnificent."

"Hah!" cried the Don, with his face smoothing once more, and his eyes lighting up with pleasure. "But you think my grand, my beautiful and perfect little guns that you have brought me are well-placed?"

"Capitally," said the skipper sincerely. "But they are not perfect," said the Don, with a peculiar smile, as he keenly watched the skipper the while. "There is one thing wanting."

"Surely not," cried the skipper angrily. "I saw them packed myself, and I can answer for it that nothing was left out, unless it was in the hurry of the unpacking last night. Quick, while there is time! What has been left behind? Do you mean there is something still on board?"

"Yes, my good friend," said the Don softly; "the crew. Captain Reed," he continued excitedly, "with your brave fellows to man that battery the day must be my own. Villarayo's sun would set in blood and dust; my poor oppressed country would rise in pride to happiness and peace; and I should be President indeed—my people's father—he who has saved them from slavery and chains."

The skipper shook his head.

"No, no," continued the Don softly. "Listen. This country is rich in mines; there are precious stones; there is no reward you could ask me afterwards that I would not give. I care for nothing of these things, for I am fighting for my country and my people's homes. Captain Reed, you have always been my friend, my trusted friend, who brought me all these in answer to my prayer. There is this one thing more. I ask it of my trusted friend."

Poole glanced at his father's stern face, which seemed to turn colder and harder than he had ever seen it before, and then turned quickly to look at Fitz, who was watching him with questioning eyes which seemed to say, What will he reply?

But reply there was none, apparently for minutes, though the space of time that elapsed could have been numbered in moments, before he spoke, and then it was in a low, softened and pained voice.

"No, Don Ramon," he said. "You ask me for what I cannot give."

"Give!" cried the Don passionately. "I offer to pay you!"

"Yes, sir," said the captain, without changing his tone, "and that makes it worse. I tell you my heart is with you in your project, and that I wish you success, but I am answerable to those men, their friends, and I suppose to my country's laws for their lives. I have no right to enter into such an enterprise as this."

"Why?" cried the Don passionately. "You fought with me before!"

"Yes—to save their lives and yours. It was in an emergency. This is a different thing. I cannot do it."

"Then you forsake me?" cried the Don angrily. "That is neither true nor fair," replied the skipper sternly. "I have helped you truly and well, and run great risks in bringing you those munitions of war. With that you must be content. As for forsaking you, you know in your heart, through my help and the counsel you have received from my young companion here, you never stood in a better position for dealing a death-blow at your rival's position. Is that the truth, or is it not?"

"Ah!" cried the Don passionately, evading the question. "When your help means so much you give me empty words."

"That is no answer, sir," replied the skipper. "Is what I have said the truth, or is it not?"

Don Ramon turned upon him furiously, his eyes flashing and his hands clenched; but as he met the Englishman's stern questioning eyes he stopped short, fixed by them, as it were, and then tossing his open hands in the air with a gesture which seemed to say, There, I surrender! his angry countenance softened, and he supported himself by taking hold of the pommel of his saddle.

"Yes," he said wearily, "of course it is the truth. You always were the man in whom I could trust, and I suppose you are right. Forgive me for being so exacting. But, captain, I have so much at stake."

"Then trust to the strength of your cause, your position, and the bravery of your people. But I am not going to forsake you, Ramon," continued the skipper, in a graver and softer tone, "and I will tell you this; if the day goes against you, the schooner will be lying a few hundred yards from shore with her boats ready to take off you and as many of your friends as you wish to bring. I will do that at any risk, but I can do no more."

Don Ramon was silent for a few moments, before repeating the captain's last words slowly. Then, after a pause—

"It may be different," he said, "but if matters are as bad as that, it will be because I have fired my last shot, and Villarayo has found that another lover of his country is in his way no more. No, Captain Reed, I shall not have to put your hospitality to the test. I could not escape, and leave those who have been fighting for me to the death. There," he added quickly, completely changing his tone, "I do not mean to die; I mean to win. Forgive me once again. You will after your fashion shake hands?"

"With all my heart," cried the skipper, stretching out both his, which were eagerly caught and raised quickly to the Spaniard's lips.

"Thank you," he cried, "I am a man once more. Just now I talked like a disappointed woman who could not have her way.—What does that mean?" he said sharply as there was a shout from the distance.

"People coming down the pass," cried Fitz excitedly, and there was the report of a rifle which ran reverberating with many echoes along the rocks.

Before the sounds had ceased Don Ramon had sprung upon his mule, to turn smiling with a comprehensive wave of his hand to the trio, and then cantered off amongst the rugged stones, while they watched him till he reached the battery of field-pieces and sprang off to throw the rein to one of his men.

"That shot was the opening of the ball," said the skipper. "Now, my lads, back aboard the schooner, to make our arrangements, Poole, for keeping my word with the Don if he and his people have to run."

"No!" burst out both the boys in a breath.

"No?" cried the skipper good-humouredly. "What do you mean? This isn't going to be a show. You don't want to stop and see the fight?"

"Not want to stop and see it?" cried Fitz excitedly.

"Well, I am not fond of fighting, father," said Poole, "but I do. I want to see Don Ramon win."

"Humph!" grunted the skipper. "Well, you must be disappointed. As for you, Mr Burnett, the sooner you are out of reach of bullets the better."

"Well," cried Fitz, "I like that—coming from the skipper of a trading schooner! Do you know what I am?"

"Of course," was the answer, with a smile.

"It doesn't seem like it," cried Fitz. "I know I am almost a boy still—Don't laugh, Poole!" he added sharply, with a stamp of the foot—"Well, quite a boy; but young as I am, I am a naval officer, and I was never taught that it was my duty to run away if ever I came under fire."

"It's the safest way," said the skipper mockingly. "'He who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day.' That's it, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said Fitz, getting on his stilts—"to be laughed at for a coward as long as he lives. Look here, Captain Reed, I am your prisoner, but you are not my captain, and I mean to stop and see this fight. Why, I must. I shall have to tell. Captain Glossop all about this some day, and I should look well if I owned that I had run away.— But you don't mean it, sir. It's all nonsense to talk of being in danger up here, all this distance off. Yes, he is joking, isn't he, Poole?"

"Well, there's not much joke about it, my lad," said the skipper gravely. "I must own that I don't want to go away myself. Seems to me that what we ought to do is to hurry back to where the women are, get a good supply of linen and bandages from them, and muster some bearers for—Yes, the firing is going on, and I don't suppose that it will be long before some poor fellows will be falling out and crawling back to the rear."

"Yes," said Fitz eagerly; "I never thought of that. Come on, then, and let's make haste so as to get back in time."

The skipper nodded, and they hurried away, but had very little distance to go, for the sound of the firing was bringing the curious from out of the town, and it was not long before they had been furnished with the material for binding up wounds, and better still, with a doctor, who joined hands with them at once in making the rough ambulance arrangements.

Within half-an-hour they were back at the spot where the interview with Don Ramon had taken place, to find that which their ears had prepared them for, the rattle of musketry going steadily on as the enemy advanced, while they were just in time for the sharp dull thud and echoing roar of the first field-piece, whose shell was seen to burst and send up its puff of smoke far along the rugged valley.

This checked the advance for some minutes, scattering the enemy in all directions, but it was plain to the lookers-on from their post of observation, that they were being rallied, and the speaking out of the second gun from the battery plainly told that this was the case.

What followed in the next two hours was a scene of confusion and excitement far up the valley, and of quiet steady firing from the battery, whose shells left little for Don Ramon's advance posts to do.

They lay low in their shelters, and built up rifle-screens, hastily made, firing as they had a chance, but their work only helped to keep the enemy back. It was to the guns that Don Ramon owed his success. There was no lack of bravery on the part of the enemy's officers, for they exposed themselves recklessly, rallying their men again and again, and gradually getting them nearer and nearer to those who served the guns.

But the rifle-firing was wild, and not a man among the gunners went down, or was startled from his task of loading and laying the sheltered pieces. All the same the enemy advanced, the rugged pass affording them plenty of places that they could hold, and at the end of three hours they had made such progress that matters were beginning to look serious for the defenders of Velova, and the time had come when it was evident to the watchers that Don Ramon was making ready to retire his guns to his next defence, for the teams of mules were hurried up and placed in a hollow beyond the reach of the enemy's rifles; and now too it was seen plainly enough that Villarayo or his captains were preparing for a rush to capture the guns, and in the excitement the skipper forgot about all risks to him and his, and proposed that they should hurry to a spot higher up one side of the pass and fifty yards nearer to the battery.

This proved to be an admirable point of vantage, and enlightened the lookers-on to far more than they had been before, for they were startled to see how much greater was the number of the attacking force than they had believed.

The enemy were in two bodies, gathered-together and lying down on the opposite sides of the pass, and the lads had hardly raised their heads above the shelter of some stones when they saw that the order had been given for the advance, and the men were springing to their feet.

"I must go and warn him," cried the skipper, beneath his breath, "or he will lose his guns; and then—"

He said no more, but stood spellbound like his young companions at what was taking place, for Don Ramon was better supplied with information than he had believed, and as the attacking forces of the enemy sprang up, he found that the direction of the battery's fire had been altered to left and right, and the attacking forces had barely commenced their crowded charge when the six pieces burst forth almost together with such a hurricane of grape that a way was torn through each rough column and the fight was over, the smoke from the discharge as it rose showing the enemy scattered and in full flight, the steep sides of the little valley littered with the wounded, and more and more faltering behind and dropping as their comrades fled.

"Viva!" shouted the skipper, with all his might; but it was a feeble sound as compared with the roar of voices which rose from the battery and beyond, while it only needed the rifle-shots of those lying in the shelters higher up the pass, and a shell dropped here and there till the full range of the field-pieces had been reached, to complete Villarayo's discomfiture for that day at least.

"Now," said the skipper quietly, "we must leave the succour of the wounded to Ramon's own people. I am sick of all this. Let's get back on board the schooner."

It was about an hour afterwards that Poole went to his father on the deck of the Teal.

"Oughtn't we to have stopped a little longer," he said, "and tried to be of some help?"

"I should have liked to, my boy," said the skipper sadly, "but I didn't want you and young Burnett to see what was bound to follow. The rougher portion of Don Ramon's followers have not the same ideas of mercy to a fallen enemy that belong to a European mind, and so I came away."



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

POLITICAL QUESTIONS.

Happily for them, the boys saw little more of the horrors of the petty war. Aboard the schooner what met their eyes were the triumphs of peace. The next day flags were flying, bells ringing, guns firing, and the whole of the inhabitants of the town were marching in procession and shouting Vivas.

Crowds gathered upon the shore nearest to where the schooner was moored, to shout themselves hoarse; and not content with this, they crowded into boats to row out round the little English vessel and shout themselves hoarser there, many of the boats containing women, who threw flowers which floated round.

"I am getting rather tired of this," said Fitz, at last. "I suppose it's very nice to them, and they feel very grateful to your father for bringing the guns and ammunition to beat off this other President fellow; but keeping on with all this seems so babyish and silly. Why can't they say, 'Thank Heaven!' and have done with it?"

"Because they are what they are," said Poole, half contemptuously. "Why, they must have been spoiling their gardens to bring all these flowers. They are no use to us. I should call that boat alongside— that big one with the flag up and all those well-dressed women on board."

"No, don't!" cried Fitz excitedly. "Why, they'd come and shout more than ever, and begin singing again. What's the good of doing that?"

"I'll tell you," said Poole; "and I should tell them that it would be a deal more sensible to go back and fetch us a boat-load of fruit and vegetables, and fowls and eggs."

"Ah, to be sure," cried Fitz. "It would please old Andy too; but—but look there; they are more sensible than you think for."

"Well done!" cried Poole, "Why, they couldn't have heard what I said."

"No," said Fitz, "and if they had there wouldn't have been time. You must have telegraphed your thoughts. Why, there are two boat-loads."

"Three," said Poole.

And he was right, and a few minutes later that number of good-sized market-boats were close alongside, their owners apparently bent upon doing a good stroke of trade in the edibles most welcome to a ship's crew after a long voyage.

"Well, boys," said the skipper, joining them, "who's going to do the marketing? You, Poole, or I?"

"Oh, you had better do it, father. I should be too extravagant."

"No," said the skipper quietly. "The owners of the Teal and I don't wish to be stingy. The lads have done their work well, and I should like them to have a bit of a feast and a holiday now. Here, boatswain, pass the word for the cook and get half-a-dozen men to help. We must store up all that will keep. Here, Burgess, we may as well fill a chicken-coop or two."

"Humph!" grunted the mate surlily. "Want to turn my deck into a shop?"

"No," said the skipper good-humouredly, "but I want to have the cabin-table with something better on it to eat than we have had lately. I am afraid we shall be having Mr Burnett here so disgusted with the prog that he will be wanting to go ashore, and won't come back."

"All right," growled the mate, and he walked away with the skipper, to follow out the orders he had received.

"I say," said Fitz, "I wonder your father puts up with so much of the mate's insolence. Any one would think that Burgess was the skipper; he puts on such airs."

"Oh, the dad knows him by heart. It is only his way. He always seems surly like that, but he'd do anything for father; and see what a seaman he is. Here, I say, let's have some of those bananas. They do look prime."

"Yes," said Fitz; "I like bananas. I should like that big golden bunch."

"Why, there must be a quarter of a hundredweight," said Poole.

"Do you think they'll take my English money?"

"Trust them!" said Poole. "I never met anybody yet who wouldn't."

They made a sign to a swarthy-looking fellow in the stern of the nearest boat, and Fitz pointed to the great golden bunch.

"How much?" he said.

The man grinned, seized the bunch with his boat-hook, passed it over the bulwark, and let it fall upon the deck, hooked up another quickly, treated that the same, and was repeating the process, when Poole shouted at him to stop.

"Hold hard!" he cried. "I am not going to pay for all these."

But the man paid no heed, but went on tossing in fruit, calling to the lads in Spanish to catch, and feeding them, as we say, in a game, with great golden balls in the shape of delicious-looking melons.

"Here, is the fellow mad?" cried Fitz, who, a regular boy once more, enjoyed the fun of catching the beautiful gourds. "We shall have to throw all these back."

"Try one now," said Poole.

"Right," cried Fitz. "Catch, stupid!" And he sent one of the biggest melons back.

The man caught it deftly, and returned it, shouting—

"No, no, no! Don Ramon—Don Ramon!"

Something similar was going on upon the other side of the schooner, where, grinning with delight, the Camel was seizing the poultry handed in, and setting them at liberty upon the deck, while now an explanation followed.

The three boat-loads of provisions were gifts from Don Ramon and his people to those who had helped them in their time of need, while the Don's messengers seemed wild with delight, eagerly pointing out the good qualities of all they had brought, and chattering away as hard as ever they could, or laughing with delight when some active chicken escaped from the hands that held it or took flight when pitched aboard and made its way back to the shore. It was not only the men in the provision-barges that kept up an excited chorus, for they were joined by those in the boats that crowded round, the delivery being accompanied by cheers and the waving of hats and veils, the women's voices rising shrilly in what seemed to be quite a paean of welcome and praise.

"What time would you like dinner, laddies?" came from behind just then, in a familiar voice, and the boys turned sharply round to face the Camel, who seemed to be showing nearly all his teeth after the fashion of one of his namesakes in a good temper. "Ma word, isn't it grand! Joost look! Roast and boiled cheecan and curry; and look at the garden-stuff. I suppose it's all good to eat, but they're throwing in things I never washed nor boiled before. It's grand, laddies—it's grand! Why, ma word! Hark at 'em! Here's another big boat coming, and the skipper will have to give a great dinner, or we shall never get it all eaten."

"No," cried Poole, "it's a big boat with armed men, and—I say, Fitz, this doesn't mean treachery? No, all right; that's Don Ramon coming on board."

The tremendous burst of cheering from every boat endorsed the lad's words, every one standing up shouting and cheering as the President's craft came nearer, threading its way through the crowd of boats, whose occupants seemed to consider that there was not the slightest risk of a capsize into a bay that swarmed with sharks. But thanks to the management of Don Ramon's crew, his barge reached the side of the schooner without causing mishap, and he sprang aboard, a gay-looking object in gold-laced uniform, not to grasp the skipper's extended hand, but to fall upon his neck in silence and with tears in his eyes, while directly afterwards the two lads had to submit to a similar embrace.

"Oh, I say," whispered Fitz, as soon as the President had gone below with the skipper; "isn't it horrid!"

"Yes," said Poole; "I often grumble at what I am, only a sort of apprentice aboard a schooner, though I am better off through the dad being one of the owners than most chaps would be; but one is English, after all."

"Yes," said Fitz, with a sigh of content; "there is no getting over that."

Further conversation was ended by the approach of Burgess, the mate, who at a word from the captain had followed him and the President below, and who now came up to them with a peculiar grim smile about his lips, and the upper part of his face in the clouds, as Poole afterwards expressed it, probably meaning that the mate's brow was wrinkled up into one of his fiercest frowns.

"Here," he growled, "you two young fellows have got to go below."

"Who said so?" cried Fitz. "The skipper?"

"No, the President."

"But what for?" cried the middy.

"Oh, I dunno," replied the mate grimly, and with the smile expanding as he recalled something of which he had been a witness. "I thinks he wants to kiss you both again."

"Then I'll be hanged if I go," cried Fitz; "and that's flat!"

"Haw haw!" came from the mate's lips, evidently meant for a laugh, which made the middy turn upon him fiercely; but there was no vestige of even a smile now as he said gruffly, "Yes, you must both come at once. The Don's waiting to speak, and he said that he wouldn't begin till you were there to hear it too."

"Come on, Burnett," said Poole seriously, and then with his eyes twinkling he added, "You can have a good wash afterwards if he does."

"Oh," cried Fitz, with his face scarlet, "I do hate these people's ways;" and then, in spite of his previous remark about suspension, he followed the skipper's son down into the cabin, with Burgess close behind, to find the President facing the door ready to rise with a dignified smile and point to the locker for the boys to take their seats.

This done, he resumed his own, and proceeded to relate to the skipper as much as he could recall of what had been taking place, the main thing being that Villarayo's large force had completely scattered on its way back through the mountains en route to San Cristobal, while Velova and the country round was entirely declaring for the victor, whose position was but for one thing quite safe.

"Then," said the skipper, as the President ceased, "you feel that if you marched for San Cristobal you would gain an easy victory there?"

"I know my people so well, sir," replied the President proudly, "that I can say there will be no victory and no fight. Villarayo would not get fifty men to stand by him, and he would either make for the mountains or come to meet me, and throw himself upon my mercy. And all this is through you. How great—how great the English people are!"

Poole jumped and clapped his right hand upon his left arm, while Fitz turned scarlet as he looked an apology, for as the middy heard the President's last words and saw him rise, a thrill of horror had run through him, and he had thrown out one hand, to give his companion a most painful pinch.

But the President resumed his seat, and feeling that there was for the moment nothing to mind, the boy grew calm.

"Ah," said the skipper gravely. "Then but for one thing, Don Ramon, you feel now that you can hold your own."

"Yes," was the reply bitterly. "But I shall not feel secure while that gunboat commands these seas. It seems absurd, ridiculous, that that small armour-plated vessel with its one great gun should have such power; but yet after all it is not absurd. It is to this little State what your grand navy is to your empire and the world. While that gunboat commands our bays I cannot feel safe."

"But you don't know yet," said the skipper quietly. "How will it be when her captain hears of Villarayo's defeat? He may declare for you."

"No," said the President. "That is what all my friends say. He is Villarayo's cousin, and has always been my greatest enemy. He knows too that my first act would be to deprive him of his command."

"Then why do so?" said the skipper. "He need be your enemy no longer. Make him your friend."

"Impossible! I know him of old as a man I could not trust. The moment he hears of the defeat he will be sending messages to Villarayo bidding him fortify San Cristobal and gather his people there, while at any hour we may expect to see him steaming into this bay. That is the main reason of my coming to tell you now to be on your guard, and that I have been having the guns you brought mounted in a new earthwork on the point yonder, close to the sea."

"Well done!" cried the captain enthusiastically. "That was brave and thoughtful of you, Don Ramon," and he held out his hand. "Why, you are quite an engineer. Then you did not mean to forsake your friend?"

"Forsake him!" said the Don reproachfully, and he frowned. But it was for a moment only. "Ah," he continued, "if you had only brought me over such a gunboat as that which holds me down, commanded by such a man as you, how changed my position would be!"

"Yes," said the skipper quietly. "But I did not; and I had hard work to bring you what I did, eh, Mr Burnett? The British Government did not much approve of what it called my filibustering expedition, Don."

"The British Government does not know Villarayo, sir, and it does not know me."

"That's the evil of it, sir," replied the captain. "Unfortunately the British Government recognises Villarayo as the President of the State, and you only as the head of a revolution; but once you are the accepted head of the people, the leader of what is good and right, Master Villarayo's star will set; and that is bound to come."

"Yes," said Don Ramon proudly; "that is bound to come in the future, if I live. For all that is good and right in this little State is on my side. But there is the gunboat, captain."

"Yes," was the reply; "there is the gunboat, and as to my schooner, if I ventured everything on your side at sea, with her steaming power she would have me completely at her mercy, and with one shot send me to the bottom like a stone."

"Yes, I know," said the Don, "as far as strength goes you would be like an infant fighting against a giant. But you English are clever. It was due to the bright thought of this young officer here that I was able to turn the tables upon Villarayo."

The blood flushed to Fitz's forehead again—for he was, as Poole afterwards told him, a beggar to blush—and he gave a sudden start which made Poole move a little farther off to avoid a pinch.

"What say you, Don Burnett?"

If possible Fitz's face grew a deeper scarlet.

"Have you another such lightning stroke of genius to propose?"

"No, sir," said the boy sharply; "and if I had I must recollect that I am a neutral, a prisoner here, and it is my duty to hold my tongue."

"Ah, yes," said the Don, frowning a little; "I had forgotten. You are in the Government's service, and my good friend Captain Reed has told me how you happen to be here. But if the British Government knew exactly how things were, they would honour you for the way in which you have helped me on towards success."

"Yes, sir, no doubt," said the lad frankly; "but the British Government doesn't know what you say, and it doesn't know me; but Captain Glossop does. He's my government, sir, and it will be bad enough when I meet him, as it is. What will he say when he knows I've been fighting for the people in the schooner I came to take?"

"Hah!" said the President thoughtfully, and he was silent for a few moments. Then rising he turned to the skipper. "I must go back, Captain Reed," he said, "for there is much to do. But I have warned you of the peril in which you stand. You will help me, I know, if you can; but you must not have your brave little schooner sunk, and I know you will do what is best. Fate may favour us still more, and I shall go on in that hope."

Then without another word he strode out of the cabin, and went down into his barge amidst a storm of cheers and wavings of scarves and flags, while those on deck watched him threading his way towards the little fort.

"He's the best Spaniard I ever met, Burgess," said the skipper.

"Yes," said the mate. "He isn't a bad sort for his kind. If it was not for the poor beggars on board, who naturally enough all want to live, I should like to go some night and put a keg of powder aboard that gunboat, and send her to the bottom."

"Ah, but then you'd be doing wrong," said the skipper.

"Well, I said so, didn't I? I shouldn't like to have it on my conscience that I'd killed a couple of score fellow-creatures like that."

"Of course not; but that isn't what I mean. That gunboat's too valuable to sink, and, as you heard the Don say, the man who holds command of that vessel has the two cities at his mercy."

"Yes, I heard," said Burgess; "and t'other side's got it."

"That's right," said the skipper; "and if we could make the change—"

"Yes," said Burgess; "but it seems to me we can't."

"It seems to me we can't. It seems to me we can't," said Poole, repeating the mate's words, as the two lads stood alone watching the cheering people in the boats.

"Well," cried Fitz pettishly, "what's the good of keeping on saying that?"

"None at all. But don't you wish we could?"

"No, I don't, and I'd thank you not to talk to me like that. It's like playing at trying to tempt a fellow situated as I am. Bother the gunboat and both the Dons! I wish I were back in the old Tonans again."

"I don't believe you," said Poole, laughing. "You're having ten times as much fun and excitement out here. I say," he added, with a sniff, "I can smell something good."

And strangely enough the next minute the Camel came smiling up to them.

"I say, laddies," he said, "joost come for'ard as far as the galley. I don't ask ye to come in, for, ma wud, she is hot! But just come and take a sniff as ye gang by. There's a dinner cooking as would have satisfied the Don. I thot he meant to stay, but, puir chiel, I suppose he dinna ken what's good."



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

A NIGHT'S EXCITEMENT.

Every one seemed bent on celebrating that day as a festival. The fight was a victory, and all were rejoicing in a noisy holiday, while for some hours the crew of the schooner had their turn.

Not all, for after a few words with the skipper, the two lads went aloft with the binocular to keep a sharp look-out seaward, and more especially at the two headlands at the entrance to the bay, which they watched in the full expectation of seeing the grim grey nose of the gunboat peering round, prior to her showing her whole length and her swarthy plume of smoke.

Arrangements had been made below as well, and the schooner was swinging to a big buoy—head to sea, the sails ready for running up or dropping down from her thin yards.

"A nice land wind," the skipper had said, "and if she came it would not be long before we were on equal terms with her."

"But it won't last," said Burgess gruffly. "It'll either drop to a dead calm at sundown, or swing round and be dead ahead."

"Well, I don't mind the last," replied the captain, "but a dead calm would be dangerous, and sets me thinking whether it wouldn't be better to be off at once."

"Well, that depends on you," said the mate. "If it was me I should stop till night and chance it. But where do you mean to go? Right away home?"

"I don't know yet," was the reply. "For some reasons I should like to stop and see Don Ramon right out of his difficulties. Besides, I have a little business to transact with him that may take days. No, I shan't go off yet. I may stay here for months, working for Don Ramon. It all depends."

"Very well," said the mate coolly, as if it did not matter in the slightest degree to him so long as he was at sea.

From time to time the skipper in his walk up and down the deck paused to look up inquiringly, but always to be met with a quiet shake of the head, and go on again.

But about half-an-hour before sundown, just when festivities were at their height on shore, and the men were for the most part idling about, leaning over the bulwarks and watching as much of the proceedings as they could see, the two lads, after an hour's rest below, having returned to their look-out, Fitz suddenly exclaimed—

"There she is! But she doesn't look grey."

"No," replied Poole eagerly. "What there is of her looks as if turned to gold." Then loudly, "Sail ho!" though there was not a sail in sight, only the steamer's funnel slowly coming into sight from behind one headland and beginning to show her smoke.

All was activity now, the men starting to their different places at the bulwarks, and eagerly listening to the skipper's "Where away?"

"Coming round the south headland," replied Poole.

"That's right," said the skipper. "I can see her now."

"Well?" said Burgess.

"I shan't move yet. It will be pitch-dark in less than an hour. We can see her plainly enough with the open sea beyond her, but like as not they can't see us, lying close up here under the land. The chances are that they won't see us at all, and then we can run out in the darkness; and I suppose you will have no difficulty in avoiding the rocks?"

"Oh, I don't know," said the mate coolly. "Like as not I may run spang on to them in the dark. I shan't, of course, if I can help it."

"No," said the skipper dryly; "I suppose not."

Their task ended, the boys slid down to the deck once more, and somehow the thought of his anomalous position on board the schooner did not trouble the middy for the time being, for he was seaman enough to be intensely interested in their position, and as eager as Poole for their escape.

"Do you think the sun's going down as quickly as usual?" he said suddenly; and his companion laughed.

"What's that for?" said Fitz. "Did I say something comic?"

"Comic or stupid, whichever you like."

"Bah!" ejaculated Fitz angrily, feeling more annoyed with himself than with Poole.

"Why of course she is going down at her usual rate."

"Sun's a he," said Fitz. "It isn't the moon."

"Thankye. You have grown wise," replied Poole sarcastically. "Do you know, I should have almost known that myself. But bother all this! I want to see the canvas shaken out ready for making a start."

"Very stupid too," said Fitz.

"Why?"

"Because the people on board the gunboat mayn't see us now, with our bare poles; and even if they could make us out they wouldn't be able to distinguish us from the other craft lying close in shore."

"Right," said Poole sharply. "I was getting impatient. I suppose we are going to run out through the darkness, same as we did before."

"I hope not," said Fitz meaningly. "Once was enough for a scrape like that."

Poole grunted, with agreement in his cones, and then they leaned over the bulwarks together forward, following the example of most of the men, who were just as keenly on the look-out, and growing as excited in the expectation of the coming adventure, all but two, who, in obedience to a growl from the mate, lowered down the dinghy and then pulled her hand-over-hand by the mooring-cable to where it was made fast to the big ring in the buoy; and there they held on, ready to slip the minute the order was given from the deck.

Meanwhile the rejoicings were going on ashore, no one so far having become aware of the approach of the enemy, till she was well clear of the headland, with her smoke floating out like an orange-plume upon a golden sky.

"There's the signal," cried Fitz suddenly, as a ball of smoke darted out from the front of the fort, followed by a dull thud.

"Hah!" said Poole. "That's like the snap of a mongrel pup. By and by perhaps we shall hear the gunboat speak with a big bark like a mastiff. I wonder whether they will make us out."

"So do I," said Fitz.

"It will be easy enough to sneak off if they don't."

"Don't say sneak," said Fitz.

"Why?"

"It sounds so cowardly."

"Well, this isn't the Tonans. The Teal was made to sail, not to fight."

"Yes, of course," said Fitz; "but I don't like it all the same."

"All right, then, I won't say it again. I wonder where the dad will make for."

"Well, that will depend on whether the gunboat sights us. I say, does it make you feel excited?"

"Yes, awfully. I seem to want to be doing something."

"So do I," said Fitz, "instead of watching the sun go down so slowly."

"Look at the gunboat, then. She's not moving slowly. My word, she is slipping through the water! Why, she's bound to see us if it don't soon get dark."

The boys lapsed into silence, and as they ceased speaking they were almost startled by the change that had taken place on shore.

The shouting and singing had ceased; there was no sound of music, and the bells had left off their clangour; while in place there came a low, dull, murmurous roar as of surf beating upon some rocky coast, a strange mingling of voices, hurrying foot-steps, indescribable, indistinct, and yet apparently expressive of excitement and the change from joy to fear.

"It has upset them pretty well," said Poole. "Why, I did hear that they were going in for fireworks as soon as it was dark, and they fired that gun like a challenge. I shouldn't wonder if they have fireworks of a different kind to what they expect."

"Yes," said Fitz excitedly. "The gunboat will begin firing shells perhaps, and set fire to the town."

"Bad luck to them if they do," cried Poole earnestly, "for it's a beautiful old place with its groves and gardens. Here, I say, Burnett, I wish this wretched little schooner were your Tonans, and we were going to fight for poor old Don Ramon. Don't you?"

"There's the sun beginning to go down behind the mountain," said Fitz, evading the question. "I say, how long will it be before it's dark?"

"Oh, you know as near as I do. Very soon, and the sooner the better. Oh, I say, she must see us. She's heading round and coming straight in."

"For us or the fort?"

"Both," said Poole emphatically.

And then they waited, fancying as the last gleam of the orange sun sank out of sight that they could hear the men breathing hard with suppressed excitement, as they stood there with their sleeves rolled up, waiting for the first order which should mean hauling away at ropes and the schooner beginning to glide towards the great buoy, slackening the cable for the men in the dinghy to cast-off.

"Here, look at that!" cried Fitz excitedly, unconsciously identifying himself more and more with the crew.

"What's the matter?" said Poole.

"Wet your hand, and hold it up."

"Right," said Poole; "and so was old Burgess. I don't believe there's a man at sea knows more about the wind than he does. Half-an-hour ago, dead to sea; now right ashore."

"Stand by, my lads," growled the boatswain in response to a word from the mate; and a deep low sigh seemed to run all across the deck, as to a man the crew drew in a deep long breath, while with the light rapidly dying out, and the golden tips of the mountains turning purple and then grey, the first order was given, a couple of staysails ran with jigging motion up to their full length, and a chirruping, creaking sound was heard as the men began to haul upon the yard of the mainsail.

"Ah!" sighed Fitz. "We are beginning to move."

As he spoke the man at the wheel began to run the spokes quickly through his hands, with the result that to all appearance the men in the dinghy, and the buoy, appeared to be coming close under their quarter. Then there was a splash, the dinghy grated against the side, and one of its occupants climbed aboard with the painter, closely followed by the other, the first man running aft with the rope, to make it fast to the ring-bolt astern, while the stops of the capstan rattled as the cast-off cable began to come inboard.

"Oh, it will be dark directly," said Poole excitedly, "and I don't believe they can see us now."

The enemy would have required keen eyes and good glasses on board the gunboat to have made them out, for as the sails filled, the schooner careened over and began to glide slowly along the shore as if making for the fort, which she passed and left about a quarter of a mile behind, before she was thrown up into the wind to go upon the other tack, spreading more and more canvas and increasing her speed, as the gunboat, now invisible save for a couple of lights which were hoisted up, came dead on for the town, nearing them fast, and calling for all the mate's seamanship to get the schooner during one of her tacks well out of the heavy craft's course, and leaving her to glide by; though as the darkness increased and they were evidently unseen, this became comparatively easy, for the war-vessel's two lights shone out brighter and brighter at every one of the schooner's tacks.

But they were anxious times, and Fitz's heart beat fast during the most vital reach, when it seemed to him as they were gliding by the gunboat's bows that they must be seen, even as he could now make out a few sparks rising from time to time from the great funnel, to be smothered in the rolling smoke.

But the next minute they were far away, and as they tacked it was this time so that they passed well abaft under the enemy's stern.

"Ah," said a voice close to them; and as they looked round sharply it was to see the skipper close at hand. "There, boys," he said, "that was running it pretty close. They can't have been keeping a very good look-out aboard that craft. It was much nearer than I liked.—Ah, I wonder how poor Don Ramon will get on."

That finished the excitement for the night, for the next hours were passed in a monotonous tacking to and fro, making longer and longer reaches as they got farther out to sea; but they looked shoreward in vain for the flashes of guns and the deep thunderous roar of the big breech-loading cannon. But the sighing of the wind in the rigging and the lapping of water against the schooner's bows were the only sounds that greeted them in the soft tropic night.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

"NEVER SAY DIE!"

As long as the excitement kept up, Fitz paced the deck with Poole, but for two or three nights past regular sleep and his eyelids had been at odds. The consequence was that all at once in the silence and darkness, when there was nothing to take his attention, he became very silent, walking up and down the deck mechanically with his companion to keep himself awake, and a short time afterwards for no reason at all that he was aware of, but because one leg went before the other automatically, his will having ceased to convey its desires to these his supporters, and long after Poole had ceased talking to him, he suddenly gave a violent lurch, driving Poole, who was in a similar condition, sideways, and if it had not been for the bulwark close at hand they would both have gone down like skittles. For they were both fast asleep, sound as a top, fast as a church, but on the instant wide-awake and angry.

"What did you do that for?" cried Fitz fiercely. "I didn't," cried Poole angrily. "You threw yourself at me."

"That I didn't! How could I?"

"How should I know? But you've made a great bruise on my elbow; I know that."

"Quiet! quiet!" said the mate, in a deep low growl. "Do you want to bring the gunboat down on us, shouting like that?" And he seemed to loom up upon them out of the darkness.

"Well, but he—" began Fitz.

"Quiet, I tell you! I have been watching you lads these last ten minutes. You've both been rolling about all over the deck, and I expected to see you go down on your noses every moment. Snoring too, one of you was."

"Well, that wasn't I, I'm sure," cried Fitz shortly.

"Oh, are you?" said the mate. "Well, I'm not. There, you are no use up here, either of you. Go down and tumble into your bunks at once."

"But—" began Poole.

"You heard what I said, my lad. Go and have a good long snooze, and don't make a stupid of yourself, bandying words like that. The watch have all been laughing at you both. Now then, clear the deck. I am going to keep things quiet."

The officer in charge of a deck is "monarch of all he surveys," like Robinson Crusoe of old, according to the poem, and as "his right there is none to dispute," both lads yielded to Burgesses sway, went down to their berths, rolled in just as they were, and the next minute were fast asleep, breathing more loudly than would have been pleasant to any neighbour. But there was none.

Their sleep was very short but very solid all the same, and they were ready to spring up wide-awake and hurry on deck just before sunrise, upon hearing the trampling overhead of the watch going through the manoeuvres known as 'bout ship, and then proceeding to obey orders angrily shouted at them by the mate, whose loud voice betokened that he was in an unusual state of excitement, for his words were emphatic in the extreme as he addressed the men after the cry of "all hands on deck," in a way which suggested to one who overheard that they were a gang of the laziest, slowest slovens that ever handled a rope.

"Here, rouse up!" cried Poole. "Hear him?"

"Hear him? Yes. What's the matter?"

"I dunno. Any one would think that we were going to run the gunboat down."

The lads ran up on deck, and stared in wonder, for instead of the catastrophe that Poole had verbally portrayed, the reverse seemed the probability. In fact, instead of their tacking against the adverse wind having carried them well out to sea, the progress they had made in a direct line was comparatively small, and to the dismay of both the sleepers as they looked over the stern, there was the gunboat not three miles away, foaming down after them under a full pressure of steam.