"How do you account for this?" said Fitz.

"I dunno, unless they went right in, got to know that we had just left, and came after us full chase."

It was the idea of the moment, and to use the familiar saying, Poole had hit the right nail on the head. It was morning, and Nature's signals were in the east, announcing that the sun was coming up full speed, while the former tactics of tacking against the freshening wind had to be set aside at once, for it was evidently only a question of an hour before the gunboat would be within easy range, and what she might do in the interim was simply doubtful. But the skipper and his mate were hard at work; the course had been altered for another run southward, close along the coast; studding-sail booms were being run out from the yards ready for the white sails to be hoisted; and a trial of speed was being prepared between canvas and steam, proof of which was given from the gunboat by the dense clouds of black smoke rolling out of the funnel and showing how hard the stokers were at work.

It was a busy time then; sail after sail filled out till the schooner showed as a cloud of canvas gilded by the rising sun, while she literally skimmed through the water dangerously near to a rocky coast.

But as the sun rose higher that danger passed away, for as if by magic the wind dropped, leaving the sails flapping, the graceful vessel no longer dipping her cut-water low-down into the surface and covering the deck with spray.

Poole looked at his father and drew his breath hard, for he saw too plainly the peril in which they stood. They were still gliding gently through the water, but more slowly each minute, and riding now upon an even keel, while the gunboat astern was tearing along, literally ploughing her way, and sending a diverging foam-covered wave to starboard and port.

"Pretty well all over, Burgess," he said, in a low hoarse voice, and Fitz stole out his hand to grip Poole's wrist and give a warm sympathetic pressure; and he did not draw it back, but stood holding on, listening the while to the mate's slow, thoughtful reply.

"I don't know yet," said the latter, half closing his eyes and looking towards the west. "The winds play rum games here sometimes, and you hardly know where you are. They may go through one of their manoeuvres now. This is just about the time, and I shouldn't wonder if we had a sharp breeze from the west again, same as we did yesterday and the day before."

"No such luck," said the skipper bitterly. "It won't be the wind off shore; it will be the Teal on. You'll have to make for the first opening you see as soon as there's wind enough, and run her right in. Don't hesitate a moment, Burgess; run her right ashore, and then we must do the best we can with the boats, or swim for it."

"Run her right ashore!" said the mate grimly.

"Yes—so that she's a hopeless wreck, impossible to get off."

"Seems a pity," growled the mate; and his words found an echo in Fitz Burnett's breast.

"Yes, but it would be a greater pity for my beautiful little schooner to fall a prize to that wretched tea-kettle there; and I won't have my lads treated as prisoners. I'd sooner we all had to take to the woods."

"All right, sir. You're skipper; I'm mate. It's you to give orders, me to carry them out. But I'm beginning to think that they'll have us before we get the wind. You see, it's nearly calm."

"Yes," said the skipper, "I see; and I wonder they haven't begun firing before."

He walked right aft with the mate, leaving the lads alone, with Poole looking five years older, so blank and drawn was his face. But it brightened directly, as he felt the warm grip of the young middy's hand, and heard his words.

"Oh, Poole, old chap," Fitz half whispered, after a glance round to see if they were likely to be overheard, but only to find that every seaman was either intent upon his duty or watching the enemy in expectation of a first shell or ball from the heavy gun. "Oh, Poole, old chap," he said again, "I am sorry—I am indeed!"

"Sorry?" said Poole quietly. "Yes; for you've all been very kind to me."

"Well, I am glad to hear you say so, for I tried to be, and the dad liked you because you were such a cocky, plucky little chap. But there: it's no use to cry over spilt milk. I suppose it isn't spilt yet, though," he added, with a little laugh; "but the jug will be cracked directly, and away it will all go into the sea. But I say, can you swim?"

"Oh yes, I can swim. I learnt when I was a cadet."

"That's right; and if we can't get off in one of the boats you keep close alongside of me—I know the dad will like me to stick with you— and I'll get a life-belt, or one of the buoys, and we will share it together, one to rest in it while the other swims and tows. We'll get to shore somehow, never fear—the whole lot of us, I expect, for the lads will stand by, I am sure."

"Yes, yes," said Fitz, glancing round over the sunlit sea. "But what about the sharks?"

"Oh!" ejaculated Poole involuntarily, and he changed colour.

It was just as the skipper and mate came walking sharply forward again.

"There!" cried the latter triumphantly. "What did I say?"

"Splendid!" cried the skipper. "But will it last?"

"It did yesterday. Why not to-day?" cried the mate fiercely.

For the wind had suddenly come in a sharp gust which filled the sails, making several of them snap with a loud report, laid the schooner on her beam-ends, and sent her rushing through the water for some hundred yards, making it come foaming up through the scuppers in fountains, to flood the deck, before she was eased off by the man at the wheel and rose again.

But directly after the calm asserted itself once more; the greater part of the sea was like a mirror, with only cat's-paws here and there; and the gunboat came pounding on as stern as fate.

"All right," said the mate cheerily; "it's coming again," and he ran to the man at the wheel.

"Stand by, my lads," cried the skipper, "ready to let go those stuns'ls. We mustn't be taken again like that."

The men rushed to the sheets, and when the wind came again, it came to stay, striking the heavily-canvassed schooner a tremendous blow, to which she only careened over, and not a drop of water came on board, for the light studding-sails were let go to begin flapping and snapping like whip-thongs until the violence of the gust had passed; and by that time the men were busy reducing the canvas, and the schooner was flying through the water like the winning yacht in a race.

"Never say die!" cried Poole, with a laugh. "We are going faster than the gunboat now."

"Yes," replied Fitz thoughtfully; "but she has the command of the sea, and can cut us off."

"As long as her coals last," said Poole, "and they're burning them pretty fast over this. I'd give something to guess what old Burgess means to do. He's got something in his head that I don't believe my father knows."

"Oh, he'd be sure to know," said Fitz, whose hopes were rising fast, his sympathies being entirely now with those who had proved such friends.

"Oh, no, he wouldn't. Old Burgess can be as mute as a fish when he likes, and there's nothing pleases him better than taking people by surprise."

"But what can he do more than race right away?"

"Well, I'll tell you, Burnett, old chap. It's no use for him to think of racing right away. What he'll do is this. I have said something of the kind to you before. He knows this coast just like his ABC, the bays and rivers and backwaters and crannies all amongst the rocks. He's spent days and days out in a boat sounding and making rough charts; and what he'll do, I feel certain, is this—make for some passage in amongst the rocks where he can take the little Teal, run right in where the gunboat dare not come, and stay there till she's tired out."

"But then they'll sink us with their gun."

"Oh no; he'll get her right into shelter where she can't be seen."

"Then the gunboat captain will send after us with his armed boats and board us where we lie."

"Let him," said Poole grimly. "That's just what old Burgess and all the lads would like. Mr Don what's-his-name and his men would find they had such a hedgehog to tackle that they'd soon go back again faster than they came."

"Do you think your father would do that?" said Fitz, after a glance aft, to note that they were leaving the gunboat steadily behind.

"Why, of course," cried Poole. "But it's resisting a man-of-war."

"Well, what of that? We didn't boggle about doing it with one of the Queen's ships, so you don't suppose that dad would make much bones about refusing to strike to a mongrel Spaniard like that?"

Fitz was silent, and somehow then in a whirl of exciting thoughts it did not seem so very serious a thing, but brought up passages he had read in old naval books of cutting-out expeditions and brave fightings against heavy odds. And then as they went flying through the water the exhilaration of the chase took up all his attention, and the conversation dropped out of his mental sight, for it lasted hours, and during all that time the Teal skimmed along, following out her old tactics close to a lovely surf-beaten shore, passing bluff and valley openings where there were evidently streams pouring out from the mountains to discolour the silver sea, and offering, as the middy thought, endless havens of refuge, till about the hottest part of the day, when the pitch seemed to be seething in the seams. All at once the captain, after a short conversation with his mate, went forward with a couple of men, and Burgess went himself to take the wheel. "Now then," said Poole, "what did I tell you?"

"Do you think we are going to turn in here?"

"That's just what I do think. Here, do you want a job?"

"Yes—no—of course—What do you want me to do?"

"Go and tell the Camel to get the oiliest breakfast he can all ready, for we are half-starved."

"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Fitz angrily. "What do you mean?"

"Mean? Why, look! Old Grumbo's running us right in for the line of surf below that bluff. There's an opening there, I'll be bound. Look at the coloured water too. There must be a good-sized river coming down from somewhere. Oh, the old fox! He knows what he's about. There's one of his holes in there, and the hunt is nearly up. I mean, the little Teal is going in to find her nest."

"Well, I hope you are right," said Fitz quietly; and then he stood watching while the little schooner seemed as if being steered to certain destruction, but only to glide by the threatened danger into a wide opening hidden heretofore, and where the rocks ran up, jungle-covered, forming the sides of a lovely valley whose limits were hidden from the deck.

At that moment the middy became aware of the fact that one of the men was busy with the skipper heaving the lead and shouting the soundings loud enough for the mate to hear, while with educated ear Fitz listened and grasped the fact how dangerously the water shoaled, till it seemed at last that the next minute they must run aground.

For a few minutes it was as though something was clutching at the boy's throat, making his breath come hot and fast; and he glanced back to see where the gunboat was, but looked in vain, for a side of the valley rose like a towering wall between, and on glancing in the other direction there was another stupendous wall running up to mountain height, and all of gorgeous greens.

The next minute, when he looked forward, feeling that at any moment he might have to swim, the voice of the man with the lead-line seemed to ring out louder and more clear, announcing fathoms, as a short time before he had shouted feet.

There was a curious stillness too reigning around. The roar of surf upon the rocky shore was gone; the wind had dropped; and the Teal was gliding slowly up the grand natural sanctuary into which she had been steered, while the lad awakened to the fact that they had entered a rushing stream, and as the feeling gained ground of all this being unreal, their safety being, as it were, a dream, he was brought back to the bare matter-of-fact by hearing an order given, the anchor descending with a splash, and Poole bringing his hand down sharply upon his shoulder, to cry exultantly—

"There, old chap; what did I say!"



CHAPTER FORTY.

"DEFENCE, NOT DEFIANCE."

"What did you say? Oh yes, I remember. It has come out all right; but we shall have them in here directly, after us."

"What's that?" said the skipper, who overheard his words. "I hope not, and I doubt of their getting within shot. Here, Burgess."

"Hallo!" growled the mate, and he came slowly up, looking, as Poole afterwards said, like the proverbial bear with a sore head.

"Here's Mr Burnett prophesying all kinds of evil things about us."

"Ah!" growled the mate. "He didn't know any better. I never prophesy till after the thing has taken place. What did he say?"

"That we shall have the gunboat in here after us directly. What do you say to that?"

The mate's sour countenance expanded into a broad smile, and he came close up to the middy and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good lad," he said. "I hope you are right."

"Hope I'm right!" said Fitz, staring. "Why, if she steams in within shot they'll make such practice with that gun that we shall be knocked all to pieces."

"You mean they would if they got well within sight; but look for yourself. Where could they lay her to get a shot? I can't see."

"No," said Fitz thoughtfully, as he looked anxiously back and saw that they were thoroughly sheltered by projecting cliff and headland. "I suppose they couldn't get within shot."

"No. That's right, my lad; and they couldn't come in anything like near enough if it were all open water from here to where they are now."

"What, is the water so shoal?" asked Fitz.

"Shoal? Yes," growled the mate, his face growing sour again. "We've nearly scraped the bottom over and over again. I only wish they'd try it. They'd be fast on some of those jags and splinters, and most likely with a hole in the bottom. My opinion, Captain Reed, is that if the skipper of that gunboat does venture in he'll never get out again; and that would suit us down to the ground. Bah—bah! He knows this coast too well, and he won't be such a fool as to try."

"No," said the skipper confidently; "you are quite right, Burgess. He won't be such a fool as to try. But we must have a boat out at once to go back and watch, for I'm pretty sure that Don what's-his-name will be lowering a couple of his with armed crews to come in and scuttle us if they can't tow us out."

"Ah, well, they can't do that," said the mate coolly. "They'd be meeting us on equal terms then, and you won't let them."

"No," said the skipper, smiling, as he turned to Fitz; "I don't think we shall let them do that, Mr Burnett. My lads will be only too glad to receive the gunboat's crew on equal terms and send them back with a flea in their ears."

"Ay," said the mate, with a grunt; "and quite right too. I think it is our turn to give them a bit of our mind, after the way in which they have been scuffling us about lately. Shall I go with the boat?"

"Yes, you'd better. Take the gig, and four men to row."

"I can go, father?" cried Poole eagerly.

"Well, I don't know," said the skipper. "If you go, Mr Burnett here will want to be with you, and I know how particular he is as a young officer not to be seen having anything to do with our filibustering, as he calls it."

Fitz frowned with annoyance, and seemed to give himself a regular snatch.

"You'd rather not go, of course?" continued the skipper dryly.

"I can't help wanting to go, Mr Reed," replied the lad sharply; "and if I went just as a spectator I don't see how I should be favouring any of your designs."

"Well, no," said the skipper dryly, "if you put it like that. I don't see after all how you could be accused of turning buccaneer. But would you really like to go?"

"Why, of course," said Fitz. "It's all experience."

"Off with you then," said the skipper; "only don't get within shot. I don't want to have to turn amateur doctor again on your behalf. I am clever enough at cuts and bruises, and I dare say if I were hard put to it I could manage to mend a broken leg or arm, but I wouldn't undertake to be hunting you all over to find where a rifle-bullet had gone. Accidents are my line, not wounds received in war; and, by the way, while we are talking of such subjects, if we have to lie up here in this river for any time, you had better let me give you a dose or two of quinine."

"Oh, but I am quite well now," cried Fitz.

"Yes, and I want you to keep so, my lad. That's a very good old proverb that says, 'Prevention is better than cure.'"

A very short time afterwards the schooner's gig, with her little well-armed crew, was allowed to glide down with the stream, with the mate, boat-hook in hand, standing in the bows, Poole astern with the rudder-lines, and Fitz a spectator, thoroughly enjoying the beauty of the vast cliffs that arose on either side as they descended towards the river's mouth.

It was all zigzag and winding, the stream carrying them along slowly, for a sharp sea-breeze was dead against them, explaining how it was that the schooner had sailed up so easily as she had.

Fitz had ample proof, without Poole's drawing his attention to the fact, that there was no possibility of the gunboat making practice with her heavy piece, for everywhere the schooner was sheltered, the course of the river being all zigzag and wind, till all at once, as the men were dipping their oars gently, the gig passed round a bend, and there was the enemy about three miles off shore, lying-to, with her great black plume of smoke floating towards them, spreading out like a haze and making her look strange and indistinct.

"Did you bring a glass, Poole, my lad?" growled the mate.

"No; I never thought of that."

"Humph! Never mind. I think I can manage. Both of you lads give a sharp look-out and tell me what you can see."

"Why, there's something between us and her hull," said Poole, "but I can't quite make out what it is. Surely she isn't on a rock?"

"No," cried Fitz; "I can see. She has lowered a boat."

"Two," said the mate, in his deep hoarse voice. "I can make 'em out now. I thought that was it at first. Pull away, my lads, for all you're worth. Pull your port line, my lad, and let's run back. Hug the shore as much as you can, so as to keep out of the stream. Hah! If we had thought to bring a mast and sail and one of the other boats we could have been back in no time with this wind astern."

The gig swung round as the men bent in their quick steady pull, and they began to ascend the stream once more, while Fitz rose in his place, to look back watching the half-obscured gunboat till they had swept round the bend once more and she was out of sight, when he re-seated himself and noticed that the mate was still standing, intent upon cautiously taking cartridges from his pouch and thrusting them into the chambers of the revolver which he had drawn from the holster of his belt.

This looked like business, and Fitz turned to dart an inquiring look at his companion, who answered it with a nod.

"Well," thought Fitz, "if he thinks we are going to have a fight before we get back, why doesn't he order his men to load?"

But it proved that the mate did not anticipate a fight before they got back. He had other thoughts in his head, and when at last, after a long and anxious row against the sharp current, with the lads constantly looking back to see if the gunboat's men were within sight, they reached the final zigzag, and caught sight of the schooner, old Burgess raised his hand and fired three shots at the face of the towering cliff.

These three were echoed back as about a score, when there was an interval, and three tiny puffs of grey smoke darted from the schooner's deck, and echoed in their turn.

"Signal answered," said Poole quietly, and the men made their ash-blades bend again in their eagerness to get back aboard.

"Why, what have they been about?" whispered Fitz.

"Looks like going fishing," said Poole, with a grin. "Don't chaff at a time like this," cried Fitz pettishly. "I didn't know that you had got boarding-netting like a man-of-war."

"What, don't you remember the night you came aboard?"

"Not likely, with everything knocked out of my head as it was."

"Oh yes, we've got all these little necessaries. Father goes on the Volunteer system: 'Defence, not Defiance.'"

"Well, that's defiant enough," said Fitz. "It's like saying, 'You're not coming aboard here,' in string."

"Of course. You don't suppose we want a set of half Indian, half Spanish mongrel sailors taking possession of the Teal? You wait till we get aboard, and you'll see all our lads busy with the fleas."

"Busy with the fleas?" said Fitz. "What do you mean?"

"Those father talked about, to put in the Don's ears before we send them back."

"How can you go on making poor jokes at a time like this?" said the middy, in a tone of annoyance. "Why, it looks as if we are in for a serious fight."

"As if we are!" said Poole, emphasising the "we."

"How many more times am I to tell you that it is our game and not yours?"

"But look here," said Fitz excitedly. "Your father really does mean to fight?"

"My father does, and so does every one else," replied Poole. "In oars, my lads," and the next moment the mate hooked on close to the gangway. "I suppose," continued Poole, "you will stop on deck till the row begins? You will want to see all you can."

"Of course," said Fitz, whose face was once more growing flushed.

"Well, I wouldn't stop up too long. The enemy may fire, and you will be safer down below."

"Yes, I suppose so," said the middy coolly; "and of course you are coming too?"

"Coming too? That's likely, isn't it?" said Poole contemptuously.

"Just as likely as that I should go and hide."

"But it's no business of yours. You are not going to fight."

"No," said Fitz, "but I want to see."



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

FITZ FORGETS.

The boarding-netting was partially drawn aside, and Fitz noted that more than ever the crew of the schooner looked like well-trained man-of-war's men, each with his cutlass belted on, waiting for the next order, given in the skipper's voice, when the gig's falls were hooked on and she was run up to the davits and swung inboard, as were the other boats, and when the lad sprang on deck he saw that the netting was being lowered down and secured over the gangway.

It was plain enough that from the moment the gig had pushed off, all hands had been at work preparing to resist attack if an attempt at capture were made; and once more the middy forgot his own identity as a naval officer in his eagerness and interest in all that was going on.

"Oh, one word, Mr Burnett," said the skipper, as he passed where the lad was standing. "Hadn't you better go below? You've got to think about who you are if the Spaniards take us," and then with a good-humoured smile as he read the vexation in the boy's countenance, "Hadn't I better lock you up in the cabin?"

"I say, Captain Reed," cried the boy, in a voice full of protest, "I do wish you wouldn't do this. I can't help having a nasty temper, and this puts me all of a tingle. It seems so hard that men should always laugh at boys and think they are cowards. We can't help being young."

"Of course you can't, my lad," said the skipper, patting him on the back. "There, I will never tease you again. In all probability there won't be anything serious, but if there is, take care of yourself, my boy, for I shouldn't like you to be hurt."

He gave his listener a pleasant nod, and hurried on towards the mate, while Fitz joined Poole, who had nothing now to do, and they occupied themselves in keeping watch for the expected boats and going about amongst the men, whose general appearance seemed to Fitz to be that they were going to some entertainment by way of a treat.

But the treat promised to be serious, for rifles were here and there placed ready for use, and close to every man there was a capstan-bar, evidently intended to use as a club, a most effective weapon whose injuries would not prove of a very dangerous type.

Fitz whispered as much to his companion, who nodded and then replied—

"Well, that depends on what the lads call the spaniel dogs. The dad doesn't want it to be too serious, of course, but we can't help it if these fellows make our lads savage. You see, we've got cutlasses and rifles, and fellows forget to be gentle if they are hurt."

"But we are not at war with Don Villarayo's State."

"No," said Poole, "and Villarayo is not at war with our schooner and the men, but if he begins giving us Olivers he must expect to get Rolands back. Those who play at bowls, you know, must expect rubbers, and when Englishmen rub, they rub hard."

Fitz half turned away to look astern. "I say," he said, "aren't they a long time coming?"

"No; they had a long way to row."

"Seems a long time. Perhaps they have thought better of it and gone back."

"Think so? Well, I don't. They are sure to come. But I dare say it will be a good quarter of an hour yet—perhaps half."

"Well," said Fitz, "for my part, I—" He stopped short, and Poole looked at him curiously.

"Well?" he said. "You what? What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. You'd only think that I was afraid."

"Oh, I know," said Poole. "You were going to say that you hope it won't turn out serious. I shouldn't think that you were afraid. I feel just the same. But you may make up your mind for one thing. We are in the strongest position, and Villarayo's sailors won't be allowed to take the Teal. If it comes to bloodshed, it's their doing, mind, and not ours. Now, don't let's talk any more."

"Why not?" said Fitz. "I feel as if I must. Perhaps I shouldn't if I were one of your crew, and like that."

He pointed quickly to his companion's belt, from which hung a sword, and then quickly touched the flap of the little holster buttoned over the brass stud. "You won't use that, will you?" he said. "Not if I can help it," was the reply. "Help it! Why, of course you needn't unless you like."

"Well, I shouldn't like to, of course. But if you were I, and you saw one of these fellows aiming at one of your men, say at old Butters or Chips, setting aside the dad, wouldn't you try and whip it out to have first shot?"

Fitz nodded shortly, and for the time being the conversation ceased, while the lads' attention was taken up by the sight of the Camel, who after making a rattling noise as if stoking his fire in the galley, shut the door with a bang, and came out red-faced and hot, wiping his hands prior to buckling on a belt with its cutlass and then helping himself to a capstan-bar.

It was only a few minutes later that the bows of a large cutter came in sight, followed by the regularly dipping oars of the crew of swarthy sailors who were pulling hard.

The next moment the uniforms of two officers could be made out in the stern-sheets, where they sat surrounded by what answered to marines, and before the cutter had come many yards the bows of its consort appeared.

As they came within sight of the schooner a cheer arose, a sort of imitation British cheer, which had a curious effect upon the schooner's crew, for to them it seemed so comic that they laughed; but a growl from the mate made every one intent for the serious work in hand, as at the next order they divided in two parties, each taking one side of the schooner for the defence under command of the skipper and his chief officer.

"You understand, Burgess?" said the former sternly. "You will keep a sharp eye on us, and I'll keep one on you. It must be a case of the one helping the other who is pressed."

The mate grunted, and the skipper spoke out to his men.

"Look here, my lads," he said; "we are not at war, and I want no bloodshed. Use your capstan-bars as hard as you like, and tumble them back into their boats, or overboard. No cutlass, edge or point, unless I give the word."

The answer was a cheer, and then all eyes were directed to the boats, which were coming faster through the water now, till, at a command from the foremost stern-sheets, the men slackened and waited for their consort to come up abreast.

Another command was given, when the oars dipped faster all together, the boats dividing so as to take the schooner starboard and port.

"Not going to summon us to surrender?" said the skipper sharply. "Very well; but I think we shall make them speak."

The two boys stood together in the stern, close to the wheel, seeing the boats divide and pass them on either hand; and then with hearts throbbing they waited for what was to come—and not for long.

Matters moved quickly now, till the boats bumped and grazed against the schooner's sides, two sharp orders rang out as their coxswains hooked on, and then with a strange snarling roar their crews began to scramble up to the bulwarks, and with very bad success. They had not far to go, for the schooner's bulwarks were very low for a sea-going vessel, but here was the main defence, the nets fully ten feet high and very strong—a defence suggestive of the old gladiatorial fight between the Retiarius, or net and trident-bearer, and the Secutor, or sword and shield-carrying man-at-arms.

There was no firing then; the Spaniards seized the net and began to climb, some becoming entangled, as in their hurry a leg or an arm slipped through, while the defenders dashed at them and brought their capstan-bars into use, crack and thud resounding, sending some back upon their companions, others into the boats, while three or four splashes announced the fall of unfortunates into the water.

Loud shouts came from the boats as the officers urged the men on, and from each an officer in uniform began to climb now and lead, followed by quite a crowd on either side, some of them hacking at the stout cord with their cutlasses, but doing little mischief, crippled as they were by the sharp blows which were hailed down by the schooner's crew, upon hand, foot, and now and then upon some unlucky head.

Chips the carpenter, who was nothing without making some improvement upon the acts of his fellows, made a dash at the officer leading the attacking boat on the starboard side, delivering a thrust with the bar he carried, which passed right through the large mesh of the net, catching the Spaniard in the chest and sending him backwards into the boat.

"That's what I calls a Canterbury poke, dear boys," he cried. "Let 'em have it, my lads. The beggars look like so many flies in a spider's web; and we are the spiders."

The shouting, yelling, and struggling did not last five minutes. Man after man succeeded the fallen, and then it was all over, the boats floating back with the current until they were checked by those in command, who ordered the oars out and the men to row. But it was some little time before the confusion on board each could be mastered, and the disabled portions of the crew drawn aside.

"Well done, my lads!" cried the skipper. "Couldn't be better!"

"Here," shouted the mate, "a couple of you up aloft and tighten that net up to the stay. Two more of you get a bit of signal-line and lace up those holes."

"Ay, ay, sir!" came readily enough, and the men rushed to their duty.

"Think that they have had enough of it?" said Fitz huskily.

"Not they," replied Poole. "We shall hear directly what they have got to say."

He had scarcely spoken before there was a fierce hail from one of the boats, whose commander shouted in Spanish to the skipper to surrender; and upon receiving a defiant reply in his own tongue, the officer roared—

"Surrender, you scum, or I'll order my men to fire; and as soon as you are my prisoners I'll hang you all, like the dogs you are."

"Back with you to your ship, you idiot, before you get worse off," cried the captain sternly. "Dogs can bite, and when English dogs do, they hold on."

"Surrender!" roared the officer again, "or I fire."

"At the first shot from your boat," cried the skipper, "I'll give the order too; and my men from shelter can pick off yours much faster than yours from the open boat."

"Insolent dog!" roared the officer, and raising a revolver he fired at the skipper, the bullet whistling just above his head.

In an instant Poole's revolver was out, and without aiming he fired too in the direction of the boat. He fired again and again over the attacking party's heads, until the whole of the six chambers were empty, and with the effect of making the Republican sailors cease rowing, while their boats drifted with the current, rapidly increasing the distance.

The order to fire from the boats did not come, but the second boat closed up to the first, and a loud and excited colloquy arose, there being evidently a difference of opinion between the leaders, one officer being for another attack; the second—so the skipper interpreted it from such of the words as he could catch—being for giving up and going back to the gunboat for advice.

And all the time, both boats still in confusion drifted farther and farther away; but at last the fiery leader of the first gained the day; his fellow gave up, and when the order was given to advance once more in the first boat he supplemented it in the second, and a low deep murmur rose up.

"Why, Fitz," whispered Poole, "they have had enough of it. The mongrels won't come on."

"Think so?" whispered back Fitz, gazing excitedly over the stern, while Poole's fingers were busy thrusting in fresh cartridges till his revolver chambers were full.

"Yes, it's plain enough," cried Poole, for the voices of the officers could be heard angrily threatening and abusing their men; but all in vain.

There was the appearance of struggles going on, and in one boat the sun flashed two or three times from the blade of a sword as it was raised in the air and used as a weapon of correction, its owner striking viciously at his mutinous men.

"Ah!" ejaculated Fitz. "That's done it. They are more afraid of him than they are of us—of you, I mean. They are coming on again."

For the oars were dipping, making the water foam once more, as the crews in both the boats began to pull with all their might. But only half; the others backed water, and directly after the boats' heads had been turned and they were being rowed back as hard as they would go, till they disappeared round the first bend to the tune of a triumphant cheer given in strong chorus by every man upon the Teal.

Just at that moment Fitz clapped one hand to his cheek, for it felt hot, consequent upon the thought having struck him, that in his excitement he had been cheering too. That burning sensation was the result of a hint from his conscience that such conduct was not creditable to a young officer in the Royal Navy.



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

THE CAMEL'S DEMAND.

The nets were soon mended and the slack places hauled up taut, while the Teal's crew sauntered about the deck, waiting patiently for the next attack, and compared notes about the slight injuries they had received.

Meanwhile the skipper and mate were anxiously on the alert for what might happen next.

"I want to know what they mean, Burgess," the lads heard the skipper say. "They'll never put up with such a rebuff as this."

"Oh, I don't know," growled Burgess. "The officers wouldn't, of course, but they'll never get those swabs to face us for another bout."

"What do you think, then? That they will go back for fresh boats' crews?"

"That's somewhere about it, or some stinkpots to heave aboard, or maybe, if they have got one, for a barge or pinnace with a boat's gun."

"Possibly," said the skipper, and Poole gave Fitz a nudge with his elbow as if to ask, Did you hear that?—a quite unnecessary performance, for Fitz had drunk in every word.

"Yes," continued the skipper; "they'll be after something or another. Don Cousin is bound to take us by some means, and we must be on the look-out for a surprise. Can we wait till dark and slip out to sea again?"

"No," said the mate abruptly; "I want broad daylight for anything like that. I couldn't take the schooner a quarter of a mile in the dark without getting her on the rocks."

"I suppose not," said the skipper; "and I suppose it's no use to try and get higher up the stream?"

"Not a bit," replied the mate. "The boats would follow us anywhere. I am very sorry. I've brought you into a regular trap, and there's only one way out, and the gunboat's sitting on it. But under the circumstances there was nothing else to be done. How I do hate these tea-kettles! But one must look the plain truth in the face. They can go anywhere, and we, who depend upon our sails, can't."

"That's all true enough," said the skipper, "but it doesn't better our position. What I want to know is, how things are going on lower down. Now, if you lads, or one of you," he continued, turning to the boys, "could shin up that high cliff yonder you could see the boats and the gunboat too, and make signals to us so that we might know what to expect."

"All right, father," said Poole sharply, and he glanced at Fitz as he spoke; "have me landed in the dinghy, and I'll go up and see."

Fitz looked at the speaker, and his eyes said, "All right, I'll come with you;" but the skipper made no answer for a time, but stood shading his eyes and sweeping the face of the cliff, before dropping his hand and saying—

"How would you do it, my lad?"

"Oh, by climbing up, father, a bit at a time, getting hold of the bushes and hauling oneself up sometimes."

"Ah," said the skipper quietly. "You would be very clever if you did. It might be managed for a little way up, but all that upper part isn't perpendicular; it hangs right over towards us. Impossible, my lad. Nothing could get up there but a bird or a fly. We must give up that idea. Burgess, you will have to lower a boat and let her drift down to the headland there, stern on, and with the men ready to pull for their lives, as you may be fired at. When you get to the head you must let her slide along close under the bushes till you get a sight of the boats and see what they're doing."

"Right," said the mate. "Now?"

"Yes; the sooner the better."

Poole glanced at Fitz, and then started to speak to his father; but before he could open his lips there was an emphatic—

"No! You would only be in the way, my lads. I want four strong men to row, and one in the stern to look out; and that one is Mr Burgess."

"Very well, father," said the lad quietly, but he looked his disappointment at Fitz, whose vexation was plainly marked on his countenance, as he mentally said, "Oh, bother! He might have let us go."

Things were done promptly on board the Teal, and in a few moments the cutter was lowered down with its little crew after the netting had been cast loose and raised; and then they watched her glide down with the stream, stern on, with the rowers balancing their oars, the stroke dipping his now and then to keep her head to stream, and the mate standing with his back to them till the headland was reached, when he knelt down, caught at the overhanging bushes and water-plants, and let the boat drift close in and on and on without making a sign, till she disappeared.

Just then Fitz heaved a sigh.

"What's the matter, old chap?" said Poole.

"Oh, we shall have nothing to do but wait now, perhaps for hours, for I expect the enemy has gone right back to the gunboat, and waiting is a thing I do thoroughly hate. Eh? Is that you, Camel?"

"Andy Cawmell it is, sir. A'm thenking that it would be joost a good time for a wee bit food. Ah've been watching Mr Burnett here, and the puir laddie looks quite white and faint. Would you mind telling the skipper that I've got a wee bit hot dinner a' ready? and if he will gi'e the word I'll have it in the cabin in less time than Duncan Made-Hose took his pinch of sneeshin."

"Well done, Camel!" cried Poole, who darted to his father, leaving the cook blinking and smiling at Fitz, who looked at him in admiration.

"Why, Camel," he said, "you are a deal too clever for a ship's cook, and I don't know what I owe you for all you have done for me."

"Oh, joost naething at all, laddie."

"Nothing! I want to make you a big present when I can."

"You do, laddie? Vairy weel, and I'll tell you what I'd like. Ye'll just gi'e me one of them quarter-poond tins of Glasgie sneeshin."

"Snuff!" said Poole contemptuously. "Ay, laddie; snuff, as ye call it. Nay, don't turn your nose up at sneeshin. Ye should turn it down. Thenk of what it is to a man condemned to get naething but a bit of dirty black pigtail tobaccy that he has to chew like the lads do in their barbarous way. Ye'll mind that: a four-ounce tin of the rale Glasgie."

"Oh, but—"

"Nay, nay, laddie. That'll make us square. Now then, what's the young skipper got to say?"

"The sooner the better, Camel, for he's half-starved; but you are to keep a bit hot for Mr Burgess."

"Ou, ay," said the Camel, smiling. "I never forget the mate. He wadna let me if I would."

The two lads watched anxiously for the return of the boat, but in vain, and then, in answer to the summons, went reluctantly below as far as their minds were concerned, but with wondrous willingness on the part of their bodies, to join the skipper over a capital meal, which was hastily discussed, and then the trio went on deck to where the men were keeping watch, and ordered them to go below.

"Get your dinner, lads, as quickly as you can, and then come up again. We'll keep watch until you do."

They took their places aft at once, and the watch began, lasting till, headed by the boatswain, the men hurried up again, looking inquiringly in the faces of those they relieved; but they looked in vain, for nothing had been seen of the cutter, and quite an hour had passed when she came round the bend, being rowed swiftly, for the mate to hail the skipper and make the announcement—

"They have gone right back to the gunboat, and I waited till they were run up to the davits, and then came back. Is there anything we can have to eat?"



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

WINKS'S PLANS.

The mate and the boat's crew went below, and the skipper took a turn or so up and down the deck, thinking deeply, while the two lads went and settled themselves down aft to keep a keen look-out for any danger that might approach, and naturally dropped into conversation, first about the fight, a subject which they thoroughly exhausted before they began a debate upon their position.

"What's to be done, eh?" said Poole, in response to a question. "I don't know. We are regularly boxed up—trapped. You heard what was said, and here we are. We can't attempt to sail out in the daylight because Don Cousin would sink us as sure as his great gun, and we can't sneak out in the dark because, even if we got a favourable wind, old Burgess couldn't find the way."

"We might take to the boats, and slip off as soon as it was dark, and row along close in shore. We should be out of sight long before daybreak, and join Don Ramon at Velova."

"Exactly," said Poole sarcastically; "and leave a note on the binnacle, 'With father's compliments to Don Cousin, and he begged to make him a present of the smartest little schooner, just as she stands, that ever crossed the Atlantic.' Likely, isn't it?"

"Oh no," said Fitz hurriedly. "Of course that wouldn't do."

"Oh, I don't know," said Poole, in the same mocking vein. "It doesn't do to be in too much of a hurry over a good idea. There, you wait till the dad turns and is coming back this way, and then you go and propose it to him."

"Likely, as you say," said Fitz, with a laugh. "But look here, what is to be done?"

"I only know of one thing," replied Poole; "keep a strict watch for the next prank they will play, and beat them off again till they get tired and give it up as a bad job."

"That they will never do," said Fitz decidedly. "Think they could land and get up on one of these cliffs from the shore side, and pick us off by degrees with their rifles?"

"No," said Poole, leaning back and gazing upwards. "I think that would be impossible."

"Well," said Fitz, "what do you say to this? Man the boats after dark, row out to the gunboat, board her, and take her. Now, I think that would be grand."

"Oh yes, grand enough; but she's a man-of-war with small guns as well as the big one, and a large, well-drilled crew. No, no, they would be too keenly on the watch. I don't believe we could do that. I've a good mind to mention it, though, to father. No, I won't. He'd have thought of that, and he'd only look upon it as so much impudence, coming from me."

"I dunno," said Fitz. "Here he comes. Try."

"Here, you two," said the skipper, coming close up to them; "I have a nice little job for you. Take four men, Poole, and drop down in a boat cautiously. Don't be seen, and get down to where you can watch the gunboat till dark, and then come back here and report what you have made out. Of course if they make any movement you come back directly and let me know."

These orders put all farther scheming out of the lads' heads, and a very short time afterwards Poole had selected Chips and three other men, and the boat was gliding down with the current, each bend being cautiously rounded in the expectation of the enemy being seen once more ascending the river. But the last headland was passed with the boat kept well under shelter of the overhanging growth, and the open sea lay before them; and there, about two miles away, and exactly opposite the mouth of the river, lay the gunboat with a film of smoke rising from her funnel, indicating that steam was being kept up, while by means of the glass that this time had not been left behind, they could plainly make out that she was lying at anchor, keeping watch upon the shore.

"There," said Poole, "I'll be bound to say she's just at the mouth of the channel by which we came in, and as close as she dare come. We should look nice sailing down nearer and nearer to her. Bah! We should never get half-way there."

"Well, what's to be done?" said Fitz.

"What we were told. Make ourselves comfortable till the sun's just beginning to go down, and then get back as quickly as we can.—Make her fast, my lads, with the painter—there, to that branch, only so that we can slip off in a minute, for we may have to go in a hurry at any time."

This was done, and they watched and waited in silence, keeping well out of sight behind the shrubby growth, from the knowledge that the mouth of the river was certain to be carefully scanned by those on board the gunboat with their glasses.

"Looks to me," observed Poole, "as if they mean to tire us out."

"Oh yes, sir, that's it," said Chips. "I wish I had brought my tools with me."

"Why?" said Poole, who was glad to break the monotony of their watch by a chat with the men.

"Oh, it's as well to make the most use of your time, sir. Looks to me as if the Don Captain had taken a lease of that pitch and meant to stay; and under the suckumstances I couldn't do better than land here and get up to that sort of shelf yonder. Beautiful situation too, freehold if you held tight. Raither lonely perhaps, but with my axe and these 'ere three stoopids to help me, I could knock the skipper up a nice eligible marine villa, as they calls it, where we could all live comfortable for a year or two; and you young gents could have nice little gardens of your own. Then I could make you a little harbour where you could keep your boat and go fishing and shooting and having a high old time. I don't think you'd get such a chance again."

"And what about the schooner?" said Fitz, laughing.

"Oh, we should have to dismantle her, and work up the stuff, bulkheads and such-like, to line the new house. I've got an idea that I could work in all the hatches and tarpaulins for a roof; for though you get plenty of sunshine out here, my word, when it do rain, it do! What do you say, sir?"

"Nothing," said Poole. "It won't do, Chips."

"Well, no, sir; I thought it wouldn't when I first began to speak."

"Try again."

"Don't think I have got any more stuff, sir. But lookye here; why don't the skipper take us all down in the boats when it's dark, and let us board the enemy and take her? We could, couldn't we, messmates?"

"Yes, of course," came in a growl.

"There, sir! You 'ear?"

"Yes, I hear," said Poole, "and I dare say we could, but only at the expense of half the lads killed and wounded; and that would be paying too dear. Now, look here, my lad; here's an idea rather in your way. Couldn't we make a plan to scuttle and sink the gunboat where she lies? What do you say to that?"

"Can't be did, sir. I could creep alongside the schooner and do it to her; but that there gunboat's got heavy steel plates right round her, going ever so deep, and they'd be rather too much for my tools. They'd spoil every auger I've got. The skipper hasn't got a torpedo aboard, has he? One of them new 'uns that you winds up and sets a-going with a little screw-propeller somewheres astern, and a head full of nitro— what-d'ye-call-it, which goes off when it hits?"

"No," said Poole, as he lay back gazing at the gunboat through his half-closed eyes, and in imagination saw the little thread-like appearance formed by the disturbed water as a fish-torpedo ploughed its way along; "we didn't bring anything of the kind."

"No, sir; I thought you wouldn't. But what about a big bag of powder stuck alongside her rudder? You see, you might tie the bag up with a bit of spun-yarn rubbed with wet powder, and leave a long end hanging down as far as the boat in which you rowed out."

"And set a light to it?" said Fitz.

"That's right, sir. You see," cried Chips, "and it would go fizzling and sparkling till we rowed right away out of reach, and up she'd go, bang."

"And while you were striking matches to light the touch-string, the enemy would be shooting at you or dropping cold shot or pig-ballast into us to sink the boat," said Poole.

"Bah!" said Fitz. "They keep such a strict watch that they would never let a row-boat come near."

"No, sir," said Chips; "that's just what I think. Them Spaniels aren't very clever, but they all seem to have got eyes in their heads. Now, this 'ere's a better idee. Say you are the skipper, and you says to half-a-dozen of us, 'Now, my lads, them there Span'ls is making themselves a regular noosance with that there big gun. Don't you think you could take the gig to-night, drop down under their bows, hook on by the fore-chains, and then swarm up on the quiet like, catch hold of the big gun, carry her to the side, and drop her over into deep water!'"

"Ha! ha! Capital!" cried Fitz. "Splendid! Yes, I don't believe she weighs more than two or three tons. Why, Poole, we ought to go to-night. They wouldn't be able to get her up again without a lighter and divers from New York. But it's a capital idea."

"Don't you mind what he says," growled the carpenter. "He's a-quizzing on us, my lads. Well, I gives that up. That job would be a bit too stiff."

"Yes," said Poole, laughing. "Try again."

"I dunno what they wants a great clumsy lumbering thing like that aboard a ship for. Bower-anchors is bad enough, banging against your craft; but you can lower them down to the bottom when your ship gets tired, and give her a bit of a rest."

"Yes," said one of the other sailors; "you'll have to think of something better than that, Shavings."

"Ay, but that was a fine idea, my lad, if the gun had been a bit lighter. The Span'ls would have been so flabbergasted when they heard the splash, that we should have had lots of time to get away. Now, let me see; let me see. What we wants is a big hole in that gunboat's bottom, so that they would be obliged to take to their boats. What do you say to this? I've got a bottle of stain aboard as I used to do over the wood at the top of the locker in the skipper's cabin, and made it look like hoggermy. Now, suppose I undressed a bit, say to my flannel-shirt, tied an old red comforter that I've got round my waist, to keep my trowges up, and then touches my hands and arms and phiz over with some of that stain. Then I swims off to the gunboat, asks civil like for the Don skipper, and says I'm a Spanish AB and a volunteer come on the job."

"And what then?" said Fitz, laughing.

"Ah, you may laugh, sir. But you can't expect a common sailor like me, who's a bit handy with his hammer and saw, to be up to all the dodges of an educated young gent like you as has sarved his time aboard the Bry-tannia in Dartmouth Harbour. But of course there's a 'what then' to all I said. I shouldn't want to dress myself up like a play-hactor in a penny show, with a red pocket-hankerchy tied to a mop-stick, big boots, and a petticut instead of trowges, pretending he's a black pirate, with a blood-red flag, one of your penny plain and twopence coloured kind, you know. I did lots of them when I was a young 'un, and had a box of paints. Not me. There's a 'what then' to all this 'ere, a sting to it, same as there is in a wopse's tail."

"Let's have it then," said Fitz. "I want to hear what you'd do when Don Cousin there shakes hands with you and says, 'You're the very man I've been waiting for all through this voyage.'"

"Yes, sir; that's it. You've got it to rights. That's just what he says, only it'd be in his Spanish liquorice lingo; and then the very first time I takes my trick at the wheel I looks out for one of them ugly sharp-pinted rocks like a fang just sticking out of the water, runs the gunboat right a-top of it, makes a big hole in her bottom; down she goes, great gun and all, and there you are. Now, Mr Poole, sir, what have you got to say to that?"

"Nothing," said Poole. "It's too big for me. When do you mean to start?"

"Well, I haven't quite made up my mind as to that yet, sir," said Chips quietly. "There's the skipper's consent to get, and the painting to do; and then I aren't quite sure about that there red comforter. I am afraid it's in my old chest, the one that's at home, and I shouldn't look so Span'l-like without a bit of colour. But it's a good idea, isn't it, sir, although Mr Fitz don't seem to think much of it? What do you make of them now on board the gunboat?"

"There's somebody on the bridge, and he's got a glass, and I saw the light flash off the lens just now."

"Then they must be a-watching of us, sir, taking stock of the place. I shouldn't wonder if we had a visit from them soon after dark, to try and take us by surprise."

"Well, they won't do that," said Poole. "We shall keep too good a watch; but I shouldn't wonder if they tried." The time glided by, and the sun began to sink, to disappear quite early to the watchers, shut in by high cliffs; and as soon as it was out of sight the boat was dragged up stream, well hidden behind the overhanging boughs that dipped their tips to the edge of the river, till the first bend had been passed, when the men took to their oars and pulled hard till the schooner was reached.

There was scarcely anything to report, the only thing that took the skipper's attention being Fitz's statement that he had seen somebody on the gunboat's bridge using a glass, and this was sufficient to start the skipper making preparations for the night, for after a short consultation with Burgess, they came to the conclusion that they would be attacked before long; and about an hour after darkness had set in, a whisper from one of the watch told that he had heard the faint creakings of oars on rowlocks.

A minute later a faint spark lit up what appeared to be a scale hanging from its chains and being lowered down from the schooner's side into the water; but as it touched the surface it grew and grew, and went gliding down the stream, developing as it went into a tin dish containing some combustible which grew brighter and brighter as it went on, till it flashed out into a dazzling blue light which lit up the sides of the cliffs and glistened like moonlight in the water, till at about a hundred yards from the schooner's stern it threw up into clear relief the shapes of three boats crowded with men, the spray thrown up by their oars glittering in the blue flare, and then ceasing.

For all at once a few softly-uttered words were heard upon the schooner's deck, followed by a bright flash, and the roar of a volley echoed like thunder from the cliff-sides, for the skipper's preparations had been well made, so that about a score of rifle-bullets were sent whizzing and hissing over the enemy's heads, while those who looked on over the schooner's bulwarks saw the blue light begin to sink and grow pale as it went on down stream, throwing up the boats in less bold relief as they too went down towards the mouth in company with their illuminator.

Five minutes later all was dark and still again.

"Showed them we were pretty well prepared for them," said Poole, at last.

"Yes," replied Fitz. "Think they'll come again?"

"No," said the skipper, who was standing by in the darkness. "We shall keep watch, of course, but I don't think we shall see any more of them to-night. There, you two go below and sleep as hard as ever you can. I'll have you roused if anything occurs."

"Honour bright, father?"

"Yes, and extra polished too," replied the skipper.

"Come on, then, Burnett," whispered Poole, gripping his companion by the arm. "I don't think that I ever felt so sleepy in my life."



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

FITZ HAS A DREAM.

The middy did not say much, but a very short time later he proved that he shared his companion's feelings, both lads sleeping with all their might, and trying to make up for a great deal of exertion connected with their disturbed existence of the past few days.

It is generally conceded by the thoughtful over such matters, that dreams come after the more solid portion of a person's sleep, that they are connected with a time when the rested brain is preparing to become active once again, and set to work in its daily routine of thought.

This may be the rule, but it is said that there is no rule without an exception. Fitz Burnett's slumber in his hot, stuffy berth was one of these exceptions, and rather a remarkable one too, for almost directly after dropping off he began to dream in the most outrageous manner, that proving for him a sort of Arabian Night which had somehow been blown across on the equatorial winds to Central America. The whole of his dream was vivid in the extreme while it was in progress, and if it could have been transcribed then, no doubt it would have proved to be of the most intense interest; but unfortunately it had to be recalled the next morning when its clearness was muddled, the sharpness of its features blurred.

Two or three times over he tried to dismiss it from his mind altogether, for it worried him; but it absolutely refused to be got rid of, and kept coming back with the utmost persistency, making him feel bound to drag it back and try to set it in order, though this proved very difficult. It was some time before he could get hold of the thread at all, and at the first pull he found that he drew up several threads, tangled and knotted up in the most inextricable confusion, while they were all in some way connected with Chips the carpenter's plans.

He did not want the task: it bothered him, for in the broad sunshine of the morning Chips's notions seemed to him to be ludicrously absurd; but somehow he felt bound to go on disentangling them, because he was, as it were, in some way mixed up with them, and had been during the night helping him to carry them out.

"Makes my head feel quite hot," he said to himself, as he leaned over the bulwark looking down at the water hurrying past the schooner. "I haven't got a fever coming on, have I? If it doesn't all soon go off I'll ask Captain Reed to give me some of his quinine. Ugh! Horribly bitter stuff! I have had enough physic this voyage to last me for a year."

And then he lapsed into a sort of dreamy state in which he dragged out of his sleeping adventures that he had been acting as a sort of carpenter's boy, carrying the bag, which weighed him down, while all the time he had to keep handing gigantic augers to Chips, and wiping his forehead every now and then with handfuls of shavings, while his master kept on turning away, trying to bore holes through the steel plates of the gunboat, and never making so much as a scratch. Then came a rest, and he and Chips were lying down together in a beautiful summer-house built upon a shelf of the cliff, with lovely vines running all over it covered with brilliant flowers, and growing higher and higher, with the upper parts laden with fruit which somehow seemed to be like beans. He did not know why it was, but his rest in this beautiful vine-shaded place, whose coverings seemed to grow right up into the skies, was disturbed by the carpenter's banter, for Chips kept calling him Jack, and laughing at him for selling his mother's cow for a handful of beans, and asking why he didn't begin to climb right up to the top of the great stalk into the giant land. Before he could answer they were back again by the side of the gunboat, seated in the dinghy, and Chips was turning away at his cross-handled auger, which now seemed to go through the steel as easily as if it were cheese-rind, while when the dreamer took hold of a handful of the shavings that were turned out, they were of bright steel, and so hard and sharp that they made the carpenter angry because they did not remove the perspiration and only scratched his face. But he kept on turning all the time, till the auger had gone in about six inches, when he left off and asked for another, driving this in at a tremendous rate and again asking for another and another, until he had driven in a whole series of them which extended from the level of the dinghy's gunwale right up the gunboat's side.

Then it seemed to the sleeper that the dinghy was passed along to the war-vessel's stern, where Chips made her fast to the rudder-chains, and then held out his hand for the powder-bag, which was so big that it filled up all the bottom of the little boat and swelled right over the side. It was very heavy, but Fitz felt that it must be done, though it was not proper work for a young officer in Her Majesty's Navy.

But Chips was sitting astride the rudder, holding out his hands, and the bag was obliged to be passed up. Directly afterwards it was made fast, and Chips came back holding a black string moistened with gunpowder, and holding out the end to him to light with a match. This he did, after striking many which would not go off because his hands were wet; and then he sat back watching the powder sparkle as it gradually burned along the string towards the neck of the bag full of black powder, which somehow seemed to be the soot from one of the chimneys at home, while Chips the carpenter was only the sweep.

Fitz remembered his sensations of horror as he sat expecting to see the explosion which would blow him into the water; and his dread was agonising; but just then the dinghy began to glide along till it was underneath the augers extending upwards like a ladder, and up these the carpenter climbed, beckoning him to follow, to the gunboat's deck, where all the Spanish sailors were lying fast asleep.

Here he seemed to know that he must step cautiously for fear of treading on and waking the crew; but Chips did not seem to mind at all, going straight in one stride right to where the big breech-loader lay amidships on its carriage, waiting to be lifted out and dropped overboard.

And here the confused muddle of dreams became condensed into a good solid nightmare that would not go, for Fitz felt himself obliged to step to the heaviest part of the huge gun and lift, while Chips took the light end and grinned at him in his efforts to raise it, while as he lifted, and they got the gun poised between them, each with his clasped hands underneath, it kept going down again as if to crush his toes. But he felt no pain, and kept on lifting again and again, till somehow it seemed that they were doing this not upon the gunboat's planks, and that they could not get it overboard because the deck was that shown in the tinselled picture of the Red Rover hanging upon the wall of the gardener's cottage at home, while the sea beyond was only paper painted blue. All the same, though, and in spite of his holding one end of the gun, Chips was there, wearing a scarlet sash and waving a black flag upon which was a grinning skull and cross-bones.

When he got as far as that, Fitz could get no farther, for things grew rather too much entangled; so much so that it seemed to him that he awoke just then with his brain seething and confusion worse confounded, telling himself that he must have had the nightmare very badly indeed, and wondering whether it was due to fever coming on, or something indigestible he had had to eat.

But he said nothing about his dream for some hours, long after he had been on deck, to find that there had been no alarm during the night, had been refreshed by breakfast, and had heard that the gunboat was at anchor where she had been the previous night, and this from Mr Burgess's lips, for he had been down stream with the boat himself.

It was getting towards mid-day, when the sun was shining with full power, and the opinion was strong on deck that if the gunboat people intended to make another attack they would defer it till the day was not quite so hot.

Just then Fitz Burnett seemed to come all at once to a conclusion about his confused dream. Perhaps it was due to the heat in that valley, having ripened his thoughts. Whatever it might have been, he hurried to Poole, got hold of his arm, and told him to come forward into the bows.

"What for?" asked Poole.

"Because there's no one there, and we can talk."

"All right," said the lad. Leading the way he perched himself astride upon the bowsprit and signified that his companion should follow his example; and there they sat, with the loose jib-sail flapping gently to and fro and forming an awning half the time.

"Now then," said Poole, "what is it? You look as if you had found something, or heard some news. Is the gunboat going away?"

"I wish it were," was the reply. "I wanted to tell you that I had last night such a dream."

"Had you? Well, are you going to tell it to me?"

"No; impossible, for I can't recollect it all myself, only the stupid and muddled part of it. But I have been trying to puzzle it out this morning, and that set me thinking about other things as well, till at last, all of a sudden, I got the very idea we want."

"You have! What is it?" cried Poole excitedly. "Tell me gently, for perhaps I could not bear it all at once."

"It's the way to disable the gunboat."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes."

"A good sensible, possible way, that could be done?"

"Yes, and by one person too, if he had the pluck."



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

It was rather a queer position occupied by the two lads, seated astride the bowsprit like children playing at horses—sea- or river-horses, in this case, for the swift current was running beneath them.

Poole looked hard at Fitz, his sharp eyes seeming to plunge into those of his companion as if he read his very thoughts, while as Fitz returned the gaze his look became timid and shrinking; a curious feeling of nervousness and regret attacked him, and the next minute he was wishing that instead of planning out a suggestion by which he would help these filibusters, he had kept silence and not begun a proposal which he felt to be beneath his dignity as a young officer of the Queen.

"Well," said Poole at last, in a tone of voice which added to Fitz's chill; "what is it?" Fitz remained silent.

"Well, out with it! What's the scheme?" Still Fitz did not speak, and Poole went on—"It ought to be something good to make you so cocksure. I have gone over it all again and again, turned it upside down and downside up, and I can't get at anything one-half so good as old Chips's cock-and-bull notions. I suppose you are cleverer than I am, and if you are, so much the better, for it's horrible to be shut up like this, and I feel as if I'd rather wait for a good wind, clap on all sail, and make a dash for it, going right ahead for the gunboat as if you meant to run her down, and when we got very close, give the wheel a spin and shoot by her. They'd think we were coming right on to her, and it might scare the crew so that they wouldn't be able to shoot straight till we got right by. And then—"

"Yes," said Fitz; "and then perhaps when they had got over the scare they'd shoot straight enough. And suppose they did before they were frightened. What about the first big shell that came aboard?"

"Ah, yes, I didn't think of that," said Poole. "But anyhow, that's the best I can do. I've thought till my head is all in a buzz, and I shan't try to think any more. I suppose, then, that yours is a better idea than that."

"Ye-es. Rather."

"Well, let's have it."

Fitz was silent, and more full of bitter regret that he had spoken.

"I say, you are a precious long time about it."

"Well, I don't know," stammered Fitz. "I don't think I ought to; perhaps it wouldn't be a good one, after all."

"Well, you are a rum fellow, Burnett! I began to believe in you, and you quite made my mouth water, while now you snatch the idea away. What's the matter?"

Fitz cleared his throat, and pulled himself together.

"Well," he said; "you see, it's like this. I've no business as your prisoner to take part with you against a State which is recognised by the British Government, and to which your father has surreptitiously been bringing arms and ammunition that are contraband of war."

"Phee-ew!" whistled Poole, grinning. "What big words! What a splendid speech!"

"Look here, if you are beginning to banter," replied Fitz hotly, "I'm off."

"Yes, you've just let yourself off—bang. We had got to be such friends that I thought you had dropped all that and were going to make the best of things. You know well enough that Villarayo was a bully and a brute, a regular tyrant, and that Don Ramon is a grand fellow and a regular patriot, fighting for his country and for everything that is good."

"Yes, yes, I know all that," said Fitz; "but that doesn't alter my position until he has quite got the upper hand and is acknowledged by England. I feel that it is my duty to be—to be—what do they call it?—neutral."

"Oh, you are a punctilious chap. Then you would be neutral, as you call it, and let Villarayo smash up and murder everybody, because Don Ramon has not been acknowledged by England?"

"Yes, I suppose so," said Fitz; "but these are all diplomatic things with which I have nothing to do."

"And you have got a good idea, then, that might save us out of this position?"

"Ye-es; I think so."

"And you won't speak?"

"I feel now that I can't."

"Humph!" grunted Poole. "It seems too bad, and not half fair to the governor."

"It is not fair to me to make me a prisoner," retorted Fitz.

"He didn't make you one. You came and tumbled down into our hold, and we did the best we could for you. But don't let's begin arguing about all that again. Perhaps you are right from your point of view, and I can't think the same, only of helping to get the Teal out of this scrape."

"I wish I could help you and do my duty too," said Fitz.

"I wish you could," replied Poole. "But I don't think much of your notion. You said it was all a dream."

"No, not all. It came from my dreaming and getting into a muddle over what Chips the carpenter said."

"I thought so," said Poole coolly; "all a muddle, after all. Dreams are precious poor thin stuff."

"This isn't a dream," cried Fitz sharply.

"And this isn't a dream," cried Poole, flushing up. "I have been thinking about it, and I can't help seeing that as sure as we two are sitting here, those mongrel brutes that swarm in the gunboat will sooner or later get the better of us. Our lads are plucky enough, but the enemy is about six to one, and they'll hang about there till they surprise us or starve us out; and how will it be then?"

"Why, you will all be prisoners of war, of course."

"Prisoners of war!" cried Poole contemptuously. "What, of Villarayo's men, the sweepings and scum of the place, every one of them armed with a long knife stuck in his scarf that he likes to whip out and use! Hot-blooded savage wretches! Prisoners of war! Once they get the upper hand, there will be a regular massacre. They'll make the schooner a prisoner of war if I don't contrive to get below and fire two or three shots into the little magazine; and that I will do sooner than fall alive into their hands. Do you think you would escape because you are an English officer? Not you! Whether you are fighting on our side or only looking on, it will be all the same to them. I know them, Burnett; you don't; and I am telling you the honest truth. There! We'll take our chance," continued the lad coldly. "I don't want to know anything about your dreams now."

Poole was in the act of throwing one leg over the bowsprit, and half turned away; but Fitz caught him tightly by the arm.

"I can't help it," he cried excitedly, "even if it's wrong. Sit still, Poole, old chap. I've been thinking this. You see, when I went aboard the Tonans everything was so fresh and interesting to me about the gun-drill and our great breech-loader.—Did you ever see one?"

"Not close to," said Poole coldly. "Ah, well, I have, and you have no idea what it's like. Big as it is, it's all beautifully made. The breech opens and shuts, and parts of it move on hinges that are finished as neatly as the lock of a gun; and it is wonderful how easily everything moves. There are great screws which you turn as quietly as if everything were silk, and then there's a great piece that they call the breech-block, which is lifted out, and then you can stand and look right through the great polished barrel as if it were a telescope, while all inside is grooves, screwed as you may say, so that the great bolt or shell when it is fired is made to spin round, which makes it go perfectly straight."

"Well, yes, I think I knew a good deal of that," said Poole, almost grudgingly.

"Well, you know," continued Fitz excitedly, "perhaps you don't know that when they are going to fire, the gun is unscrewed and the breech-block is lifted out. Then you can look through her; the shell or bolt and the cartridge are pushed in, the solid breech-block is dropped in behind them, and the breech screwed up all tightly once again."

"Yes, I understand; and there's no ramming in from the muzzle as with the old-fashioned guns."

"Exactly," said Fitz, growing more and more excited as he spoke. "And you know now what a tremendously dangerous weapon a great gun like that is."

"Yes, my lad," said Poole carelessly; "of course I do. But it's no good."

"What's no good?" said Fitz sharply.

"You are as bad as Chips. If we got on board we couldn't disable that gun, or get her to the side. She'd be far too heavy to move."

"Yes," said Fitz, with his eyes brightening, and he gripped his companion more tightly than ever. "But what's the most important part of a gun like that?"

"Why, the charge, of course."

"No," cried Fitz; "the breech-block. Suppose I, or you and I, got on board some night in the dark, unscrewed the breech, lifted out the block, and dropped it overboard. What then?"

Poole started, and gripped his companion in turn.

"Why," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "they couldn't fire the gun. The charge would come out at both ends."

"To be sure it would."

"Well—Oh, I don't know," said Poole, trembling with excitement; "I should muddle it. I don't understand a gun like that."

"No," cried Fitz; "but I do."

"Here," panted Poole; "come along aft."

"What are you going to do?"

"Do! Why, tell my governor, of course! Oh, Burnett, old fellow, you'll be the saving of us all!"

The lad's emotion communicated itself to the proposer of the plan, and neither of them could speak as they climbed back on to the deck, and, seeing nothing before their eyes but breech-loaders, hurried off, to meet Mr Burgess just coming out of the cabin-hatch.

"Is father below there?" cried Poole huskily. "Yes; just left him," grunted the mate, as he stared hard at the excited countenances of the two lads. "Anything the matter?"

"Yes. Quick!" cried Poole. "Come on down below." The skipper looked up from the log he was writing as his son flung open the cabin-door, paused for the others to enter, and then shut it after them with a bang which made the skipper frown.

"Here, what's this, sir?" he said sternly, as he glanced from one to the other. "Oh, I see; you two boys have been quarrelling, and want to fight. Well, wait a little, and you'll have enough of that. Now, Mr Burnett, speak out. What is it? Have you and my son been having words?"

"Yes, father," half shouted Poole, interposing—"such words as will make you stare. Tell him, Burnett, all that you have said."

The skipper and the mate listened in silence, while Poole watched the play of emotion their faces displayed, before the skipper spoke.

"Splendid, my lad!" he cried. "But it sounds too good to be true. You say you understand these guns?"

"Yes, sir; I have often stood by to watch the drill, and seen blank cartridge fired again and again."

"But the breech-block? Could it be lifted out?"

"It could aboard the Tonans, sir, and I should say that this would be about the same."

"Hah!" ejaculated the skipper. "But it could only be done by one who understands the working of the piece, and we should be all worse than children over such a job."

Poole's eyes were directed searchingly at the middy, who met them without a wink.

"As I understand," continued the captain, "it would be done by one who crept aboard in the dark, unscrewed the gun, took out the block, and carried it to the side. I repeat, it could only be done by one who understands the task. Who could do this?"

"I could, sir," said Fitz quietly.

"And you would?"

"If I were strong enough. But I am sure that I could do it if Poole would help."

"Then if it's possible to do, father," said the lad quietly, "the job is done."

"But look here," interposed the mate, in his gruff way; "what about Don Ramon? What will he say? He wouldn't have that great breech-loader spoiled for the world."

"How would it be spoiled?" cried Fitz sharply.

"Aren't you going to disable it by chucking the breech-block over the side?"

"Pooh!" cried Fitz contemptuously. "These parts are all numbered, and you can send over to England and get as many new ones as you like."



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

TO CUT AND RUN.

The mate's face lit up in a way that those who knew him had not seen for months.

"Well done, youngster!" he said, in quite a musical growl. "Splendid! Here, Poole Reed, you ought to have thought of that."

"How could I?" said the lad. "I never learnt anything about breech-loading cannon."

"No more you did, my boy," said the skipper; "and we don't want to take the honour from Mr Burnett. We shall have to do this, sir, but it will be risky work, and I don't know what to say about letting you go."

"Oh, I don't think that there will be much risk, Captain Reed," said Fitz nonchalantly. "It only means going very quietly in the dark. It would be done best from the dinghy, because it's so small."

"And how would you go to work?" said the skipper.

"Oh," said Fitz, "I should arrange to go about two bells, let the dinghy drift close in under her bows after studying the gunboat well with a glass, and I think one ought to be able to mount by climbing up the anchor on the starboard side. If not, by the fore-chains."

"And what about the watch?"

"I've thought about that, sir, and I don't believe that they keep a good one at all. It won't be like trying to board a gunboat in the British Navy. Like as not those on deck will be asleep."

"Yes, I think so too," said Poole.

"Well," said the skipper, "I have something of the same sort of idea. They'd never believe that any one from the schooner would do such a daring thing. What do you say, Burgess?"

"Same as you do, sir," said the mate gruffly.

"But what do you think would be the great advantage of doing this, Mr Burnett?" said the skipper.

"The advantage, sir?" replied the middy, staring. "Why, it would be like drawing a snake's fangs! You wouldn't be afraid of the gunboat without her gun."

"No," said the skipper thoughtfully, "I don't think I should; and for certain she'd be spoiled for doing any mischief to Don Ramon's forts."

"Oh yes, father," cried Poole excitedly. "It would turn the tables completely. You remember what Don Ramon said?"

"What, about the power going with the party who held the gunboat? Well, it's a pity we can't capture her too."

"Or run her ashore, father."

"What, wreck her? That would be a pity."

"I meant get her ashore so that she'd be helpless for a time."

"Well, now's your time, my boy. It has come to a pretty pass, though, Burgess, for these young chaps to be taking the wind out of our sails."

"Oh, I don't mind," growled the mate. "Here, let's have it, Poole. Look at him! He's got something bottled up as big as young Mr Burnett, I dare say."

"Eh? Is that so, my boy? Have you been planning some scheme as well?"

"Well, father, I had some sort of an idea. It came all of a jump after Burnett had proposed disabling the gun."

"Well done!" whispered Fitz excitedly.

"What is it, my lad?" said the skipper.

"Oh, I feel rather nervous about it, father, and I don't know that it would answer; but I should like to try."

"Go on, then; let's hear what it is."

"You see, I noticed that they have always got steam up ready to come in chase at any time if we try to slip out."

"That's right," growled the mate.

"Well, I was thinking, father, how would it be if we could foul the screw?"

"Why, a job, my lad, for them to clear it again."

"But wouldn't it be very risky work lying waiting while they tried to clear the screw? You know what tremendous currents there are running along the coast."

"But they wouldn't affect a craft lying at anchor, my lad," growled the mate.

"No," said Poole excitedly; "but I should expect to foul the screw just when they had given orders to up with the anchor to come in chase of us or to resist attack."

"And how would you do it, my lad?" said the skipper.

"Well, father, I was thinking—But I don't profess for a moment that it would succeed."

"Let's have what you thought, and don't talk so much," cried the skipper. "How could you foul the screw?"

"Well, the dinghy wouldn't do, father; it would be too small. We should have to go in the gig, with four men to row. I should like to take the big coil of Manilla cable aboard, with one end loose and handy, and a good rope ready. Then I should get astern and make the end fast to one of the fans of the screw, and give the cable a hitch round as well so as to give a good hold with the loop before we lowered it overboard to sink."

"Good," said Burgess. "Capital! And then if the fans didn't cut it when they began to revolve, they'd wind the whole of that cable round and round, and most likely regularly foul the screw badly before they found out what was wrong."

"Yes," said the skipper quietly. "The idea is excellent if it answered, but means the loss of a good new cable that I can't spare if things went wrong; and that's what they'd be pretty sure to do."

Poole drew a deep breath, and his face grew cloudy.

"The idea is too good, my lad. It is asking too much of luck, and we couldn't expect two such plans to succeed. What do you say, Burgess?"

"Same as you do," said the mate roughly. "But if we got one of our shots to go off right we ought to be satisfied, and if it was me I should have a try at both."

"Yes," said the skipper, "and we will. But it seems to me, Burgess, that you and I are going to be out of it all."

"Oh yes. They've planned it; let 'em do it, I say."

"Yes," said the skipper; "they shall. But look here, do you lads propose to do all this in one visit to the gunboat?"

"Poole's idea, sir, is all fresh to me," cried Fitz. "I knew nothing of it till he began to speak, but it seems to me that it must all be done in one visit. They'd never give us a chance to go twice."

"No," said the mate laconically, and as he uttered the word he shut his teeth with a snap.

"When's it to be, then?"

"To-night, sir," said Fitz, "while it's all red-hot."

"Yes, father; it ought to be done to-night. It's not likely to be darker than it is just now."

"Very well," said the skipper; "then I give you both authority to make your plans before night. But the dinghy is out of the question. With the current running off the coast here you'd never get back in that. You must take the gig, and five men. Pick out who you like, Poole: the men you would rather trust. You'd better let him choose, Mr Burnett; he knows the men so much better than you, and besides, it would be better that they should be under his orders than under yours. There, I have no more to say, except this—whether they succeed or not, your plans are both excellent; but you cannot expect to do anything by force. This is a case for scheme and cunning. Under the darkness it may be done. What I should like best would be for you to get that breech-block overboard. If you can do the other too, so much the better, but I shall be perfectly satisfied if you can do one, and get back safely into the river. There, Poole; make what arrangements you like. I shall not interfere in the least."

"Nor I," said the mate. "Good luck to you both! But I shouldn't worry much about preparing for a fight. What you have got to do is to act, cut, and run."