CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

'CAUSE WHY.

"Now we know," said Poole joyously, as they left the cabin and went forward to their old place to discuss their plans: "what we have got to do is to cut and run. Come on; let's go and sit on the bowsprit again. It will soon be dinner-time. I wonder what the Camel has got?"

"Oh, don't talk about eating now," cried Fitz, as they reached the big spar, upon which he scrambled out, to sit swinging his legs, and closely followed by Poole. "What's the first thing?"

"Who's to man the gig," said Poole; "and I've got to pick the crew."

"I should like to pick one," cried Fitz.

"All right, go on; only don't choose the Camel, nor Bob Jackson."

"No, no; neither of them," cried Fitz. "I say, we ought to have old Butters."

"One," said Poole sharply. "Now it's my turn; Chips."

"Yes, I should like to have him," cried the middy. "But I don't know," he continued seriously. "He's a splendid fellow, and so handy; but he might want to turn it all into a lark."

"Not he," cried Poole. "He likes his bit of fun sometimes, but for a good man and true to have at my back in a job like this, he's the pick of the whole crew."

"Chips it is, then," said Fitz. "That's two."

"Dick Boulter, then."

"Three!" cried Fitz.

"Harry Smith."

"Four," said Fitz.

"Four, four, four, four," said Poole thoughtfully. "Who shall we have for number five? Here, we'll have the Camel, after all."

"Oh," cried Fitz; "there'll be nothing to cook."

"Yes, there will; the big gun and the propeller. He's cook, of course, but he's nearly as good a seaman as there is on board the schooner, and he'll row all right and never utter a word. There, we've got a splendid boat's crew, and I vote we go and tell father what we've done."

"I wouldn't," said Fitz. "It'll make him think that we hadn't confidence in ourselves. Unless he asks us, I wouldn't say a word."

"You are right," said Poole; "right as right. Now then, what's next? I know: we'll go and make the lads get up the Manilla rope and lay it down again in rings as close as they'll go."

"On the deck here?" said Fitz.

"No, no; right along the bottom of the gig. And we must have her lowered down first with two men in her, ready to coil the cable as the others pass it down. Now then, let's get inboard again and find old Butters."

"But he'll be wanting to know what we want with that rope."

"Sure to," said Poole; "but he'll have to wait. Oh, here he comes. Here, bosun!" he cried. "I want you to get up that new Manilla cable, lower down the gig, and coil it in the bottom so that it will take up as little room as possible, and not be in the men's way."

"What men's way?" said the boatswain. "Chips, Harry Smith, the Camel, and Dick Boulter," said Poole.

"Ho!" grunted the boatswain, and he took off his cap and began to scratch his head, staring at both in turn. "Whose orders?" he grunted, at last. "I just seen Mr Burgess, and he never said a word."

"The skipper's orders," cried Poole.

"Ho!" said the boatswain again. "Well, that's good enough for me," and he stood staring at them.

"Well, get the men together and see about the rope," cried Poole.

"What's your game? Going to take the end out to a steam-tug, or is the gunboat going to tow us out to sea?"

"Don't ask questions, please. It's private business of the skipper's, under the orders of Mr Burnett and me."

"Ho! All right, my lad; only oughtn't I to know what we are going to do? You are going off somewhere in the boat, eh?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And I'm not to come?"

"Oh, but you are," cried Poole, "and I've told you the men I've picked for the job. Don't you think it's a good crew?"

"Middling," said the boatswain grudgingly. "Might be better; might be wuss. But look here, young fellow; I don't like working in the dark."

"I am sorry for you," said Fitz, "for this will be an all-night job."

"Then I'd better take my nightcap," said the boatswain quietly. "But what's up? Are you going to make fast to the gunboat and tow her in?"

"You know we are not," replied Poole.

"Well, I did think it was rather an unpossible sort of job. But hadn't you better be open and above-board with a man, and say what it all means?"

"It means that you and the other men are under the orders of Mr Burnett and me, and that we look to you to do your best over what's going to be a particular venture. You'll know soon enough. Till then, please wait."

"All right," said the boatswain. "I'm your man. For the skipper wouldn't have given you these orders if it wasn't square;" saying which the man walked off to rouse up the little crew, all but the Camel, whom he left to his regular work in the galley. "We shan't want him yet," said Butters, as the boys followed him. "Had he better get us some rations to take with us?"

"Oh no," said Poole. "We oughtn't to be away more than three or four hours if we are lucky."

"Why, this 'ere gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser," grumbled the boatswain. "But I suppose it's going to be all right," and he proceeded to give his orders to the men.

"Now we shall begin to have them full of questions," said Poole. "I begin to wish we were making it all open and above-aboard."

"I don't," said Fitz; "I like it as it is. If we told everybody it would spoil half the fun."

"Fun!" cried Poole, screwing up his face into a quaint smile. "Fun, do you call it? Do you know that this is going to be a very risky job?"

"Well, I suppose there'll be some risk in it," replied the middy; "but it will be all in the dark, and we ought to get it done without a shot being fired. I say, though, I have been thinking that you and I must keep together, for I am afraid to trust myself over getting out that block. I should have liked to have done that first, but the splash it would make is bound to give the alarm, and there would be no chance afterwards to get that cable fast, without you let old Butters and the men do that while we were busy with the gun."

"No," said Poole decisively; "everything depends upon our doing these things ourselves. The cable can be made fast without a sound, and as soon as it is passed over the side of the boat, the men must lay the gig alongside the bows for us to swarm up, do our part, and then get to them the best way we can. I expect it will mean a jump overboard and a swim till they pick us up."

"Yes," said Fitz; "that's right. Ah, there comes the end of the cable. It's nice and soft to handle."

"Yes," said Poole, "and needn't make any noise."

The lads sauntered up to where the men were at work, three of them lowering down the gig, while the carpenter and boatswain were bringing up the cable out of the tier, the former on deck, the boatswain down below.

"So you're going to have a night's fishing, my lad?" said the carpenter. "Well, you'll find this 'ere a splendid line. But what about a hook?"

"Oh, we shan't want that yet, Chips," said Poole coolly.

"Nay, I know that, my lad; but you've got to think about it all the same, and you'll want a pretty tidy one for a line like this. I didn't know the fish run so big along this coast. Any one would think you'd got whales in your heads. I never 'eard, though, as there was any harpoons on board."

"Oh no, we are not going whale-fishing," said Poole quietly.

"What's it to be then, sir? Bottom fishing or top?"

"Top," said Poole.

"Then you'll be wanting me to make you a float. What's it to be? One of them big water-barrels with the topsail-yard run through? And you'll want a sinker. And what about a bait?"

"We haven't thought about that yet, Chips."

"Ah, you aren't like what I was when I was a boy, Mr Poole, sir. I used to think about it the whole day before, and go to the butcher's for my maggits, and down the garden for my wums. Of course I never fished in a big way like this 'ere; but I am thinking about a bait. I should like you to have good sport. Means hard work for the Camel to-morrow, I suppose."

"And to-night too, Chips, I hope," said Poole.

"That's right, sir," said the man cheerily, as he hauled upon the cable. "But what about that bait? I know what would be the right thing; perhaps the skipper mightn't approve, and not being used to it Mr Burnett here mightn't like to use such a bait."

"Oh, I don't suppose I should mind, Chips," said Fitz, laughing. "What should you recommend?"

"Well, sir, I should say, have the dinghy and go up the river a mile or two till we could land and catch a nice lively little nigger—one of them very shiny ones. That would be the sort."

The two lads forgot the seriousness of the mission they had in view, exchanged glances, and began to laugh, with the result that the man turned upon them quite an injured look.

"Oh, it's quite right, gentlemen; fishes have their fancies and likings for a tasty bit, same as crocodiles has. I arn't sailed all round the world without picking up a few odds and ends to pack up in my knowledge-box. Why, look at sharks. They don't care for nigger; it's too plentiful. But let them catch sight of a leg or a wing of a nice smart white sailor, they're after it directly. Them crocs too! Only think of a big ugly lizardy-looking creetur boxed up in a skin half rhinoceros, half cow-horn—just fancy him having his fads and fancies! Do you know what the crocodile as lives in the river Nile thinks is the choicest tit-bit he can get hold of?"

"Not I," said Poole. "Giraffe perhaps."

"No, sir; what he says is dog, and if he only hears a dog running along the bank yelping and snapping and chy-iking, he's after him directly, finishes him up, and then goes and lies down in the hot sun with his mouth wide open, and goes to sleep. Ah, you may laugh, sir; but I've been up there in one of them barges as they calls darbyers, though how they got hold of such an Irish name as that I don't know. It was along with a orficer as went up there shooting crocs and pottomhouses. Oh, I've seen the crocs there often—lots of them. Do you know what they opens their mouths for when they goes to sleep, Mr Burnett, sir?"

"To yawn, I suppose," said Fitz. "Haul away there, my lad! Look alive!" came in a deep growl from below; and Chips winked and made the great muscles stand out in his brown arms as he hauled, but kept on talking all the same.

"Yawn, sir! Nay, that isn't it. It's a curiosity in nat'ral history, and this 'ere's fact. You young gents may believe it or not, just as you like."

"Thank you," said Fitz dryly; "I'll take my choice."

"Ah, I expect you won't believe it, sir. But this 'ere's what it's for. He leaves his front-door wide open like that, and there's a little bird with a long beak as has been waiting comes along, hippity-hop, and settles on the top of Mr Croc's head, and looks at first one eye and then at the other to see if he's really asleep, and that there is no gammon. He aren't a-going to run no risks, knowing as he does that a croc's about one of the artfullest beggars as ever lived. I suppose that's why they calls 'em amphibious. Oh, they're rum 'uns, they are! They can sham being dead, and make theirselves look like logs of wood with the rough bark on, and play at being in great trouble and cry, so as to get people to come nigh them to help, and then snip, snap, they has 'em by the leg, takes them under water to drown, and then goes and puts 'em away in the cupboard under the bank."

"What for?" said Poole.

"What for, sir? Why, to keep till they gets tender. Them there Errubs of the desert gets so sun-tanned that they are as tough as string; so hard, you know, that they wouldn't even agree with a croc. Yo-hoy! Haul oh, and here she comes!" added the man, in a low musical bass voice to himself, as he kept on dragging at the soft Manilla rope.

"I say, Burnett," said Poole seriously, "don't you think we'd better get pencil and paper and put all this down—Natural History Notes by Peter Winks, Head Carpenter of the Schooner Teal?"

"Nay, nay, sir, don't you do that. Stick to fact. That's what I don't like in people as writes books about travel. They do paint it up so, and lay it on so thick that the stuff cracks, comes off, and don't look nat'ral."

"Then you wouldn't put down about that little bird that comes hippity-hop and looks at the crocodile's eyes?"

"What, sir! Why, that's the best part of it. That's the crumb of the whole business."

"Oh, I see," said Fitz. "Then that's a fact?"

"To be sure, sir. He's larnt it from old experience. I dare say he's seen lots go down through the croc turning them big jaws of his into a bird-trap and shutting them up sudden, when of course there aren't no more bird. But that's been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, and the birds know better now, and wait till it's quite safe before they begin."

"Begin what?" said Fitz sharply.

"Well, sir," said the carpenter, as he hauled away, "that's what I want to tell you, only you keep on interrupting me so."

Fitz closed his teeth with a snap.

"Go on, Chips," he said. "I'll be mute as a fish."

"Well, sir, as I said afore, you young gents can believe it or you can let it alone: that there little bird, or them little birds, for there's thousands of them, just the same as there is crocodiles, and they are all friendly together, I suppose because crocs is like birds in one thing—they makes nests and lays eggs, and the birds, as I'm telling of you, does this as reg'lar as clockwork. When the croc's had his dinner and gone to sleep with his front-door wide open, the little chap comes hopping and peeping along close round the edge, and then gets his own living by picking the crocodile's teeth."

"Ha-ha!" laughed Fitz. "'Pon my word, Poole, I should like to put this down."

"Oh, it don't want no putting down, sir; it's a fact; a cracker turns mouldy and drops off."

"Well, won't this go bad?" cried Fitz, laughing.

"Not it, sir. You don't believe it, I see, but it's all natur'. It's a-using up of the good food as the croc don't want, and which would all be wasted, for he ain't a clean-feeding sort of beast. He takes his food in chops and chunks, and swallows it indecent-like all in lumps. A croc ain't like a cow as sits down with her eyes half shut and chews and chews away, sentimental-like, turning herself into a dairy and making a good supply of beautiful milk such as we poor sailors never hardly gets a taste on in our tea. A croc is as bad as a shark, a nasty sort of feeder, and if I was you young gents I'd have a study when I got ashore again, and look in some of your big books, and you'd find what I says is all there."

"Did you find what you've been telling us all there?" said Poole.

"Nay, my lad; I heard best part of it from my officer that I used to go with. Restless sort of chap he was—plenty of money, and he liked spending it in what he called exhibitions—No, that aren't right— expeditions—that's it; and he used to take me. What he wanted to find was what he called the Nile Sauce; but he never found it, and we never wanted it. My word, the annymiles as he used to shoot when we was hungry, and that was always. My word, the fires I used to make, and the way I used to cook! Why, I could have given the Camel fifty out of a hundred and beat him. We didn't want any sauce. Did either of you gents ever taste heland steak? No, I suppose not. Fresh cut, frizzled brown, sprinkled with salt, made hotter with a dash of pepper, and then talk about juice and gravy! Lovely! Wish we'd got some now. Why, in some of our journeys up there in what you may call the land of nowhere and nobody, we was weeks sometimes without seeing a soul, only annymiles—ah, and miles and miles of them. I never see such droves and never shall again. They tell me that no end of them has got shot.— Beautiful creatures they were too! Such coats; and such long thin legs and arms, and the way they'd go over the sandy ground was wonderful. They never seemed to get tired. I've seen a drove of them go along like a hurricane, and when they have pulled up short to stare at us, and you'd think that they hadn't got a bit of breath left in their bodies, they set-to larking, hip, snip, jumping over one another's backs like a lot of school-boys at leap-frog, only ten times as high."

"Did you ever see any lions?" said Fitz, growing more serious as he began to realise that there was very little fiction and a great deal of fact in the sailor's yarn.

"Lots, sir. There have been times when you could hear them roaring all round our camp. Here, I want to speak the truth. My governor used to call it camp, but it was only a wagging, and we used to sleep on the sand among the wheels. Why, I've lain there with my hand making my gun rusty, it got so hot and wet with listening to them pretty pussy-cats come creeping round us, and one of them every now and then putting up his head and roaring till you could almost feel the ground shake. Ah, you may chuckle, Mr Poole, but that's a fact too; I've felt it, and I know. And do you know why they roared?"

"Because they were hungry?"

"Partly, sir; but most of it's artfulness. It's because they know that it will make the bullocks break away—stampede, as they calls it—and rush off from where there's people to take care of them with rifles, and then they can pick off just what they like. But they don't care much about big bullock. They've got tasty ideas of their own, same as crocs have. What they likes is horse, and the horses knows it too, poor beggars! It's been hard work to hold them sometimes—my governor's horse, you know, as he hunted on; and I've heard them sigh and groan as if with satisfaction when the governor's fired with his big double breech-loader and sent the lions off with their tails trailing behind and leaving a channel among their footprints in the sand. I've seen it, Mr Burnett, next morning, and I know."

"All right, Chips," cried Poole. "We won't laugh at you and your yarns. But now look here; there must be no more chaff. This is serious work."

"All right, sir," said the man good-humouredly, as he wiped his dripping face. "No one can't say as I aren't working—not even old Butters."

"No, no," said Poole hastily. "You are working well."

"And no one can't say, sir, as I've got my grumbling stop out, which I do have sometimes," he added, with a broad grin, "and lets go a bit."

"You do, Chips; but I want you to understand that this is a very serious bit of business we are on."

"O!"

A very large, round, thoughtful O, and the man hauled steadily away, nodding his head the while.

"Serous, eh? Then you aren't going fishing?"

"Fishing, no!"

"Then it's something to do with the gunboat?"

"Don't ask questions," cried Poole. "Be satisfied that we are going on a very serious expedition, and we want you to help us all you can."

"Of course, my lads. Shall I want my tools?"

"No."

The man was silent for a few moments, looking keenly from one to the other, and then at the rope, before giving his leg a sharp slap, and whispering with his face full of animation—

"Why, you're going to steal aboard the gunboat in the dark, and make fast one end of this 'ere rope to that there big pocket-pistol, so as we can haul her overboard. But no, lads, it can't be done. But even if it could it would only stick fast among them coral rocks that lie off yonder."

"And what would that matter, so long as we got it overboard?"

"Ah, I never thought of that. But no, my lad; you may give that up. It couldn't be done."

"Well, it isn't going to be done," said Fitz sharply; "and now let's have no more talk. But mind this—Mr Poole and I don't want you to say anything to the other men. It's a serious business, and we want you to wait."

"That's right, sir. I'll wait and help you all I can; and I'll make half-a-davy, as the lawyers calls it, that I won't tell the other lads anything. 'Cause why—I don't know."



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

VERY WRONG.

Very little more was said, and the preparations were soon finished, with the rest of the crew looking on in silence. It seemed to be an understood thing, after a few words had passed with the selected men, that there was to be no palaver, as they termed it.

As for Fitz and Poole, they had nothing to do but think, and naturally they thought a great deal, especially when the night came on, with the watching party who had been sent below to the mouth of the river back with the announcement that the gunboat was in its old place, the boats all up to the davits, and not a sign of anything going on. But far from taking this as a token of safety, the skipper and mate made their arrangements to give the enemy a warm welcome if they should attack, and also despatched a couple of men in the dinghy to make fast just off the edge of the first bend and keep watch there, trusting well to their ears for the first warning of any boat that might be coming up.

The two lads stole away into their favourite place for consultations as soon as it was dark, to have what they called a quiet chat over their plans.

"I don't see that we could do any more," said Fitz, "but we must keep talking about it. The time goes so horribly slowly. Generally speaking when you are expecting anything it goes so fast; now it crawls as if the time would never be here."

"Well, that's queer," said Poole. "Ever since I knew that we were going it has seemed to gallop."

"Well, whether it gallops or whether it crawls it can't be very long before it's time to start. I say, how do you feel?"

"Horrible," said Poole. "It makes me think that I must be a bit of a coward, for I want to shirk the responsibility and be under somebody's command. My part seems to be too much for a fellow like me to undertake. You don't feel like that, of course."

Fitz sat there in the darkness for a few minutes without speaking. Then after heaving a deep sigh—

"I say," he whispered, "shall you think me a coward if I say I feel just like that?"

"No. Feeling as I do, of course I can't."

"Well, that's just how I am," said Fitz. "Sometimes I feel as if I were quite a man, but now it's as if I was never so young before, and that it is too much for chaps like us to understand such a thing."

"Then if we are both like that," said Poole sadly, "I suppose we ought to be honest and go straight to the dad and tell him that we don't feel up to it. What do you say?"

"What!" cried Fitz. "Go and tell him coolly that we are a pair of cowardly boys, for him and Mr Burgess to laugh at, and the men—for they'd be sure to hear—to think of us always afterwards as a pair of curs? I'd go and be killed first! And so would you; so don't tell me you wouldn't."

"Not going to," said Poole. "I'll only own up that I'm afraid of the job; but as we've proposed it, and it would be doing so much good if we were to succeed, I mean to go splash at it and carry it through to the end. You will too, won't you?"

"Yes, of course."

There was a slight rustling sound then, caused by the two lads reaching towards one another and joining hands in a long firm grip.

"Hah!" exclaimed Fitz, with a long-drawn expiration of the breath. "I'm glad I've got that off my mind. I feel better now."

"Same here. Now, what shall we do next? Go and talk to old Butters and tell him what we want him to do?"

"No," cried Fitz excitedly. "You forget that we are in command. We've no business to do anything till the time comes, and then give the men their orders sharp and short, as if we were two skippers."

"Ah, yes," said Poole, "that's right. That's what I want to do, only it seems all so new."

"I tell you what, though," said Fitz. "We shall be going for hours and hours without getting anything, and that'll make us done up and weak. I vote that as we are to do as we like, we go and stir up the Camel and tell him to send us in a nice meal to the cabin."

"But it isn't long since we had something," suggested Poole.

"Yes, but neither of us could eat nor enjoy it. I couldn't, and I was watching you; but I feel that I could eat now, so come on. It'll help to pass the time, and make us fit to do anything."

"All right," said Poole, and they fetched Andy from where he was sitting forward talking in whispers with his messmates, told him what they wanted, and ordered him to prepare a sort of tea-supper for the little crew of the gig.

The Camel was ready enough, and within half-an-hour the two lads were doing what Poole termed stowing cargo, the said cargo consisting of rashers of prime fried ham, cold bread-cake, hot coffee and preserved milk.

They did good justice to the meal too, and before they had ended the skipper came down to them, looked on for a minute or two, and then nodded his satisfaction.

"That looks well, my lads," he said. "It's business-like, and as if your hearts were so much in your work that you didn't feel disposed to shirk it. It makes me comfortable, for I was getting a little nervous about you, I must own."

The boys exchanged glances, but said nothing.

"Here, don't mind me," continued the skipper. "Make a good hearty meal, and I'll talk to you as you eat."

"About our going and what we are about to do, father?" said Poole.

"Well, my boy, yes, of course."

"I wish you wouldn't, father. It's too late now to be planning and altering, and that sort of thing."

"Yes, please, Captain Reed," cried Fitz excitedly. "It's like lessons at school. We ought to know what we've got to do by now, and learning at the last minute won't do a bit of good. If we succeed we succeed, and if we fail we fail."

"Do you know what a big writer said, my boy, when one of his characters was going off upon an expedition?"

"No, sir," said Fitz.

"Good luck to you, perhaps," said Poole, laughing, though the laugh was not cheery.

"No, my lad," said the skipper. "I have not been much of a reader, and I'm not very good at remembering wise people's sayings, but he said to the young fellow when he talked as you did about failing, 'In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail,' which I suppose was a fine way of saying, Go and do what you have got to do, and never think of not succeeding. You're not going to fail. You mustn't. There's too much hanging to it, my boys; and now I quite agree with you that we'll let things go as they are."



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

CHIPS SNIFFS.

The silence and darkness made the lads' start for their venturesome expedition doubly impressive, the more so that the men were looking on in silence and wonder, and no light was shown on board the schooner. The gig with its load of cable had been swinging for hours by the painter, and midnight was near at hand, when the little crew, each armed with cutlass and revolver, stood waiting for their orders to slip down into their seats.

This order came at last, accompanied by one command from the skipper, and it was this—

"Perfect silence, my lads. Obey orders, and do your best.—Now, my boys," he continued, as soon as the men were in the boat, "do not fire a shot unless you are absolutely obliged. Mr Burgess will follow in the large boat with a dozen men, to lie off the mouth of the river ready to help you if you are in trouble; so make for there. If you want to signal to them to come to you, strike a couple of matches one after the other, and throw them into the water at once. Last night the gunboat did not show a light. I expect that it will be the same to-night, as they will think they are safer; but I fancy amongst you, you will have eyes sharp enough to make her out, and the darkness will be your best friend, so I hope the sea will not brime. There, your hand, Mr Burnett. Now yours, Poole, my boy. Over with you at once."

The next minute the boys had slid down into the boat, to seat themselves in the stern-sheets with the boatswain; the carpenter pulled the stroke oar, so that he was within reach if they wished to speak, and with the boatswain taking the rudder-lines they glided slowly down the stream.

"Tell them just to dip their oars to keep her head straight, boatswain," said Poole quietly. "We have plenty of time, and we had better keep out in mid-stream. A sharp look-out for anything coming up."

"Ay, ay, my lad," was the reply, and they seemed to slip on into the black darkness which rose before them like a wall, while overhead, like a deep purple band studded with gold, the sky stretched from cliff to cliff of the deep ravine through which the river ran.

"Now, Poole," said Fitz suddenly, speaking in a low voice, almost a whisper, "you had better say a word or two to Mr Butters about the work we are on."

"No," replied Poole; "it was your idea, and you're accustomed to take command of a boat, so you had better speak, for the boatswain and the carpenter ought to know. The other men will have nothing to do but manage the gig—"

"Hah!" ejaculated the boatswain, in a deep sigh, while Chips, who had heard every word, only gave vent to a sniff.

Fitz coughed slightly, as if troubled with something that checked his breath.

"Then look here, Mr Butters," he said quickly; "we're off to disable the gunboat yonder, and do two things."

"Good!" came like a croak.

"First thing is to foul the screw."

There was another croak, followed by—

"Lay that there cable so that she tangles herself up first time she turns. That's one."

Fitz coughed again slightly.

"You will run the boat up in silence, the men will hold on, while you and Chips make fast the end to one of the fans, and then let the cable glide out into the water as we pass round to the bows. It must all be done without a sound. All the rope must be run out, to sink, and then I propose that you hold on again under the starboard anchor."

"Suppose starboard anchor's down?" growled the boatswain.

"Pass the boat round to the port; either will do; but if we are seen or heard, all is over."

"Won't be seen," growled the boatswain. "It's black enough to puzzle a cat."

"Very well, then—heard," continued Fitz.

"Right, sir. What next?"

"There are no more orders. You will hold on while Mr Poole and I get aboard. We shall do the rest."

"Hah!" sighed the boatswain; and like an echo came a similar sound from the carpenter.

Then pat, pat, pat came the kissing of the water against the bows of the gig, and the sides of the ravine seemed as weird and strange as ever, while the darkness if anything grew more profound.

At this point, with the boat gliding swiftly down stream, Poole leaned sideways to run his hand down Fitz's sleeve, feel for his hand, and give it a warm pressure, which was returned.

Then they went on round bend after bend, the current keeping them pretty well in the centre, till at last the final curve was reached, the starry band overhead seemed to have suddenly grown wider and the air less oppressive, both hints that they were getting out to sea, and that the time for the performance of the daring enterprise was close at hand.

Most fortunately the sea did not "brime," as the West-countrymen say, when the very meshes of their nets turn into threads of gold through the presence of the myriad phosphorescent creatures that swarm so thickly at times that the surface of the sea looks as if it could be skimmed to clear it of so much lambent liquid gold.

This was what was wanted, for with a phosphorescent sea, every dip of the oar, every wavelet which broke against the boat, would have served as signal to warn the watch on board the gunboat that enemies were near.

But unfortunately, on the other hand, there was the darkness profound, and not the scintillation of a riding light to show where the gunboat lay. They knew that she was about two miles from shore, and as nearly as could be made out just at the mouth of the channel along which the Teal had been piloted to enable her to reach the sanctuary in which she lay.

But where was she now? The answer did not come to the watchers who with straining eyes strove to make out the long, low, dark hull, the one mast, and the dwarfed and massive funnel, but strove in vain.

Fitz's heart sank, for the successful issue of his exploit seemed to be fading away, and minute by minute it grew more evident that there was not the slightest likelihood of their discovering the object of their search; so that in a voice tinged by the despair he felt, he whispered his orders to the boatswain to tell the men to cease rowing.

Then for what seemed to be quite a long space of time, they lay rising and falling upon the heaving sea, listening, straining their eyes, but all in vain; and at last, warned by the feeling that unless something was done they were bound to lose touch of their position when they wanted to make back for the mouth of the little river, Fitz whispered an order to the boatswain to keep the gig's head straight off shore, and then turned to lay his hand on Poole's shoulder and, with his lips close to his ear, whisper—

"What's to be done?"

"Don't know," came back. "This is a regular floorer."

The boy's heart sank lower still at this, but feeling that he was in command, he made an effort to pull himself together.

"In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail," seemed to begin ringing as if at a great distance into his ears, and he rose up in his place, steadied himself by a hand on his companion's shoulder, and slowly swept the horizon; that is to say, the lower portion of the sky, to which the stars did not descend.

In vain!

There was no sign of gunboat funnel, nothing to help them in the least, and coming to the conclusion that their only chance of finding her was by quartering the sea as a sporting dog does a field, and at the same time telling himself that the task was hopeless, he bent down to try if he could get a hint from the boatswain, when he muttered to himself the words that had now ceased to ring, and his heart gave quite a jump. For apparently about a hundred yards away there appeared a faint speck of light which burned brightly for a few moments before with a sudden dart it described a curve, descending towards the level of the sea; and then all was black again.

For a moment or two the darkness upon the sea seemed to lie there thicker and heavier than ever, till, faint, so dim that it was hardly visible, the lad was conscious of a tiny light which brightened slightly, grew dim, brightened again, and then the boatswain uttered a low "Hah!" and Chips sniffed softly, this time for a reason, for he was inhaling the aroma of a cigar, borne towards them upon the soft damp night air.

The lads joined hands again, and in the warm pressure a thrill of exultation seemed to run from their fingers right up their arms and into their breasts, to set their hearts pumping with a heavy throb.

Neither dared venture upon a whisper to inform his comrade of that which he already knew—that some one on board the gunboat was smoking, probably the officer of the watch, and that they must wait in the hope that he might go below after a look round, when there was still a possibility that the crew might sleep, or at least be sufficiently lax in their duty to enable the adventurers to carry out their plans. They could do nothing else, only wait; but as they waited, with Fitz still grasping his companion's hand, they both became conscious of the fact that by slow degrees the glowing end of that cigar grew brighter; and the reason became patent—that the current running outward from the river, even at that distance from the shore, was bearing them almost imperceptibly nearer to where the gunboat lay.

The idea was quite right, for fortune was after all favouring them, more than they dared to have hoped. All at once, as they were watching the glowing light, whose power rose and fell, those on board the gig were conscious of a slight jerk, accompanied by a grating sound. This was followed by a faint rustle from the fore part of the boat. What caused this, for a few moments no one in the after part could tell.

They knew that they had run upon something, and by degrees Fitz worked out the mental problem in his mind, as with his heart beating fast he watched the glowing light, in expectation of some sign that the smoker had heard the sound as well.

But he still smoked on, and nothing happened to the boat, which had careened over at first and threatened to capsize, but only resumed her level trim and completely reversed her position, head taking the place of stern, so that to continue to watch the light the middy had to wrench himself completely round; and then he grasped the fact that the current had carried them right on to the anchor-chain where it dipped beneath the surface, before bearing them onward, still to swing at ease.

The man who acted as coxswain—the Camel to wit—having leaned over, grasped the chain-cable and almost without a sound made fast the painter to one of the links.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

A DARING DEED.

The brains of the other occupants of the boat had been as active as those of Fitz, and their owners had come to pretty well the same conclusion, as they all involuntarily lowered their heads and sat perfectly still listening, and hardly able to believe that the man who was smoking was not watching them and about to give the alarm.

But the moments glided by and became minutes, while the silence on board the gunboat seemed painful. The perspiration stood upon Fitz's brow, forming drops which gradually ran together and then began to trickle down the sides of his nose, tickling horribly; but he dared not even raise his hand to wipe them away.

By degrees, though, all became convinced that they could not be seen, and something in the way of relief came at the end of about a quarter of an hour, when all at once the cigar in the man's mouth glowed more brightly, and then brighter still as it made a rush through the air, describing a curve and falling into the sea, when the silence was broken by a hiss so faint that it was hardly heard, and by something else which was heard plainly.

Some one, evidently the smoker, gave vent to a yawn, a Spanish yawn, no doubt, but as much like an English one as it could be. Then, just audible in the silence, there was the faint sound of feet, as of some one pacing up and down the deck, another yawn, and then utter silence once again.

No one stirred in the gig; no one seemed to breathe; till at last Poole raised his hand to Fitz's shoulder, leaned closer till he could place his lips close to his companion's ear, and whispered softly—

"I think they've let the fires out. I've been watching where the funnel must be, and I haven't seen a spark come out."

Fitz changed his position a little so as to follow his companion's example, and whispered in turn—

"Nor I neither, but I fancy I can see a quivering glow, and I've smelt the sulphur quite plainly."

There was another pause, and Poole whispered—

"Think there's anybody on deck?"

The answer came—

"If there is he must be asleep."

"What about that chap who was smoking?"

"I think after that last yawn he went below."

"Then isn't it time we began?"

Fitz whispered back—

"Yes, if we are going to do anything; but our plans seem turned topsy-turvy. We are close to the bows, where we ought to get up for me to tackle the gun."

"Yes," whispered Poole, "but if we do that there'll be no chance afterwards to foul the screw; and that ought to be done, so that we can get rid of this cable. It will be horribly in the way if we have to row for our lives."

Fitz pressed his companion's arm sharply, for at that moment there was another yawn from the gunboat's deck, followed by a muttering grumbling sound as of two men talking, suggesting that one had woke the other, who was finding fault. But all sound died out, and then there was the deep silence once again.

The lads waited till they thought all was safe, while their crew never stirred, and Poole whispered once more—"Well, what is to be done?"

The next moment Fitz's lips were sending tickling words into the lad's ear, as he said sharply—

"Mustn't change—stick to our plans. I am going to tell Butters to work the boat alongside, and then pass her to the stern."

"Hah!" breathed Poole, as he listened for the faint rustle made by his companion in leaning towards the boatswain and whispering his commands.

The next minute the boat was in motion, being paddled slowly towards the gunboat in a way the boys did not know till afterwards, for it was as if the gig as it lay there in the black darkness was some kind of fish, which had suddenly put its fins in motion, the five men having leaned sideways, each to lower a hand into the water and paddle the boat along without a sound.

The darkness seemed to be as black as it could possibly be, but all at once, paradoxical as it may seem, it grew thicker, for a great black wall had suddenly appeared looming over the boat, and Poole put out his hand, to feel the cold armour-plating gliding by his fingers, as the men, to his astonishment, kept the craft in motion till they had passed right along and their progress was checked by the gig being laid bow-on beside the gunboat's rudder; and as soon as the lads could fully realise their position they grasped the fact that the propeller must be just beneath the water the boat's length in front of where they sat.

Then silence once again, every one's heart beating slowly, but with a dull heavy throb that seemed to send the blood rushing through the arteries and veins, producing in the case of the lads a sensation of dizziness that was some moments before it passed off, driven away as it was by the tension and the acute desire to grasp the slightest sound where there was none to grasp.

Every one was waiting now—as all felt sure that so far they had not been heard—for the middy's order to commence, while he felt as if he dared not give it, sitting there and letting the time glide by, convinced as he was now that the end of the Manilla cable could not be attached to one of the fans without their being heard, and in imagination he fancied the alarm spread, and saw his chance of ascending to the deck and reaching the gun, die away.

Then he started, for Poole pinched his arm, sending a thrill through him, and as it were setting the whole of his human machine in action.

"Now or never," he said to himself, and leaning forward to the boatswain he whispered a few words in the man's ear, with the result that a very faint rustling began, a sound so slight that it was almost inaudible to him who gave the order; but he could feel the boat move slightly, as it was held fast beside the rudder, and the next minute when the young captain of the adventure raised his hand—as he could not see—to feel how the boatswain was getting on, he touched nothing, for the big sturdy fellow was already half-way to the bows of the gig.

Fitz breathed hard again, and listened trembling now lest they should fail; but all was perfectly still save that the boat rocked slightly, which rocking ceased and gave place to a quivering pulsation, as if the slight craft had been endowed with life. This went on while the two lads gazed forward and with their minds' eyes saw the boatswain reach the bows and join the Camel, while two of the men who had not stirred from their places held on by the rudder and stern-post, one of them having felt about till his hand encountered a ring-bolt, into which he had thrust a finger to form a living hook.

And as the lads watched they saw in imagination all that went on. They did not hear a sound, either in the bows or from above upon the gunboat's deck, while the two handy men were hard at work laying out the rope that was already securely attached to the cable; and then came the first sound, just after the boat moved sharply, as if it had given a slight jump.

The slight sound was the faintest of splashes, such as might have been caused by a small fish, and it was due to the end of the rope slipping down into the water, while the jump on the part of the boat was caused by its having been lightened of Chips's weight, for he had drawn himself upwards by grasping the rudder, across which he now sat astride, to grip it with his knees. The man wanted no telling what to do. He had rehearsed it all mentally again and again, and quick and clever of finger, he passed the rope through the opening between rudder and stern-post, and drew upon it softly and steadily till he had it taut, and was dragging upon the cable. Old Burgess was working with him as if one mind animated the two bodies.

He knew what would come, and waited as the spiral strands of the rope passed through his hand; and when it began to grow taut he was ready to raise up the end of the big soft cable, pass it upwards, and hold it in place, so that it gradually assumed the form of a loop some ten feet long, and it was the head of that loop that jammed as it was drawn tight against the opening between stern-post and rudder, and very slowly laced tightly in position by means of the rope.

But this took time, and twice over Chips ceased working, as if he had failed; but it was only for a rest and a renewal of his strength, before he ceased for the third time and made a longer wait. But no one made a sign; no one stirred, though the two lads sat in agony, building up in imagination a very mountain of horror and despair branded failure in their minds, for they could hardly conceive that their plans were being carried out so silently and so well.

At last Fitz gripped Poole's arm again so as to whisper to him; but the whisper did not pass, for at that moment, after being perfectly still for some time, the boat began to pulsate again, for the carpenter was hard at work once more, his hands acting in combination with those of the boatswain, for, still very slowly, working like a piece of machinery, they began to haul upon the cable in the boat. At the first tightening that cable now seemed to begin to live like some huge serpent, and creep towards them, the life with which it was infused coming, however, from the Camel's hands, as, feeling that it was wanted, he began to pass it along, raising each coil so that it should not touch against the gunwale of the boat, or scrape upon a thwart.

He too knew what was going on, as between them, the boatswain in the bows, the carpenter still astride the upper portion of the rudder, they got up enough of the cable to form another loop, whose head was softly plunged down into the water, passed under one fan of the great screw and over another, and then, its elasticity permitting, drawn as tight as the men could work it.

This feat was performed again, and as final security the boatswain formed a bight, which he thrust down and passed over the fan whose edge was almost level with the surface.

Then as the boys sat breathing hard, and fancying that the daylight must be close at hand, the boat gave another jerk, careening over sideways towards the rudder, for the carpenter had slowly descended into the bows, to crouch down and rest.

But the boatswain was still at work, with the Camel now for mate, and between them they two were keeping up the quivering motion of the gig, as, slowly and silently, they went on passing the thick soft Manilla cable over the side, to sink down into the sea until the last of the long snaky coils had gone.

The announcement of this fact was conveyed to the two lads by the motion of the boat, Fitz learning it first by feeling his right hand as it hung over the side begin to pass steadily through the water, which rippled between his fingers; and as he snatched it out to stretch it forth as far as he could reach, he for a few moments touched nothing. Then it came in contact with the sides of the gunboat, and his heart gave a jump and his nerves thrilled, for he knew that the first act of their desperate venture was at an end, that the gig was gliding forward, paddled by the sailors' hands, towards the gunboat's bows, so as to reach one or other of the hanging anchors, up which he had engaged to scramble and get on board to do his part, which, now that the other had been achieved, seemed to be the most desperate of all.

"I shall never be able to go through with it," he seemed to groan to himself in his despair; but at that moment, as if by way of encouragement, he felt Poole's hand grip his arm, and at the touch the remembrance of the skipper's words thrilled through his nerves, to give him strength.

The next moment he was sitting up firmly and bravely in his place, tucking up his cuffs as if for the fight, as he softly muttered—

"There is no such word as fail."



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

IS THE DEED DONE?

The boat had stopped, and Fitz had heard the faintest of faint clicks as of iron against iron, for the hook in the carpenter's hands had lightly come in contact with the port anchor, which was hanging in its place, teaching them that it was the starboard that was down; and as Fitz looked up sharply, he fully expected to see a row of faces peering over the bulwark and looking down into the boat as the watchers gave the alarm, which would result in a shower of missiles being hurled upon their heads, the precursors of a heavy shot that would go crashing through the bottom of the boat. But he was only gazing up at a black edge and the stars beyond, and just above his head something rugged and curved which he knew were the anchor's flukes.

Fitz knew that to hesitate was to give place to doubts as to his success, and that the longer he waited the more likely they were to be discovered. That no watch was being kept was certain, and rising in the boat he took hold of the anchor as far up as he could reach, its ponderous nature rendering it immovable; and drawing himself steadily upward he began to climb.

It was easy enough to an active lad, and once started there was no time for shrinking. Quickly enough he was standing first upon the flukes, then upon the stock, while the next minute he was grasping the port-rail and trying to look down on to the deck, where he fancied he made out the figures of three or four men. But everything was so indistinct that he could not be sure, and he prepared to climb over, when he felt a touch upon his arm and started violently, for he had forgotten their arrangement that Poole should bear a part in the disabling of the gun.

He dared not speak, but just gave his companion's arm a grip, slipped silently over the bulwark, and went down at once on all-fours like a dog. Poole was by his side directly, and as they knelt, both tried to make out the exact position of the gun, and both failed, till Fitz lowered himself a little more, and then repeating his investigation managed to bring the muzzle of the great piece between him and the stars, towards which it was pointed, slightly raised.

All was so still, and the deck apparently so deserted, that his task now seemed to be ridiculously easy; and beginning to creep aft towards the great carriage, which was planted a little forward of 'midships, one hand suddenly came into contact with something soft and warm, with the result that there was an angry snarl, a snap, and a hand was brought down with a heavy slap upon the deck.

In an instant there was a start, and a low growling voice asked what was apparently a question as to what was the matter. The response came from the man who had struck the blow; but what he said was unintelligible to the listeners, who had immediately shrunk flat upon the deck, conscious as they were that two of the crew had been sleeping within touch, while for aught they knew others might be all around.

All notion now of the task being ridiculously easy was swept away, and the two adventurous lads lay hardly daring to breathe for what seemed a quarter of an hour, before a deep stertorous breathing told that the danger was for the moment passed and the time for action come.

It was Fitz who this time set the example of beginning, and he did it by thrusting softly with one foot till he could feel where Poole lay ready to seize him by the ankle and give it a warm pressure which the lad took to mean—Go on.

Raising himself a little, he began to creep aft once more, bearing to his left towards where he believed the carriage and turn-table of the great gun to be, and reaching them without further interruption, and so easily that his task seemed to become once more simple in the extreme.

Reaching carefully out, he satisfied himself as to his position, took a step upward, and found directly after that he was about the middle of the gun, whose breech lay a little to the right and was reached with ease.

"Oh, if I could only whisper to Poole," he thought. "Come on, quick, old fellow, and then together we can get it to the side, drop it overboard, and follow so quickly that we need only make one splash, for it would be impossible to go back as we came."

"Yes, that will be the way," thought Fitz; "and our fellows will row towards the splash at once, and pick us up. Why didn't I think to tell them? Never mind. That's what they are sure to do."

Directly after he was running his hand along the pleasantly cool surface of the gun; but he paused for a moment to listen, and begin to wonder in the darkness why it was that Poole had not made some sign of being near.

He reached back, giving a sweep with his hand; but Poole was not there, and he took a step forward to repeat the movement—still in vain.

"Oh, I am wasting time," thought Fitz, as he stepped back to his former position. "He's waiting for me to reconnoitre and fetch him if I want him."

In this spirit he felt the gun again, guiding himself by his hands to its huge butt, his fingers coming in contact first with the sight and then with the two massive ball-ended levers which turned the great screw.

He could barely see at all, but his finger-tips told him that it was just such a piece as they had on board the Tonans, but not so large.

Forgetting Poole for the moment, he passed right round to the breech, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with the solid block, and then withdrawing his hand he seized hold of the great balls, gave them a wrench, and in perfect silence the heavy mass of forged and polished steel began to turn, the well-oiled grooves and worm gliding together without a sound, and, after the first tug, with the greatest ease.

It was all simple enough till he came to the final part of his task, and attempted to lift out the breech-block, the quoin that when the breech was screwed up held all fast.

He took hold and tried to lift, but tried in vain, for it seemed beyond his strength. His teeth gritted together as he set them fast in his exasperation against Poole for not being at hand to help and make what now seemed an impossibility an easy task.

Perspiring at every pore, he tried again and again, the more eagerly now, for a low growling voice was heard from the direction whence he had crawled.

But the piece of steel was immovable, and in his despair he felt that all was over and that he had failed.

Then came light—not light to make the gun visible, but mental light, with the question, Had he turned the levers far enough?

Uttering a low gasp in his despair, for the growling talk grew louder, he seized the great balls again, gave them another turn or two, and once more tried to stir the block, when his heart seemed to give a great jump, for it came right out as he exerted himself, with comparative ease, and directly after he had it hugged to his chest and was staggering and nearly falling headlong as he stepped down from the iron platform, making for the side. But he recovered himself, tottering on, and then in the darkness kicking against something soft—a sleeper—the encounter sending him, top-heavy as he was, crash against the bulwark, but doing all that he wanted, for the breech-block struck against the rail, glanced off, and went overboard, to fall with a tremendous splash, followed by another, which the middy made himself, as he half flung himself over, half rolled from the rail, to go down with the water thundering in his ears.

The heaviness of his plunge naturally sent him below for some distance, but it was not long before he was rising again.

It was long enough, though, for thought—and thoughts come quickly at a time like this. Fitz's first flash was a brilliant one, connected with his success, for the breech-block was gone beyond recovery; his next was one of horror, and connected with the sharks that haunted those waters; his third was full of despair; where was Poole, whom he seemed to have left to his fate?

Hah! The surface again, and he could breathe; but which way to swim for the boat? There was none needed, for his shoulders were barely clear of the water when his arm was seized in a tremendous grip, another hand was thrust under his arm-pit, and he was literally jumped, dripping, into a boat, to pant out his first audible utterance for the past hour. It was only a word, and that was—

"Poole!"

"I'm all right," came from out of the darkness close at hand.

"Then give way, my lads, for your lives!" panted Fitz, and the oars began to splash.

It was quite time, for there was no sleeping on board the gunboat now. All was rush and confusion; voices in Spanish were shouting orders, men hurrying here and there, a few shots were fired in their direction, evidently from revolvers, and then a steam-whistle was heard to blow, followed by a hissing, clanking sound, and the man who had hauled Fitz in over the bows put his face close to him and whispered—

"Steam-capstan. They're getting up their anchor. But there was three splashes, sir. What was that there first?"

"The breech-block, Chips."

"Hooroar!"

It was some little time before another word was spoken, during which period the men had been rowing hard, and the boatswain, who had got hold of the rudder-lines, was steering almost at random for the shore, taking his bearings as well as he could from the gunboat, out of whose funnel sparks kept flying, and a lurid glare appeared upon the cloud of smoke which floated out, pointing to the fact that the stokers were hard at work.

"Mr Burnett—Mr Poole, sir," said Butters, at last, "I aren't at all satisfied about the way we are going. I suppose we may speak out now?"

"Oh yes," cried Fitz; "I don't suppose they can hear us, and if they did they couldn't do us any harm, for it must be impossible for them to make us out."

"Oh yes, sir," cried the boatswain. "No fear of that."

"But what do you mean about not being satisfied?"

"Well, sir, my eyes is pretty good, and if you give me a fair start I can take my bearings pretty easy from the stars when I knows what time it is. But you see, it's quite another thing to hit the mouth of that little river in the dark. I know the land's right in front, but whether we are south'ard or north'ard of where the schooner lays is more than I can tell, and there's some awkward surf upon some of the rocks of this 'ere coast. Will you give your orders, please."

"Well, I don't know that I can," replied Fitz. "I think the best thing is to lie-to till daylight. What do you say, Poole?" he continued, from his position to where Poole was, right forward.

"Same as you do," was the reply. "It's impossible to make for the river now. We may be only getting farther away."

"Just keep her head on to the swell, my lads."

The next minute the gig began riding gently over the long smooth waves, while her occupants sat watching the gunboat, the only light from which now was the glow from the funnel.

"Bit wet, aren't you, Mr Burnett, sir?" said Chips. "What do you say to taking off two or three things and letting me give them a wring?"

"Ah, it would be as well," replied Fitz, beginning at once to slip off his jacket, and as if instinctively to take off attention from what he was doing he began to question Poole.

"You had better do the same, hadn't you?" he cried.

"Doing it," was the reply. "I say, are you all right?"

"No; I am so horribly wet. What about you?"

"Just the same, of course."

"But I say," said Fitz, who was calming down after the excitement; "why didn't you come on and help?"

"How could I? One of those fellows lying on the deck threw a leg and an arm over me in his sleep. I just brushed against him, and he started as if I had touched a spring, and held me fast. I tried to get away, but it was of no use, and if I had shouted it would have only given the alarm. I didn't get loose till the row began, and then there was nothing to do but come overboard and be picked up. I was in a way about you."

"Same here about you," cried fitz. "I didn't know what had happened, and when I tumbled over the rail—I didn't jump—I felt as if I had left you in the lurch."

"Well, but that's what I felt," said Poole. "It was queer."

"It made us all feel pretty tidy queer, young gentlemen," said the boatswain; "but if I may speak, the fust question is, are either of you hurt?"

"I am not," cried Fitz.

"Nor I," said Poole.

"That's right, then," said the boatswain gruffly. "Now then, what about that there block of iron? Was it that as come over plosh, only about a yard from the boat's nose?"

"Yes," cried Fitz excitedly.

"Then all I can say is, that it's a precious good job that Mr Burnett didn't chuck it a little further, for if he had it would have come right down on Chips and drove him through the bottom, and we couldn't have stopped a leak like that."

"But I should have come up again," said the carpenter, "just where I went down, and as the hole I made would have been just the same size as me, I should have fitted in quite proper."

"Yah!" growled the boatswain. "What's the use of trying to cut jokes at a time like this? Look here, gentlemen, have we done our job to rights?"

"As far as the gun's concerned," replied Fitz, "it's completely disabled, and of no use again until they get another block."

"Then that's done, sir."

"And about my job," said Poole. "I am afraid the screw's not fouled, for I fancy the gunboat is slowly steaming out to sea."

"Well, I don't see as how we can tell that, Mr Poole, sir," said the boatswain. "I can't say as she's moving, for we are both in a sharp current, and she may be only drifting; but seeing the way as you made fast the end of that there cable, and then looped over bight after bight round them there fans, and twistened it all up tight, it seems to me that the screw must be fouled, and that every turn made it wuss and wuss. I say that you made a fine job of that there, Mr Poole. What do you say, Chips, my lad?"

"Splendid!" cried the carpenter.

"Why, it was you two did it," said Fitz.

"Well, that's what I thought, sir," said the carpenter; "but it was so dark, I couldn't see a bit."

"Zackly," said the boatswain; "and you said it was your job, sir."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Poole. "I meant yours."

"Well," said Fitz, "all I can say is that I hope your knots were good."

"I'll answer for mine," said the boatswain, "but I won't say nothing for Chips here. He aren't much account unless it's hammers and spikes, or a job at caulking or using his adze."

"That's right," said Chips, "but you might tell the young gents that I'm handiest with a pot o' glue."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Fitz said—

"It's almost too much to expect that both things have turned out all right; but I can't help believing they have."

"Well, sir," said the boatswain, "I do hope as that there cable is not all twisted up in a bunch about them fans—reg'lar wound up tight—and if it is there's no knowing where that there gunboat will drift during the night; for I don't care how big a crew they've got aboard, they can't free that there propeller till daylight, if they do then. But it do seem a pity to spoil a beautiful new soft bit of stuff like that, for it'll never be no good again."

"Fine tackle for caulking," said the carpenter, "or making ships' fenders."

"Yah!" cried the boatswain. "We should never get it again. It's gone, and it give me quite a heartache to use up new ship's stores like that. But what I was going to say was, that the skipper will be saddersfied enough when we get back and tell him that Mr Burnett's crippled the big gun."

"Oh, but that was the easy job," said Fitz. "It was just play, lifting out that block and dropping it overboard."

"And a very pretty game too, Mr Burnett, sir," said the boatswain, chuckling. "But I say, seems quite to freshen a man up to be able to open his mouth and speak. While you two young gents was swarming up that anchor, and all the time you was aboard till you come back plish, plosh, I felt as if I couldn't breathe. I say, Mr Poole, would you like to take these 'ere lines?"

"No," said Poole shortly; "I want to get dry. But why do you want me to take the lines?"

"To get shut of the 'sponsibility, sir. I can't see which way to steer."

"Oh, never mind the steering," cried Fitz. "Just keep her head to the swell, and let's all rest, my lads. I feel so done up that I could go to sleep. We can't do anything till daylight. Here, I say, Camel, did you bring anything to eat?"

"The orders were to bring the rations stowed inside, sir," replied the cook; "but a'm thenking I did slip a wee bit something into the locker for'ard there, juist ahind where ye are sitting, sir. Would you mind feeling? Hech! I never thought of that!"

"Thought of what?" said Fitz.

"Ye've got the ship's carpenter there, and he's got a nose like a cat for feesh. Awm skeart that he smelt it oot in the dairk and it's all gone."

"Haw, haw!" chuckled the carpenter. "You are wrong this time, Andy. I got my smelling tackle all choked up with the stuff the bearings of that gunboat's fan was oiled with—nasty rank stuff like Scotch oil. I don't believe I shall smell anything else for a week."

Rap! went the lid of the little locker.

"It's all right, my lads," cried Fitz. "Here, Andy, man, those who hide can find. Come over here and serve out the rations; but I wish we'd got some of your hot prime soup."

"Ay, laddie," said the cook softly, as he obeyed his orders; "it would ha' been juist the thing for such a wetting as you got with your joomp. Mr Poole, will ye come here too? I got one little tin with enough for you and Mr Poole, and a big one for the lads and mysen. But I'm vairy sorry to say I forgot the saut."

"He needn't have troubled himself about the salt," said Poole softly. "I should never have missed it. You and I have taken in enough to-night through our pores."

"Yes," said Fitz.—"Splendid, Andy."

"Ah," said the Camel; "I never haud wi' going upon a journey, however short, wi'out something in the way of food."



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

FITZ'S CONSCIENCE PRICKS.

Daybreak brought a blank look of amazement into the lads' countenances. The soft, sweet, bracing air of morning floated from the glorious shore, all cliff and indentation looking of a pearly grey, almost the same tint as the surf that curled over upon the rocks distant about two miles.

A mere glance was directed at the dangerous coast, for every eye was turned seaward, east, north, and south, in search of the gunboat; but she was not to be seen.

"Surely she's not gone down!" cried Fitz.

"Oh, hardly," said Poole; "but it's very puzzling. What do you make of it, Butters?"

"Well, sir," said the boatswain, "I'm thinking that like enough she's got upon a rock and stuck fast, while the sharp current has carried us along miles and miles, and quite out of sight."

"But they may have got the screw all right, and gone straight out to sea."

"Nay, sir. Not in the dark. We got them fans too fast; and besides, I don't see no smoke on the sea-line. The steamer leaves a mark that you can see her by many miles away. No, sir, I think I'm right; it's us as has drifted."

"Which way?" said Poole. "North or south?"

"Can't say yet, sir. May be either. South," he added emphatically the next moment.

"How do you know?" cried Fitz.

The boatswain smiled.

"By the colour of the sea, sir," replied the man, screwing up his eyes. "Look at the water. It isn't bright and clear. It's got the mark of the river in it. Not much, but just enough to show that the current hugs the shore, bringing the river water with it; and there it all is plain enough. Look at them little rocks just showing above the surface. You watch them a minute, and you'll see we are floating by southward, and we may think ourselves precious lucky that we haven't run upon any of them in the night and been capsized. You see, we have come by two headlands, and we have only got to row back to the north to come sooner or later in sight of landmarks that we know."

"Then give way, my lads," said Fitz; "a fair long steady stroke, for the skipper must be getting terribly uncomfortable about us, Poole, eh?"

"Yes. Pull your best, boys. What do you say, Fitz, to taking an oar each for a bit? I'm chilly, and a good way from being dry."

"Good idea," said Fitz, changing places with one of the men. "You'll keep a sharp look-out, boatswain. The enemy may come into sight at any moment as we round these points, and even if she daren't come close in, she may send after us with her boats."

"Trust me for that, sir," said the boatswain, and the oars began to dip, with the sun soon beginning to show tokens of its coming appearance, and sending hope and light into every breast.

It was a glorious row, the chill of the night giving place to a pleasant glow which set the lads talking merrily, discussing the darkness through which they had passed, the events of the night, and their triumphant success.

"If we could only see that gunboat ashore, Burnett!" cried Poole.

"Ah," said Fitz, rather gravely; "if we only could!" And then he relapsed into silence, for thoughts began to come fast, and he found himself wondering what Commander Glossop would say if he could see him then and know all that he had done in the night attack.

"I couldn't help it," the boy said to himself, as he pulled away. "I shouldn't wonder if he would have done precisely the same if he had been in my place. I feel a bit sorry now; but that's no good. What's done can't be undone, and I shan't bother about it any more."

"Now, Mr Burnett, sir," said the boatswain, in a tone full of remonstrance, "don't keep that there oar all day. Seems to me quite time you took your trick at the wheel."

"Yes," said the lad cheerily; "I am beginning to feel precious stiff," and he rose to exchange seats with the speaker, Poole rising directly afterwards for the carpenter to take his place.

"I'd keep a sharp look-out for'ard along the coast, Mr Burnett, sir," said the boatswain, with a peculiar smile, as the lad lifted the lines.

"Oh yes, of course," cried Fitz, gazing forward now, and then uttering an ejaculation: "Here, Poole! Look! Why didn't you speak before, Butters?"

"Because I thought you'd like to see it fust, sir. Yes, there she lies, just beyond that headland."

"At anchor?" cried Poole.

"Can't say yet, sir, till we've cleared that point; but she's upon an even keel, and seems to be about her old distance from the shore. That must be the southernmost of them two great cliffs, and we are nearer the river than I thought."

"Lay your backs into it, my lads," cried Poole.

The gig travelled faster as the two strong men took the place of the tired lads; and as they rowed on it was plain to see that the gunboat was much farther from the point and shore than had been at first imagined.

"It would be awkward," said Fitz, "if they sent out boats to try and take us, for they must see us by now."

But the occupants of the gunboat made no sign, and when at last the Teal's gig was rowed round the headland which formed the southern side of the entrance to the river, all on board could hardly realise how greatly they had been deceived by the clear morning light, for the gunboat was still some three or four miles away, and apparently fast upon one of the reefs of rocks, while from her lowered boats, crowded with men, it was evident that they were either busy over something astern, or preparing to leave.

"They must be hard at work trying to clear the screw," cried Fitz excitedly.

"Can't make out, for my part, sir," replied the boatswain, while Poole carefully kept silence; "but it looks as much like that as ever it can, and we have nothing to mind now, for we can get right in and up the river long before their boats could row to the mouth."

Poole steered close in to the right bank of the river, so as to avoid the swift rush of the stream, this taking them close under the perpendicular cliff; and they had not gone far before there was a loud "Ahoy!" from high overhead. Looking up they made out the face of Burgess the mate projecting from the bushes as, high upon a shelf, he held on by a bough and leaned outwards so as to watch the motions of the boat.

"Ahoy!" came from the men, in answer to his hail.

"All right aboard?" shouted the mate.

"Yes. All right!" roared the boatswain. "What are they doing out yonder to the Spaniel?"

"Trying to get her off, I suppose. She went ashore in the night. I came up here with a glass to look out for you, and there she was, and hasn't moved since. What about that gun?"

"Burnett has drawn its tooth," shouted Poole. "Father all right?"

"No. Got the grumps about you. Thinks you are lost. You didn't foul the screw, did you?"

"Yes," shouted Poole.

"Then that's what they're about; trying to clear her again; and when they do they've got to get their vessel off the rocks. I'm going to stop and see; but you had better row up stream as hard as you can, so as to let the skipper see that you have not all gone to the bottom. He told me he was sure you had."

The men's oars dipped again, and they rowed with all their might, passing the dinghy with the man in charge moored at the foot of the cliff, while soon after they had turned one of the bends and came in sight of the schooner a loud hail welcomed them from those who were on board. Then Poole stood up in the stern, after handing the rudder-lines to his companion, and began waving his hat to the skipper, who made a slight recognition and then stood watching them till they came within hail.

"Well," he said, through his speaking-trumpet, "what luck?"

"The gun's done for, father, and the gunboat's ashore," shouted Poole, through his hands.

"Oh. I heard that the enemy had gone on the rocks. And what about the propeller?"

"Oh, we fouled it, father," said Poole coolly. "That's right," said the skipper, in the most unconcerned way. "I thought you would. There, look sharp and come aboard. There's some breakfast ready, but I began to think you didn't mean to come. What made you so long?"

He did not wait to hear the answer, but began giving orders for the lowering of another boat which he was about to send down to communicate with the mate.

"I say," said Fitz, grinning, "your dad seems in a nice temper. He's quite rusty."

"Yes," said Poole, returning the laugh. "I suppose it's because we stopped out all night. There, get out! He's as pleased as can be, only he won't make a fuss. It's his way."

The day glided on till the sun was beginning to go down. Messages had passed to and fro from the watchers, who had kept an eye upon the gunboat, which was still fast.

Fitz, after a hearty meal, being regularly fagged out, had had three or four hours' rest in his bunk, to get up none the worse for his night's adventure, when he joined Poole, who had just preceded him on deck.

He came upon the skipper directly afterwards, who gave him a searching look and a short nod, and said abruptly—

"All right?"

"Yes, quite right, thank you, sir."

"Hah!" said the skipper, and walked on, taking no notice of Poole, who was coming up, and leaving the lads together.

"I say," said Fitz sarcastically, "I can bear a good deal, but your father goes too far."

"What do you mean?" asked Poole.

"He makes such a dreadful fuss over one, just for doing a trifling thing like that. Almost too much to bear."

"Well, he didn't make much fuss over me," said Poole, in rather an ill-used tone. "I felt as if we had done nothing, instead of disabling a man-of-war.—Hullo! what does this mean?"

For just then the boat came swiftly round the bend, with the mate sitting in the stern-sheets, the dinghy towed by its painter behind.

A shout from the man on the watch astern brought up the skipper and the rest of the crew, including those who had been making up for their last night's labours in their bunks, all expectant of some fresh news; and they were not disappointed, nearly every one hearing it as the boat came alongside and the mate spoke out to the captain on the deck.

"Found a way right up to the top of the cliff," he said, "and from there I could regularly look down on the gunboat's deck."

"Well?" said the skipper sharply.

"No, ill—for them; she's completely fast ashore in the midst of a regular wilderness of rocks that hardly peep above the surface; and as far as I could make out with my spyglass, they are not likely to get off again. They seem to know it too, for when I began to come down they had got three boats manned on the other side, and I left them putting off as if they were coming up here."

"Again?" said the skipper thoughtfully.

"Yes; to take it out of us, I suppose, for what we've done. How would it be to turn the tables on them and make a counter attack?"

"Granting that we should win," said the skipper, "it would mean half our men wounded; perhaps three or four dead. I can't afford that, Burgess."

"No," said the mate abruptly. "Better stop here and give them what they seem to want. I think we can do that."

"Yes," said the skipper. "All aboard; and look sharp, Burgess. Let's be as ready for them as we can. The fight will be more desperate this time, I'm afraid."

"Not you," said the mate, with a chuckle, as he sprang on deck. "Well, my lads, you did wonders last night. How did you like your job?"

"Not at all," cried Fitz, laughing. "It was too wet."

The mate smiled, and the next minute he was hard at work helping the skipper to prepare to give the Spaniards a warm reception, taking it for granted that it would not be long before they arrived, burning for revenge.

The preparations were much the same as were made before, but with this addition, that the carpenter, looking as fresh as if he had passed the night in his bunk, was hard at work with four men, lashing spare spars to the shrouds, so as to form a stout rail about eighteen inches above the bulwarks, to which the netting was firmly attached.

There was no question this time about arming the crew with rifles, for every one felt that success on the part of Villarayo's men would mean no quarter.

"Then you mean this to be a regular fight?" Fitz whispered to Poole, after watching what was going on for some time.

"Why, of course! Why not?"

"Oh, I don't like the idea of killing people," said Fitz, wrinkling up his forehead.

"Well, I don't," said Poole, laughing. "I don't like killing anything. I should never have done for a butcher, but I would a great deal rather kill one of Villarayo's black-looking ruffians than let him kill me."

"But do you think they really would massacre us?" said Fitz. "They can't help looking ruffianly."

"No, but they have got a most horribly bad character. Father and I have heard of some very ugly things that they have done in some of their fights. They are supposed to be civilised, and I dare say the officers are all right; but if you let loose a lot of half-savage fellows armed with knives and get their blood up, I don't think you need expect much mercy. They needn't come and interfere with us unless they like, but if they come shouting and striking at us they must take the consequences."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Fitz; "but it seems a pity."

"Awful," replied Poole; "but there always has been war, and people take a deal of civilising before they give it up. And they don't seem to then," said the lad, with a dry smile.

"No," said Fitz; and the little discussion came to an end.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

WORSE THAN EVER.

"This is bad, my lads," said the skipper, joining the boys.

"What's wrong, father?" said Poole. "Why, it's close upon sundown, and it begins to look as if they are going to steal upon us in the dark, which will give them a lot of advantage. I would rather have been able to see what we are about. What an evening, though, for a fight! I have journeyed about the islands and Central America a good deal, and it is nearly all beautiful, but this river and its cliffs, seen in the warm glow, is just my idea of a perfect paradise. Look at the sky, with those gorgeous clouds! Look at the river, reflecting all their beauties! And the trees and shrubs, looking darker in the shades, and in the light as if they had suddenly burst forth into bloom with dazzling golden flowers. And here we are going to spoil everything with savage bloodshed."

"We are not, Captain Reed," said Fitz sharply; "you would not fire a shot if you were not obliged."

"Not even a blank cartridge, my boy," said the skipper, laying his hand upon the middy's shoulder. "I loathe it, and I feel all of a shiver at the thought of my brave lads being drilled with bullets or hacked with knives. If it comes to it—and I am afraid it will—"

"I say, father, don't talk of trembling and being afraid!" said Poole reproachfully.

"Why not, my boy?"

"Because I don't know what Fitz Burnett will think."

"Whatever he thinks he'll know that I am speaking the truth. But I say, lad," continued the skipper, gripping the middy's shoulder tightly; "you'll help me, won't you?"

"Haven't I forgotten myself enough, sir?" said Fitz, in a tone as full of reproach as that of Poole.

"No, my boy. I think you have behaved very bravely; and I don't think, if your superior officer knew all, that he would have much to say. But I don't want you to fight. I mean, help me after the trouble's over; I mean, turn assistant-surgeon when I take off my jacket."

"Yes, that I will," cried Fitz. "I ought to be getting ready some bandages and things now."

"Oh, I think I've got preparations enough of that sort made," said the skipper; "and there is still a chance that we may not want them. Hah! That hope's gone. Ahoy! bosun! Let them have the pipe."

Old Butters's silver whistle rang out shrill and clear, but only called one man to his duty, and that was the Camel, who came tumbling out of the galley and gave the door a bang.

Every one else was on the alert, watching a boat coming round the bend, followed by two more, crowded with armed men whose oars sent the water splashing up like so much liquid gold. The fight began at once, for the skipper had given his instructions.

These he supplemented now with a sharp order which was followed by the crack of a rifle echoing from cliff to cliff, and Fitz, who had run towards the stern to look over, was in time to see that the skipper's comment, "Good shot, my lad!" was well deserved, for one of the officers in the stern-sheets of the first boat sprang up and would have gone overboard but for the efforts of his men, who caught and lowered him back amidst a little scene of confusion and a cessation of the rowing.

Another shot rang out and there was more confusion, the way of the leading boat being stopped; but the orders issued in the other boats were plainly heard on board the schooner; oars splashed more rapidly, and once more all three boats were coming on fast.

"Fire!" cried the skipper, and with slow regularity shot after shot rang out, to be followed by a ragged volley from the enemy, the bullets whizzing overhead and pattering amongst the rigging of the well-moored vessel, but doing no real harm.

"Keep it up steadily, my lads," shouted the skipper. "No hurry. One hit is worth five hundred misses. We mustn't let them board if we can keep them back. Go on firing till they are close up, and then cutlasses and bars."

But in spite of the steady defence the enemy came on, showing no sign of shrinking, firing rapidly and responding to their officers' orders with savage defiant yells, while shots came thick and fast, the two lads growing so excited as they watched the fray that they forgot the danger and the nearness of the enemy coming on.

"They are showing more pluck this time, Burgess," said the skipper, taking out his revolver and unconsciously turning the chambers to see that all was right.

"Yes," growled the mate. "It's a horrible nuisance, for I don't want to fight. But we've made rather a mess of it, after all."

"What do you mean?" said the skipper. "Ought to have dropped that other anchor."

"Why?" said the skipper sharply. "Because they may row right up and cut us adrift."

"Yes," said the skipper quietly; "it would have been as well. Take a rifle and go forward if they try to pass us, and pick off every man who attempts to cut the cable."

"All right," replied the mate; "I will if there is time. But in five minutes we shall be busy driving these chaps back into their boats, and they will be swarming up the sides like so many monkeys."

"Yes," said the skipper. "But you must do it if there is time. They don't seem to mind our firing a bit."

"No," Fitz heard the chief officer growl angrily. "Their blood's up, and they are too stupid, I suppose."

"Cease firing!" shouted the skipper. "Here they come!" The order came too late to check six of the men, who in their excitement finished off their regular shots with a ragged volley directed at the foremost boat, and with such terrible effect that in the midst of a scene of confusion the oars were dropped and the boat swung round broadside to the stream, which carried it on to the next boat, fouling it so that the two hung together and confusion became worse confounded as they crashed on to the third boat, putting a stop to the firing as well as the rowing. The commands of the officer in the last boat were of no effect, and the defenders of the schooner, who had sprung to their positions where their efforts would have been of most avail, burst forth with a wild cheer, and then turned to the skipper for orders to fire again.

But these orders did not come, for their captain had turned to the mate with—

"Why, Burgess, that's done it! I believe we've given them enough." Then heartily, "Well done, boys! Give 'em another cheer."

In their wild excitement and delight the schooner's crew gave two; and they had good cause for their exultation, for the firing from the boats had quite ceased, the efforts of their commanders being directed towards disentangling themselves from their sorry plight, many minutes elapsing before the boats were clear and the men able to row, while by this time several hundred yards had been placed between them and the object of their attack.

Then the Spanish officers gave their orders to advance almost simultaneously; but they were not obeyed.

They raged and roared at their men, but in vain—the boats were still drifting down stream towards the bend, and as the darkness was giving its first sign of closing in, the last one disappeared, the skipper saying quietly—

"Thank you, my lads. It was bravely done."

A murmur rose from among the men, only one speaking out loudly; and that was the carpenter, who, as he took off his cap and wiped his streaming forehead, gave Fitz a comic look and said—

"Well, yes; I think we made a neat job of that."

Some of the men chuckled, but their attention was taken off directly by the boatswain, who shouted—

"Here, you Camel, don't wait for orders, but get the lads something to peck at and drink. I feel as if I hadn't had anything to eat for a week."

"Yes, and be quick," cried the skipper. "It's all right, my lads; I don't think we shall see the enemy again."



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

"OF COURSE WE WILL."

The next morning reconnoitring began once more, prior to the skipper giving his orders, and the schooner dropping down slowly towards the mouth of the river; for the mate had been up on the cliff soon after daybreak, busy with his glass, and had returned to report that the spot where the gunboat lay still fast on the rocks was so distant from the Channel through which the schooner had sailed, that it was doubtful whether, if they attempted to sail out, she could be reached by the small pieces that the enemy had on board.

"Then we won't give them the chance to attack again," was the skipper's comment, and the wind favouring, the channel was soon reached, and with the mate conning the craft, they sailed outward along the clear water, with the men armed and ready for any attack that might be attempted by the man-of-war's boats.

It was not very long before the boys, who had mounted aloft with their glass to watch the deck of the foe, were able to announce that boats were being manned for lowering, and the tortuous nature of the channel now began to lead the schooner ominously near; but both the skipper and the mate were of opinion that at the rate they were sailing they would be able to evade an attack.

"And if they are not very careful," growled the latter, "it strikes me I shall be running one if not two of them down. They'd be much safer if they stopped aboard."

But still the dangerous nature of the rocks forced them nearer and nearer to the enemy.

"Not much doubt about the big gun being disabled," Poole remarked to his companion, as they noted how busily the crew were preparing to lower the boats. "We should have had a shot long before this."

"And there's no doubt either about the screw being fouled," said Fitz. "I say, take the glass. They're doing something which I can't make out. You try."