"When we have escaped," cried Fitz excitedly, a few minutes later, a
very brief time having sufficed to shut out the cutter and gunboat too.
"Escaped!" said Poole, with a little laugh, as he clapped his companion
on the shoulder. "Well, _we_ have."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Fitz; "I meant you. But what will be done
now? We are--you are regularly shut in this bay. The gunboat will keep
guard, and her boats will begin patrolling up and down so that you can't
get away. It only means waiting till morning."
"Waiting till morning, eh?"
"Of course. And then they'll sink you as sure as you are here."
"Yes," said Poole, laughing merrily; "not a doubt about it."
"Well," said Fitz, "I don't see anything to laugh at."
"Don't you? Then I do. Why, you don't suppose for a moment that we
shall be here? The fellows in that fishing-boat brought father some
despatch orders for a _rendezvous_ somewhere else, I should say. Just
you wait a little, my boy, and you will see what the _Teal_ can do. She
can't dive, but she can dodge."
"Dodge in a little bay like this--dodge a gunboat?"
"Of course. Just wait till it's a little darker. I dare say father has
got his plans all ready made, just the same as he had when it seemed all
over just now. If he and old Burgess were too much for the Spanish dons
in broad daylight, you may depend upon it that they will give them the
go-by in the dark. Quiet! Here he is."
"Yes, here I am, my boy," said the skipper quietly. "Look here, you
two. Hear--see--as much as you can:--and say nothing. Everything on
board now must be quiet, and not a light seen."
"All right, father," replied Poole, "but I can't see anything of the
gunboat's lights."
"No, and I don't suppose you will. They will take care not to show any.
Well, Mr Burnett, may I trust you not to betray us by shouting a
warning when the enemy are near? We are going to play a game of
hide-and-seek, you know. We shall do the hiding, and the Spaniards will
have to seek. Of course you know," he continued, "it would be very easy
for you to shout when we were stealing along through the darkness, and
bring the enemy's boats upon us just when they are not wanted."
"Well, yes, sir, I was thinking so a little while ago," replied the
middy.
"Well, that's frank," said the skipper; "and is that what I am to expect
from your sense of duty?"
Fitz was silent.
"Well, sir," he said at last, "I don't quite know. It's rather awkward
for me, seeing how I am placed."
"Yes--very; but I don't believe you would think so if you knew what sort
of a character this usurping mongrel Spaniard is. There is more of the
treacherous Indian in his blood than of the noble Don. Perhaps under
the circumstances I had better make you a prisoner in your cabin with
the dead-light in, so that you can't make a signal to the enemy with
lamp or match."
"It would be safer, sir," said Fitz.
"But most unpleasant," continued the skipper. "But there, my lad,
situated as you are, I don't think you need strain a point. Give me
your parole that you will content yourself with looking on, and I won't
ask you to go below."
"Oh, he will, father. I'll answer for that," cried Poole.
"Answer for yourself, my boy. That's enough for you to do. Let Mr
Burnett give me his own assurance. It would be rather mean, wouldn't
it, Mr Burnett, if you did betray us?"
"Yes, sir; horrible," cried Fitz quickly. "But if it were one of our
ships I should be obliged."
"Of course," said the skipper; "but as it is you will hold your tongue?"
"Yes, sir; I shall look on."
"That's right. Now then," continued the skipper, "the game's going to
begin. There is sure to be some firing, so keep well down under the
shelter of the bulwarks. Of course they will never have a chance to
take aim, but there is no knowing what a random shot may do."
"Want me to do anything, father?" said Poole eagerly.
"No, my boy. There is nothing you can do. It will all lie with Mr
Burgess; Butters, who will be at the wheel; myself, and the men who trim
the sails."
"You are going to sail right away then; eh, father?"
"That all depends, my boy--just as the chances come."
"But as the schooner draws so little water, sir," said Fitz eagerly,
"won't you sail close in under the shore?"
"No, my lad. That's just what the enemy will expect, and have every
boat out on the _qui vive_. I don't mind telling you now what my plans
will be."
He was silent for a few minutes, and they dimly made out that he was
holding up his left hand as a warning to them not to speak, while he
placed his right behind his ear and seemed to be listening, as if he
heard some sound.
"Boat," he said, at last, in a whisper, "rowing yonder right across our
stern. But they didn't make us out. Oh, I was about to tell you what I
meant to do. Run right by the gunboat as closely as I can without
touching her, for it strikes me that will be the last thing that they
will expect."
He moved away the next moment, leaving the boys together once again, to
talk in whispers about the exciting episode that was to come.
"I say, Fitz," whispered Poole excitedly, "isn't this better than being
on board your sleepy old _Tonans_?"
"You leave the sleepy old _Tonans_ alone," replied the middy. "She's
more lively than you think."
"Could be, perhaps; but you never had a set-out like this."
"No," said Fitz stiffly, "because the _Tonans_ never runs away."
"That's one for me," said Poole, laughing. "There are times when you
must run, my lad, and this is one. Hullo, they're shaking out more
canvas. It's going to be yachting now like a race for a cup. It's
'bout ship too."
"Yes, by the way one can feel the wind," replied Fitz; "but I don't
believe your people can see which way to steer."
"Nor I neither," said Poole coolly. "Father is going to chance it, I
believe. He'll make straight for where he saw the gunboat last, as he
thinks, and take it for granted that we can't run on to her. Besides,
she is pretty well sure to be on the move."
"Most likely," said Fitz; "but it's terribly risky work."
The rippling of the water under the schooner's bows came very plainly
now, as the boys went right forward, where two men were on the look-out.
These they joined, to find that they had the sternest instructions, and
these were communicated by the men to the two lads.
"Mustn't speak, gentlemen," they said.
"Just one word," whispered Fitz. "What are you going to do if you make
out that you are running right on to the enemy?"
"Whistle," said the man addressed, laconically.
"What, for more wind?" asked Fitz.
"No, sir," said the man, with a low chuckle; "for the man at the wheel.
One pipe means starboard; two pipes, port. See?"
"No," said Poole, "but he can hear."
As they were whispering, the louder rippling beneath the schooner's
cut-water plainly told of the rate at which they were gliding through
the dark sea. The stars were clear enough overhead, but all in front
seemed to be of a deep transparent black, whose hue tinged even the
staysail, jib, and flying-jib, bellying out above their heads and in
front. As far as the lads could make out they had been running in
towards the city, taken a good sweep round, and then been headed out for
the open sea, with the schooner careening over and rushing through the
water like a racing yacht.
There are some things in life which seem to be extended over a
considerable space of time, apparently hours, but which afterwards
during calmer thought prove to have taken up only minutes, and this was
one.
Poole had just pointed out in a low whisper that by the stars they were
sailing due east, and the man nearest to them, a particularly
sharp-eared individual, endorsed his words by whispering laconically--
"Straight for the open sea."
The water was gliding beneath them, divided by the sharp keel, with a
hissing rush; otherwise all was still; for all they could make out the
gunboat and her satellites, sent out to patrol, might have been miles
away. There was darkness before them and on either hand, while in front
apparently lay the open ocean, and the exhilaration caused by their
rapid motion produced a buoyant feeling suggesting to the lads that the
danger was passed and that they were free.
Then in another moment it seemed to Fitz Burnett as if some giant hand
had caught him by the throat and stopped his breath.
The sensation was appalling, and consequent upon the suddenly-impressed
knowledge that, in spite of the fact that there was about a mile and a
half of space of which an infinitesimally small portion was occupied by
danger, they were gliding through the black darkness dead on to that
little space, for suddenly in front there arose the dull panting,
throbbing sound of machinery, the churning up of water to their left,
and the hissing ripple caused by a cut-water to their right.
It was horrible.
They were going dead on to the gunboat, which was steaming slowly across
their bows, and it seemed to the breathless, expectant group that the
next moment they would be cutting into her side, or more likely
crumpling up and shivering to pieces upon her protecting armour. But
there is something in having a crew of old man-of-war's men, disciplined
and trained to obey orders in emergencies, and thinking of nothing else.
The skipper had given his commands to his two look-out men, and in the
imminence of the danger they were obeyed, for as Fitz Burnett gripped
his companion's arm, involuntarily drawing him sideways in the direction
of the bulwark, to make a leap for life, a sharp clear pipe, like the
cry of some sea-bird, rang out twice, while the panting and quivering of
the machinery and the churning rush of the gunboat's crew seemed right
upon them.
Suddenly there was a loud shout, followed by a yell, the report of a
revolver, succeeded by the deep booming roar of a fog-syren which had
been set going by the funnel, and then as Fitz Burnett felt that the
crash was upon them, the roar of the fog-horn was behind, for the _Teal_
had as nearly as possible scraped past the gunboat's stern, and was
flying onward towards the open sea.
For a few moments no one spoke, and then it was one of the look-out men.
"About as near as a toucher, that, messmate."
"Ay, and I seemed to have no wind when I wanted to blow. Once is quite
enough for a job like that."
"Is it true, Poole?" whispered Fitz, and his voice sounded hoarse and
strange.
"I don't quite know yet," was the reply as the lad walked aft. "It
seemed so impossible and queer--but it is, and, my word, how close!"