"NEVER SAY DIE!"
As long as the excitement kept up, Fitz paced the deck with Poole, but
for two or three nights past regular sleep and his eyelids had been at
odds. The consequence was that all at once in the silence and darkness,
when there was nothing to take his attention, he became very silent,
walking up and down the deck mechanically with his companion to keep
himself awake, and a short time afterwards for no reason at all that he
was aware of, but because one leg went before the other automatically,
his will having ceased to convey its desires to these his supporters,
and long after Poole had ceased talking to him, he suddenly gave a
violent lurch, driving Poole, who was in a similar condition, sideways,
and if it had not been for the bulwark close at hand they would both
have gone down like skittles. For they were both fast asleep, sound as
a top, fast as a church, but on the instant wide-awake and angry.
"What did you do that for?" cried Fitz fiercely. "I didn't," cried
Poole angrily. "You threw yourself at me."
"That I didn't! How could I?"
"How should I know? But you've made a great bruise on my elbow; I know
that."
"Quiet! quiet!" said the mate, in a deep low growl. "Do you want to
bring the gunboat down on us, shouting like that?" And he seemed to
loom up upon them out of the darkness.
"Well, but he--" began Fitz.
"Quiet, I tell you! I have been watching you lads these last ten
minutes. You've both been rolling about all over the deck, and I
expected to see you go down on your noses every moment. Snoring too,
one of you was."
"Well, that wasn't I, I'm sure," cried Fitz shortly.
"Oh, are you?" said the mate. "Well, I'm not. There, you are no use up
here, either of you. Go down and tumble into your bunks at once."
"But--" began Poole.
"You heard what I said, my lad. Go and have a good long snooze, and
don't make a stupid of yourself, bandying words like that. The watch
have all been laughing at you both. Now then, clear the deck. I am
going to keep things quiet."
The officer in charge of a deck is "monarch of all he surveys," like
Robinson Crusoe of old, according to the poem, and as "his right there
is none to dispute," both lads yielded to Burgesses sway, went down to
their berths, rolled in just as they were, and the next minute were fast
asleep, breathing more loudly than would have been pleasant to any
neighbour. But there was none.
Their sleep was very short but very solid all the same, and they were
ready to spring up wide-awake and hurry on deck just before sunrise,
upon hearing the trampling overhead of the watch going through the
manoeuvres known as 'bout ship, and then proceeding to obey orders
angrily shouted at them by the mate, whose loud voice betokened that he
was in an unusual state of excitement, for his words were emphatic in
the extreme as he addressed the men after the cry of "all hands on
deck," in a way which suggested to one who overheard that they were a
gang of the laziest, slowest slovens that ever handled a rope.
"Here, rouse up!" cried Poole. "Hear him?"
"Hear him? Yes. What's the matter?"
"I dunno. Any one would think that we were going to run the gunboat
down."
The lads ran up on deck, and stared in wonder, for instead of the
catastrophe that Poole had verbally portrayed, the reverse seemed the
probability. In fact, instead of their tacking against the adverse wind
having carried them well out to sea, the progress they had made in a
direct line was comparatively small, and to the dismay of both the
sleepers as they looked over the stern, there was the gunboat not three
miles away, foaming down after them under a full pressure of steam.
"How do you account for this?" said Fitz.
"I dunno, unless they went right in, got to know that we had just left,
and came after us full chase."
It was the idea of the moment, and to use the familiar saying, Poole had
hit the right nail on the head. It was morning, and Nature's signals
were in the east, announcing that the sun was coming up full speed,
while the former tactics of tacking against the freshening wind had to
be set aside at once, for it was evidently only a question of an hour
before the gunboat would be within easy range, and what she might do in
the interim was simply doubtful. But the skipper and his mate were hard
at work; the course had been altered for another run southward, close
along the coast; studding-sail booms were being run out from the yards
ready for the white sails to be hoisted; and a trial of speed was being
prepared between canvas and steam, proof of which was given from the
gunboat by the dense clouds of black smoke rolling out of the funnel and
showing how hard the stokers were at work.
It was a busy time then; sail after sail filled out till the schooner
showed as a cloud of canvas gilded by the rising sun, while she
literally skimmed through the water dangerously near to a rocky coast.
But as the sun rose higher that danger passed away, for as if by magic
the wind dropped, leaving the sails flapping, the graceful vessel no
longer dipping her cut-water low-down into the surface and covering the
deck with spray.
Poole looked at his father and drew his breath hard, for he saw too
plainly the peril in which they stood. They were still gliding gently
through the water, but more slowly each minute, and riding now upon an
even keel, while the gunboat astern was tearing along, literally
ploughing her way, and sending a diverging foam-covered wave to
starboard and port.
"Pretty well all over, Burgess," he said, in a low hoarse voice, and
Fitz stole out his hand to grip Poole's wrist and give a warm
sympathetic pressure; and he did not draw it back, but stood holding on,
listening the while to the mate's slow, thoughtful reply.
"I don't know yet," said the latter, half closing his eyes and looking
towards the west. "The winds play rum games here sometimes, and you
hardly know where you are. They may go through one of their manoeuvres
now. This is just about the time, and I shouldn't wonder if we had a
sharp breeze from the west again, same as we did yesterday and the day
before."
"No such luck," said the skipper bitterly. "It won't be the wind off
shore; it will be the _Teal_ on. You'll have to make for the first
opening you see as soon as there's wind enough, and run her right in.
Don't hesitate a moment, Burgess; run her right ashore, and then we must
do the best we can with the boats, or swim for it."
"Run her right ashore!" said the mate grimly.
"Yes--so that she's a hopeless wreck, impossible to get off."
"Seems a pity," growled the mate; and his words found an echo in Fitz
Burnett's breast.
"Yes, but it would be a greater pity for my beautiful little schooner to
fall a prize to that wretched tea-kettle there; and I won't have my lads
treated as prisoners. I'd sooner we all had to take to the woods."
"All right, sir. You're skipper; I'm mate. It's you to give orders, me
to carry them out. But I'm beginning to think that they'll have us
before we get the wind. You see, it's nearly calm."
"Yes," said the skipper, "I see; and I wonder they haven't begun firing
before."
He walked right aft with the mate, leaving the lads alone, with Poole
looking five years older, so blank and drawn was his face. But it
brightened directly, as he felt the warm grip of the young middy's hand,
and heard his words.
"Oh, Poole, old chap," Fitz half whispered, after a glance round to see
if they were likely to be overheard, but only to find that every seaman
was either intent upon his duty or watching the enemy in expectation of
a first shell or ball from the heavy gun. "Oh, Poole, old chap," he
said again, "I am sorry--I am indeed!"
"Sorry?" said Poole quietly. "Yes; for you've all been very kind to
me."
"Well, I am glad to hear you say so, for I tried to be, and the dad
liked you because you were such a cocky, plucky little chap. But there:
it's no use to cry over spilt milk. I suppose it isn't spilt yet,
though," he added, with a little laugh; "but the jug will be cracked
directly, and away it will all go into the sea. But I say, can you
swim?"
"Oh yes, I can swim. I learnt when I was a cadet."
"That's right; and if we can't get off in one of the boats you keep
close alongside of me--I know the dad will like me to stick with you--
and I'll get a life-belt, or one of the buoys, and we will share it
together, one to rest in it while the other swims and tows. We'll get
to shore somehow, never fear--the whole lot of us, I expect, for the
lads will stand by, I am sure."
"Yes, yes," said Fitz, glancing round over the sunlit sea. "But what
about the sharks?"
"Oh!" ejaculated Poole involuntarily, and he changed colour.
It was just as the skipper and mate came walking sharply forward again.
"There!" cried the latter triumphantly. "What did I say?"
"Splendid!" cried the skipper. "But will it last?"
"It did yesterday. Why not to-day?" cried the mate fiercely.
For the wind had suddenly come in a sharp gust which filled the sails,
making several of them snap with a loud report, laid the schooner on her
beam-ends, and sent her rushing through the water for some hundred
yards, making it come foaming up through the scuppers in fountains, to
flood the deck, before she was eased off by the man at the wheel and
rose again.
But directly after the calm asserted itself once more; the greater part
of the sea was like a mirror, with only cat's-paws here and there; and
the gunboat came pounding on as stern as fate.
"All right," said the mate cheerily; "it's coming again," and he ran to
the man at the wheel.
"Stand by, my lads," cried the skipper, "ready to let go those stuns'ls.
We mustn't be taken again like that."
The men rushed to the sheets, and when the wind came again, it came to
stay, striking the heavily-canvassed schooner a tremendous blow, to
which she only careened over, and not a drop of water came on board, for
the light studding-sails were let go to begin flapping and snapping like
whip-thongs until the violence of the gust had passed; and by that time
the men were busy reducing the canvas, and the schooner was flying
through the water like the winning yacht in a race.
"Never say die!" cried Poole, with a laugh. "We are going faster than
the gunboat now."
"Yes," replied Fitz thoughtfully; "but she has the command of the sea,
and can cut us off."
"As long as her coals last," said Poole, "and they're burning them
pretty fast over this. I'd give something to guess what old Burgess
means to do. He's got something in his head that I don't believe my
father knows."
"Oh, he'd be sure to know," said Fitz, whose hopes were rising fast, his
sympathies being entirely now with those who had proved such friends.
"Oh, no, he wouldn't. Old Burgess can be as mute as a fish when he
likes, and there's nothing pleases him better than taking people by
surprise."
"But what can he do more than race right away?"
"Well, I'll tell you, Burnett, old chap. It's no use for him to think
of racing right away. What he'll do is this. I have said something of
the kind to you before. He knows this coast just like his ABC, the bays
and rivers and backwaters and crannies all amongst the rocks. He's
spent days and days out in a boat sounding and making rough charts; and
what he'll do, I feel certain, is this--make for some passage in amongst
the rocks where he can take the little _Teal_, run right in where the
gunboat dare not come, and stay there till she's tired out."
"But then they'll sink us with their gun."
"Oh no; he'll get her right into shelter where she can't be seen."
"Then the gunboat captain will send after us with his armed boats and
board us where we lie."
"Let him," said Poole grimly. "That's just what old Burgess and all the
lads would like. Mr Don what's-his-name and his men would find they
had such a hedgehog to tackle that they'd soon go back again faster than
they came."
"Do you think your father would do that?" said Fitz, after a glance aft,
to note that they were leaving the gunboat steadily behind.
"Why, of course," cried Poole. "But it's resisting a man-of-war."
"Well, what of that? We didn't boggle about doing it with one of the
Queen's ships, so you don't suppose that dad would make much bones about
refusing to strike to a mongrel Spaniard like that?"
Fitz was silent, and somehow then in a whirl of exciting thoughts it did
not seem so very serious a thing, but brought up passages he had read in
old naval books of cutting-out expeditions and brave fightings against
heavy odds. And then as they went flying through the water the
exhilaration of the chase took up all his attention, and the
conversation dropped out of his mental sight, for it lasted hours, and
during all that time the _Teal_ skimmed along, following out her old
tactics close to a lovely surf-beaten shore, passing bluff and valley
openings where there were evidently streams pouring out from the
mountains to discolour the silver sea, and offering, as the middy
thought, endless havens of refuge, till about the hottest part of the
day, when the pitch seemed to be seething in the seams. All at once the
captain, after a short conversation with his mate, went forward with a
couple of men, and Burgess went himself to take the wheel. "Now then,"
said Poole, "what did I tell you?"
"Do you think we are going to turn in here?"
"That's just what I do think. Here, do you want a job?"
"Yes--no--of course--What do you want me to do?"
"Go and tell the Camel to get the oiliest breakfast he can all ready,
for we are half-starved."
"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Fitz angrily. "What do you mean?"
"Mean? Why, look! Old Grumbo's running us right in for the line of
surf below that bluff. There's an opening there, I'll be bound. Look
at the coloured water too. There must be a good-sized river coming down
from somewhere. Oh, the old fox! He knows what he's about. There's
one of his holes in there, and the hunt is nearly up. I mean, the
little _Teal_ is going in to find her nest."
"Well, I hope you are right," said Fitz quietly; and then he stood
watching while the little schooner seemed as if being steered to certain
destruction, but only to glide by the threatened danger into a wide
opening hidden heretofore, and where the rocks ran up, jungle-covered,
forming the sides of a lovely valley whose limits were hidden from the
deck.
At that moment the middy became aware of the fact that one of the men
was busy with the skipper heaving the lead and shouting the soundings
loud enough for the mate to hear, while with educated ear Fitz listened
and grasped the fact how dangerously the water shoaled, till it seemed
at last that the next minute they must run aground.
For a few minutes it was as though something was clutching at the boy's
throat, making his breath come hot and fast; and he glanced back to see
where the gunboat was, but looked in vain, for a side of the valley rose
like a towering wall between, and on glancing in the other direction
there was another stupendous wall running up to mountain height, and all
of gorgeous greens.
The next minute, when he looked forward, feeling that at any moment he
might have to swim, the voice of the man with the lead-line seemed to
ring out louder and more clear, announcing fathoms, as a short time
before he had shouted feet.
There was a curious stillness too reigning around. The roar of surf
upon the rocky shore was gone; the wind had dropped; and the _Teal_ was
gliding slowly up the grand natural sanctuary into which she had been
steered, while the lad awakened to the fact that they had entered a
rushing stream, and as the feeling gained ground of all this being
unreal, their safety being, as it were, a dream, he was brought back to
the bare matter-of-fact by hearing an order given, the anchor descending
with a splash, and Poole bringing his hand down sharply upon his
shoulder, to cry exultantly--
"There, old chap; what did I say!"