It was rather a queer position occupied by the two lads, seated astride
the bowsprit like children playing at horses--sea- or river-horses, in
this case, for the swift current was running beneath them.
Poole looked hard at Fitz, his sharp eyes seeming to plunge into those
of his companion as if he read his very thoughts, while as Fitz returned
the gaze his look became timid and shrinking; a curious feeling of
nervousness and regret attacked him, and the next minute he was wishing
that instead of planning out a suggestion by which he would help these
filibusters, he had kept silence and not begun a proposal which he felt
to be beneath his dignity as a young officer of the Queen.
"Well," said Poole at last, in a tone of voice which added to Fitz's
chill; "what is it?" Fitz remained silent.
"Well, out with it! What's the scheme?" Still Fitz did not speak, and
Poole went on--"It ought to be something good to make you so cocksure.
I have gone over it all again and again, turned it upside down and
downside up, and I can't get at anything one-half so good as old Chips's
cock-and-bull notions. I suppose you are cleverer than I am, and if you
are, so much the better, for it's horrible to be shut up like this, and
I feel as if I'd rather wait for a good wind, clap on all sail, and make
a dash for it, going right ahead for the gunboat as if you meant to run
her down, and when we got very close, give the wheel a spin and shoot by
her. They'd think we were coming right on to her, and it might scare
the crew so that they wouldn't be able to shoot straight till we got
right by. And then--"
"Yes," said Fitz; "and then perhaps when they had got over the scare
they'd shoot straight enough. And suppose they did before they were
frightened. What about the first big shell that came aboard?"
"Ah, yes, I didn't think of that," said Poole. "But anyhow, that's the
best I can do. I've thought till my head is all in a buzz, and I shan't
try to think any more. I suppose, then, that yours is a better idea
than that."
"Ye-es. Rather."
"Well, let's have it."
Fitz was silent, and more full of bitter regret that he had spoken.
"I say, you are a precious long time about it."
"Well, I don't know," stammered Fitz. "I don't think I ought to;
perhaps it wouldn't be a good one, after all."
"Well, you are a rum fellow, Burnett! I began to believe in you, and
you quite made my mouth water, while now you snatch the idea away.
What's the matter?"
Fitz cleared his throat, and pulled himself together.
"Well," he said; "you see, it's like this. I've no business as your
prisoner to take part with you against a State which is recognised by
the British Government, and to which your father has surreptitiously
been bringing arms and ammunition that are contraband of war."
"_Phee-ew_!" whistled Poole, grinning. "What big words! What a
splendid speech!"
"Look here, if you are beginning to banter," replied Fitz hotly, "I'm
off."
"Yes, you've just let yourself off--bang. We had got to be such friends
that I thought you had dropped all that and were going to make the best
of things. You know well enough that Villarayo was a bully and a brute,
a regular tyrant, and that Don Ramon is a grand fellow and a regular
patriot, fighting for his country and for everything that is good."
"Yes, yes, I know all that," said Fitz; "but that doesn't alter my
position until he has quite got the upper hand and is acknowledged by
England. I feel that it is my duty to be--to be--what do they call
it?--neutral."
"Oh, you are a punctilious chap. Then you would be neutral, as you call
it, and let Villarayo smash up and murder everybody, because Don Ramon
has not been acknowledged by England?"
"Yes, I suppose so," said Fitz; "but these are all diplomatic things
with which I have nothing to do."
"And you have got a good idea, then, that might save us out of this
position?"
"Ye-es; I think so."
"And you won't speak?"
"I feel now that I can't."
"Humph!" grunted Poole. "It seems too bad, and not half fair to the
governor."
"It is not fair to me to make me a prisoner," retorted Fitz.
"He didn't make you one. You came and tumbled down into our hold, and
we did the best we could for you. But don't let's begin arguing about
all that again. Perhaps you are right from your point of view, and I
can't think the same, only of helping to get the _Teal_ out of this
scrape."
"I wish I could help you and do my duty too," said Fitz.
"I wish you could," replied Poole. "But I don't think much of your
notion. You said it was all a dream."
"No, not all. It came from my dreaming and getting into a muddle over
what Chips the carpenter said."
"I thought so," said Poole coolly; "all a muddle, after all. Dreams are
precious poor thin stuff."
"This isn't a dream," cried Fitz sharply.
"And this isn't a dream," cried Poole, flushing up. "I have been
thinking about it, and I can't help seeing that as sure as we two are
sitting here, those mongrel brutes that swarm in the gunboat will sooner
or later get the better of us. Our lads are plucky enough, but the
enemy is about six to one, and they'll hang about there till they
surprise us or starve us out; and how will it be then?"
"Why, you will all be prisoners of war, of course."
"Prisoners of war!" cried Poole contemptuously. "What, of Villarayo's
men, the sweepings and scum of the place, every one of them armed with a
long knife stuck in his scarf that he likes to whip out and use!
Hot-blooded savage wretches! Prisoners of war! Once they get the upper
hand, there will be a regular massacre. They'll make the schooner a
prisoner of war if I don't contrive to get below and fire two or three
shots into the little magazine; and that I will do sooner than fall
alive into their hands. Do you think you would escape because you are
an English officer? Not you! Whether you are fighting on our side or
only looking on, it will be all the same to them. I know them, Burnett;
you don't; and I am telling you the honest truth. There! We'll take
our chance," continued the lad coldly. "I don't want to know anything
about your dreams now."
Poole was in the act of throwing one leg over the bowsprit, and half
turned away; but Fitz caught him tightly by the arm.
"I can't help it," he cried excitedly, "even if it's wrong. Sit still,
Poole, old chap. I've been thinking this. You see, when I went aboard
the _Tonans_ everything was so fresh and interesting to me about the
gun-drill and our great breech-loader.--Did you ever see one?"
"Not close to," said Poole coldly. "Ah, well, I have, and you have no
idea what it's like. Big as it is, it's all beautifully made. The
breech opens and shuts, and parts of it move on hinges that are finished
as neatly as the lock of a gun; and it is wonderful how easily
everything moves. There are great screws which you turn as quietly as
if everything were silk, and then there's a great piece that they call
the breech-block, which is lifted out, and then you can stand and look
right through the great polished barrel as if it were a telescope, while
all inside is grooves, screwed as you may say, so that the great bolt or
shell when it is fired is made to spin round, which makes it go
perfectly straight."
"Well, yes, I think I knew a good deal of that," said Poole, almost
grudgingly.
"Well, you know," continued Fitz excitedly, "perhaps you don't know that
when they are going to fire, the gun is unscrewed and the breech-block
is lifted out. Then you can look through her; the shell or bolt and the
cartridge are pushed in, the solid breech-block is dropped in behind
them, and the breech screwed up all tightly once again."
"Yes, I understand; and there's no ramming in from the muzzle as with
the old-fashioned guns."
"Exactly," said Fitz, growing more and more excited as he spoke. "And
you know now what a tremendously dangerous weapon a great gun like that
is."
"Yes, my lad," said Poole carelessly; "of course I do. But it's no
good."
"What's no good?" said Fitz sharply.
"You are as bad as Chips. If we got on board we couldn't disable that
gun, or get her to the side. She'd be far too heavy to move."
"Yes," said Fitz, with his eyes brightening, and he gripped his
companion more tightly than ever. "But what's the most important part
of a gun like that?"
"Why, the charge, of course."
"No," cried Fitz; "the breech-block. Suppose I, or you and I, got on
board some night in the dark, unscrewed the breech, lifted out the
block, and dropped it overboard. What then?"
Poole started, and gripped his companion in turn.
"Why," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "they couldn't fire the gun. The
charge would come out at both ends."
"To be sure it would."
"Well--Oh, I don't know," said Poole, trembling with excitement; "I
should muddle it. I don't understand a gun like that."
"No," cried Fitz; "but I do."
"Here," panted Poole; "come along aft."
"What are you going to do?"
"Do! Why, tell my governor, of course! Oh, Burnett, old fellow, you'll
be the saving of us all!"
The lad's emotion communicated itself to the proposer of the plan, and
neither of them could speak as they climbed back on to the deck, and,
seeing nothing before their eyes but breech-loaders, hurried off, to
meet Mr Burgess just coming out of the cabin-hatch.
"Is father below there?" cried Poole huskily. "Yes; just left him,"
grunted the mate, as he stared hard at the excited countenances of the
two lads. "Anything the matter?"
"Yes. Quick!" cried Poole. "Come on down below." The skipper looked
up from the log he was writing as his son flung open the cabin-door,
paused for the others to enter, and then shut it after them with a bang
which made the skipper frown.
"Here, what's this, sir?" he said sternly, as he glanced from one to the
other. "Oh, I see; you two boys have been quarrelling, and want to
fight. Well, wait a little, and you'll have enough of that. Now, Mr
Burnett, speak out. What is it? Have you and my son been having
words?"
"Yes, father," half shouted Poole, interposing--"such words as will make
you stare. Tell him, Burnett, all that you have said."
The skipper and the mate listened in silence, while Poole watched the
play of emotion their faces displayed, before the skipper spoke.
"Splendid, my lad!" he cried. "But it sounds too good to be true. You
say you understand these guns?"
"Yes, sir; I have often stood by to watch the drill, and seen blank
cartridge fired again and again."
"But the breech-block? Could it be lifted out?"
"It could aboard the _Tonans_, sir, and I should say that this would be
about the same."
"Hah!" ejaculated the skipper. "But it could only be done by one who
understands the working of the piece, and we should be all worse than
children over such a job."
Poole's eyes were directed searchingly at the middy, who met them
without a wink.
"As I understand," continued the captain, "it would be done by one who
crept aboard in the dark, unscrewed the gun, took out the block, and
carried it to the side. I repeat, it could only be done by one who
understands the task. Who could do this?"
"I could, sir," said Fitz quietly.
"And you would?"
"If I were strong enough. But I am sure that I could do it if Poole
would help."
"Then if it's possible to do, father," said the lad quietly, "the job is
done."
"But look here," interposed the mate, in his gruff way; "what about Don
Ramon? What will he say? He wouldn't have that great breech-loader
spoiled for the world."
"How would it be spoiled?" cried Fitz sharply.
"Aren't you going to disable it by chucking the breech-block over the
side?"
"Pooh!" cried Fitz contemptuously. "These parts are all numbered, and
you can send over to England and get as many new ones as you like."