"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."
Poole re-focussed the binocular, but it was some moments before he
spoke.
"Can't you?" cried Fitz excitedly.
"Yes, but I'm not quite sure. Yes, now I am. Right!"
For at that moment a white ball of smoke shot out from the gunboat's
deck, followed by a dull thud, and something came skipping over the
heaving sea, before there was another sharp crack and a shell burst
about a hundred yards from the schooner's stern.
"I wonder whether we shall have to go any nearer," said Poole excitedly.
"They'd be able to do us a deal of mischief like that. I believe she's
got four of those small guns on board."
"Judging from their gunnery," said Fitz coolly, "they are not likely to
hit us, even if we go much more near."
"Well, I hope not," said Poole. "Those are nasty waspish things, those
shells. There she goes again. I wonder whether we could do anything
with rifles at this range."
The skipper proved to be of opinion that they could, but he preferred to
devote all his attention to the navigation of the schooner, and in fact
there was plenty to do, for every now and then they found themselves
dangerously near the spots where a little creamy foam showed upon the
surface of the sea, insidious, beautiful patches that would have meant
destruction to the slight timbers of the yacht-like craft.
But the mate was perched up on high, and between him and the steersman
the skipper stood ready to transmit the keen chief officer's signals to
the man at the wheel, so that they rode in safety through the watery
maze, paying no heed whatever to the shells which came at intervals from
the gunboat's deck, the small modern guns having a terribly long range.
The boats filled with men still hung from the davits, ready for the
order to start, which was never given, the captain of the gunboat
evidently being of opinion that his rowing men would not be able to
compete with the schooner's sails, and waiting as he was for the
bursting of some shell overhead bringing down one of the important spars
by the run, while it was always possible that the schooner's fate might
be the same as his, to wit, running stem on to some rock, to sink or
remain fast.
Under these circumstances the boats would have been of avail, and
another attempt might have been made to board and take the little
schooner.
But the Spaniards' gunnery was not good enough; the shells were
startling, but their segments did no worse than speckle the surface of
the sea, and at last involuntarily cheers rang out, for the _Teal_ was
running swiftly away from the danger, and the shells that came dropping
were far astern. About half-an-hour later, and long after the firing
had ceased to be dangerous, the mate came down from his eyrie, to seat
himself and begin wiping his dripping face.
"You look tired, Mr Burgess," said Fitz, going up to him, "Shall I get
you a tin of water?"
"Thank you, my lad," said the rugged fellow huskily. "I am nearly
choked with thirst."
Fitz ran to the breaker, took the tin that stood ready, dipped it, and
bore it to the mate, who drained it to the last drop.
"Thank you, my lad. That's the sweetest drop I ever tasted in my life.
Hard work for the body will make a man thirsty, but work like that I
have just been doing is ten times as bad. Hah! It's horrid!--horrid!
I believed I knew that channel pretty well, but for the last hour, and
every minute of it, I have been waiting to hear the little schooner go
scrunch on to some hidden rock; and now I feel quite done."
"It must have been horrible," said the middy, looking his sympathy. "Of
course we all knew it was dangerous, but none of us could have felt like
that."
"No, my lad," said the mate, holding out his rough hand. "I don't
believe anybody felt like that," and he gripped the boy's hand firmly.
"But I say, between ourselves, I didn't mean to speak. It's made me
feel a little soft like, and I shouldn't like anybody to know what I
said."
"You may trust me, Mr Burgess," said the lad warmly.
"I do, my lad; I do, for I know what a gentleman you are. But to
nobody, please, not even to young Poole."
The rough mate nodded his satisfaction as he met the middy's eyes, and
somehow from that minute it seemed to Fitz that they had become great
friends.
"Now, that's what I call the prettiest view we've seen of that gunboat
yet, Mr Burnett, sir," said the carpenter a short time later, as the
lad strolled up to where he was leaning over the bulwarks shading his
eyes from the sun. "I don't profess to be a artist, sir; nighest I ever
come to making a picter was putting a frame round it and a bit of glass
in front, as I kep' in tight with brads. But I've seen a deal of natur'
in my time, hot and cold, and I say that's the prettiest bit of a
sea-view I ever set eyes on. She's a fine-built boat--nice shape.
Looks like about half-way between a flat-iron and one of them as the
laundresses use with a red-hot thing in their insides. But it ain't
only her shape as takes my fancy. It's her position, and that's one
that everybody on board must admire, as she lies there nice and distant
with the coast behind, sea in front, and a lovely bit of foam and
breakers both sides. Ah! she makes a lovely pictur'. She don't want no
frame, and the beauty of her is that she's one of them what they used to
call dissolving views. You see, we shan't see her no more, and don't
want to, and that's the beauty of it."
"Yes, you're right, Chips," said Poole, laughing. "We've seen rather
too much of her as it is. But you are a bit wrong. I dare say we shall
see her again. Don Ramon will be for trying to get her off the rocks
when he hears how she lies. Why, Chips, that's in your way. What a job
it would be for you!"
"Job for me, sir?" said the man, staring.
"Yes. That gunboat and her fittings must have cost a tremendous sum of
money. It would be the making of you if you could get her off."
The carpenter stared, and then gave his thigh a slap which sounded like
the crack of a revolver.
"Yuss!" he cried. "I never thought of that. My word, shouldn't I like
the job!"
"Think you could do it, Chips?" cried Fitz.
"I'd try, sir. Only let 'em give me the job. But the skipper wouldn't
let me go."
"Well, you don't want to go, Winks," said Poole.
"That's a true word, sir. I don't want to go. The _Teal's_ good enough
for me. But I should like to have the getting of that gunboat off all
the same. Let's see; that there Don Ramon wants it, doesn't he?"
"Yes," cried Poole.
"I say, look out!" cried Fitz. "Here's Chips's dissolving view
dissolving away."
The declaration was quite true, for the gunboat was slowly disappearing,
as the _Teal_ sailed on, to reach Velova Bay without further adventure
or mishap.
All seemed well as they sighted the port, and Don Ramon's flag was
fluttering out jauntily; but to the astonishment of all on board, as
they drew nearer the fort there was a white puff of smoke, and then
another and another.
The British colours were run up, but the firing went on, and the skipper
grew uneasy.
"Villarayo must have captured the place," he said, as he looked through
his double glass.
"Here, I don't see any shot striking up the water, father," cried Poole.
"No; I tell you what it is," cried Fitz. "They are glad to see us back.
They are firing a salute."
Fitz was right, and before long a barge was coming off, with the
national colours trailing behind, Don Ramon being made out seated in the
stern-sheets in uniform, and surrounded by his officers. He looked
ceremonious and grand enough in his State barge, but there was no
ceremony in his acts. He sprang up the side as soon as the coxswain
hooked on, and embraced the skipper with the tears in his eyes, the two
lads having to suffer the same greeting in turn, so as not to hurt the
feelings of one whose warmth was very genuine.
"Oh, my friend the captain," he cried, "I have been wasting tears on
your behalf. You did not _come_ back, and the news was brought by three
different fishing-boats that the enemy had driven you ashore and wrecked
and burned your beautiful schooner, while there had been a desperate
fight, they said, and they had heard the firing, so that I could only
guess what must have been the result. I believed my brave true friend
and all on board had been slain, while now I have you all safely back
again, and my heart is very glad."
"And so am I, Don Ramon," said the skipper warmly, for he felt how
genuine the greeting was. "But things are much better than you
thought."
"Yes, better far," cried the Don. "But make haste. Let us get ashore.
My people are getting up a banquet in your honour and that of every
_one_ on board."
"Oh, I'm not a banqueting man," said the skipper, laughing.
"Ha, ha! We shall see," said the Don, laughing in his turn. "How came
they, though, to tell me such false news? I believed the men who
brought it could be trusted."
"Well, I dare say they can be," said the skipper. "But they didn't stay
long enough. We had almost to run ashore, and there were two or three
fights; that was true enough. But if they had stayed long enough they
could have brought you the best news that you have had for months."
"Best news!" cried the Don excitedly.
"Yes; the gunboat, with her big breech-loader and propeller disabled, is
fast upon the rocks."
"Captain Reed!" cried the Don, seizing him by both hands. "Is this
true?"
"As true as that I am telling you."
"But the captain and his men?"
"They're standing by her. But they will never get her off."
"Oh!" shouted Fitz, giving a sudden jump and turning sharply round, to
see the carpenter backing away confused and shamefaced, for he had been
listening eagerly to the conversation, and at the critical point
alluding to the gunboat being got off, he had in his excitement given
Fitz a vigorous pinch.
"Here, what are you thinking of doing?" said the skipper.
"Doing?" said the Don excitedly. "There will be no banquet to-night. I
must gather together my men, and make for the gunboat at once."
"What for?" cried the skipper.
"To strike the last blow for victory," cried the Don. "We must surround
and take the gunboat's crew, and then at any cost that gunboat must be
floated. I don't quite see yet how it is to be done, but the attempt
must be made before there is another gale. That gunboat must be saved.
No," he continued thoughtfully, "I don't see yet how it can be done."
"I do, sir," cried Winks, dashing forward. "I'll take the job, sir, and
do it cheap. Say a word for me, skipper. You know me. It's fust come
fust served at times like this. Say a word for me, sir, afore some
other lubber steps in and gets the job as won't do it half so well. Mr
Burnett, sir--Mr Poole, you will put a word in too, won't you?"
"I do not want any words put in," said the new President gravely. "I
know you, my man, and what you can do. I know you too as one of the
friends who have fought for me so bravely and so well. You shall get
the gunboat off the rocks."
In his excitement Chips did the first steps of the sailor's hornpipe,
but suddenly awakening to a sense of his great responsibility, he pulled
himself up short with a sharp stamp upon the deck, thrust his right
fore-finger into his cheek, and brought it out again _plop_.
"Stand by there, sir! Steady it is. I like things right and square. I
never did a job like this afore; but you trust me, and I'll do my best."
"I do trust you," said Don Ramon, smiling and holding out his hand, "and
I know such a British seaman as you will do his best."
The carpenter flushed like a girl and raised his hand to grasp the
President's, but snatched his own back again to give it three or four
rubs up and down, back and front, upon the leg of his trousers, like a
barber's finishing-touch to a razor, and then gave the much smaller
Spanish hand such a grip as brought tears not of emotion but of pain
into the President's eyes.
"Now then, for the shore!" cried the Don. "But, Captain Reed, my
friend, I am never satisfied. You will help me once again?"
"You know," replied the skipper, "as far as I can."
"Oh, you will not refuse this," said the President, laughingly. "It is
only to transport as many of my people as the schooner will bear. I
shall have to trust to fishing-boats and the two small trading vessels
that are in the port to bear the rest, I must take a strong force, and
make many prisoners, for not one of the gunboat's crew must escape."
"Oh, you won't have much trouble with that," said the skipper. "Once
you have the full upper hand--"
"I have it now," said the Spaniard haughtily.
"Then they will all come over to your side."
"You will come with me ashore?" said the Don.
"Yes; but when shall you want to sail? To-morrow--the next day?"
"Within an hour," cried the Spaniard, "or as soon after as I can. I
must strike, as you English say, while the iron is in the fire."
"Well, that's quick enough for anything," whispered Fitz.
The two lads stood watching the departing barge, with the skipper by the
President's side, and then turned to go aft to the cabin.
"This is rather a bother," said Fitz. "I should have liked to have gone
ashore and seen the banquet, and gone up the country. I am getting
rather sick of being a prisoner, and always set to work. But--hullo,
Chips!"
"Just one moment, sir; and you too, Mr Poole."
"Yes; what is it?"
"That's rather a large order, gentlemen, aren't it? That there Don will
be wanting to make me his chief naval constructor, perhaps. But that
wouldn't do. I say, though, Mr Burnett, sir, can you give a poor
fellow a tip or two?"
"What about?" said Fitz.
"What about, sir? Oh, I say, come! I like that! How am I going to get
off that there gunboat? She's a harmoured vessel, you know."
"Oh, you'll do it, Chips. You could always do anything, even when you
hadn't got any stuff. What about pulling up the hacienda floor?"
"To make fortifications, sir? Yes, we did work that to rights. But
iron's iron, and wood's wood. You can drive one into t'other, but you
can't drive t'other into one."
"No, Chips," said Fitz, laughing. "But there are more ways of killing a
cat than hanging."
"So there are, sir; toe be sure. Making up your mind to do a thing is
half the battle. I should like to have the help of you two young gents,
though, all the same. A word from a young officer as knows how to
disable a Armstrong gun, and from another who thinks nothing of tying a
screw-propeller up in a knot, is worth having."
"Oh, I'll help you," said Fitz. "But I am afraid my help won't be of
much use."
"The same here," said Poole. "Ditto and ditto."
"Then I shall do it, sir," cried the carpenter confidently. "Of
course," cried Fitz. "But that gunboat must be very heavy. How shall
you go to work?"
The carpenter gave a sharp look round, and then said in a low
confidential tone--
"A deal too heavy, sir, for us to lift her. The only way to do is to
make her lift herself."
"How?"
"Taking out of her everything that can be moved; guns first, then shot
and shell, and laying them overboard outside upon the rocks, ready for
hoisting in again at low water when she's afloat. Next thing I should
do would be to find out whether she's got any holes in her, and if she
hasn't--and I don't believe she has, for there's been no storm to bump
her on the rocks--then I shall pump her dry, have her fires got up, and
at high water full steam ahead, and if she don't come off then I'm a
double Dutchman."
"But what about the screw?"
"Them as hides can find, sir, which means them as tie can untie. I
think we can get her off, sir, if we put our backs into it. What say
you?"
"Get her off?" cried Fitz. "Of course we will!"