"Ah," said Don Ramon to the skipper, the morning after their arrival,
"if only that gun were perfect!"
"Well, it ought to be in two months' time. You'll have to get command
of the telegraph at San Cristobal."
"To get command?" cried the Don. "I have full command. Resistance to
my rule is dead, and I have only to wait to be acknowledged by the
Powers. But go on with what you were saying."
"Oh, it was only this. You can wire to the makers of the gun to send
you out a new breech-block by the first steamer. They will honour your
order, I'll be bound."
"It shall be done," said Don Ramon eagerly.
This took place in the principal building of the little port, where the
Don was entertaining the skipper and the two lads; and he seemed quite
disturbed when, after a short communication had passed, Fitz and Poole
got up and asked their host to excuse them.
"You wish to go so soon?" he said. "Why, I have friends coming to whom
I wish to introduce you as the brave young heroes who helped me to
success."
"Oh, there's no need for that sir," said Fitz. "We don't want to be
made a fuss over."
"But I take it that you would be willing to gratify your host," replied
the Don loftily, "and it would please me much if you would stay."
"But we must get back on board, sir," said Fitz anxiously. Then
noticing the air of displeasure in the President's countenance, the
middy added hastily, "There, sir, we will come back at once."
They hurried down to the shore, where the schooner's gig was lying with
her crew on board.
"Well, I don't understand whatever you want," said Poole, "unless you
have suddenly found out that because ladies are coming you ought to put
on a clean shirt."
"Get out!" cried Fitz; and then, assuming command of the boat, to
Poole's great amusement, though he said nothing, Fitz gave orders to the
men to give way and row them out to the gunboat.
"Why, I thought you wanted to go to the _Teal_! Oh, I see. Well, it's
very nice of you. You want us to go and take charge of the prize crew
so as to let old Burgess go and have some tucker with the Don."
"Nothing of the kind," said Fitz shortly.
"What is it then?" said Poole. "What's the good of keeping things so
close?"
"Wait and see. I don't know yet myself."
"Dear me!" said Poole. "I suppose his lordship has found out that he
left his purse in the cabin."
"Wrong," said Fitz. "It was only an old leather one if he had, with
nothing in it. Can't you wait a few minutes till I see if I am right?"
"Oh, yes, I'll wait; only too glad to get away while the other people
come. I say, Fitz, old chap, let's be as long as we can. I do hate all
that fuss. It makes me feel so weak."
"Yes; I don't like it. That's the worst of foreigners. They are so
fond of show. I say, Poole, old chap, I've got such a grand idea."
"What is it?"
"Wait and see."
"Now, just you look here," said Poole; "you can't say but what I'm a
good-tempered sort of fellow, but if there's much more of this you'll
put me out. I'm not a little child, and you are not playing at
bob-cherry, so leave off dangling nothing before my lips and then
snatching it away."
"Ah, you wait and see," said Fitz.
Just then, as Poole turned upon him irritably, the gig touched the
gunboat's side, and the boys sprang on board, to be greeted by the mate
and the members of the prize crew, who had moored her well under the
guns of the little fort.
"Hullo, young fellows! I know what you want," cried the mate.
"Then you are cleverer than I am," said Poole, laughing, "for I don't."
"Then why have you come?"
"Ask Burnett here. He seems to be Grand Panjandrum now."
"You've come," said the mate, "by the President's orders, to bring me
ashore to drink wine and eat cake, or some nonsense of that kind, and
you may go back and tell him I can't leave my post."
"Wrong," said Fitz; and he hurried away forward, to come into sight
again waving his hand to Poole to join him.
"Whatever's the matter with the fellow?" said Poole to himself, as he
followed the middy.
Fitz met him half-way, caught him by the collar, and with his face
flushed and eyes flashing, whispered something in his ear.
"No!" cried Poole. "You don't mean it!"
"I do," said Fitz, and he whispered a few more words that made his
companion stare.
"Shall we?" cried Fitz excitedly.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Poole. "It would make such a scare."
"I don't care," said Fitz. "It will make Don Ramon ready to jump out of
his skin. I don't know what he won't say when he gets the news; and
besides, I feel as if I had a right."
Meanwhile the people were beginning to arrive to crowd the _salle_ where
the President and the skipper were ready to receive them, and the
President had risen at once, and amidst a tremendous burst of applause,
to begin a speech in which he intended to congratulate his hearers upon
the end of the war and the commencement of what he hoped would be a long
term of peace, when he and all present were startled by a terrific roar
as of thunder close at hand, followed by what seemed like a minute's
silence, when the echoes began to speak, carrying on the sound along the
valley and up into the mountains, where it rolled and died out, rose
again, and was eddied on and on, to finally fade away in a dull whisper.
For the time no one spoke, no one stirred, but stood as if turned to
stone, as so many statues where but a few minutes before all was
animation and suppressed excitement consequent upon what was looked upon
as the successful determination of the revolution.
Upon every face horror was now depicted, cheeks were pale, eyes dilated
and staring, and fear with all its horrors seemed to have enchained the
crowded _salle_.
There was one pale face though that seemed to stand out the central
figure of the gaily-dressed and uniformed crowd. It was that of the
President, who slowly stretched out his hands on high, his fists
clenching and his features convulsed. There was no horror there in his
looks, but one great reflex of the despair within his heart.
"Oh," he groaned, "and at a time like this, when I have fought so hard,
when I would have given up my very life for my unhappy country.
Gentlemen, we have a new enemy to contend with, and that is Fate. Am I
to own that all is lost, or appeal to you, my faithful friends, to begin
again to fight the deadly battle to the very last?"
"But what is it?" cried one of the officials.
"Yes," shouted another, "what does this mean?"
The President smiled bitterly, and stood for a few moments gazing back
sadly at his questioners as the crowd began to sway to and fro, some of
those present beginning to make for the door, but in an undecided way,
and swaying back to press once more upon their leader, as if feeling
that he was their only hope.
He seemed to read this in their faces, and suddenly the blood began to
flush like a cloud across his pallid brow, nerving him as it were to
action.
Throwing his right hand across his breast he sought for the hilt of his
sword, which his left raised ready, and he snatched the blade from its
scabbard, whirled it on high, and then held it pointed towards the
nearest open window, through which a thin dank odoured cloud of smoke
was beginning to float, telling its own tale of what the explosion was.
For a few moments the President was silent, rigid and statuesque in his
attitude, while his eyes flashed defiance and determination.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "you ask me what this means," and he seemed to
flash his glance around the room to take in everybody before letting his
eyes rest at last upon the skipper. "It means that the scotched snake
has raised its poisoned head once more, how I know not, nor yet what
following he hab. But the enemy still lives, and we must fight again to
the very death if needs be."
A murmur of excitement ran through the _salle_, and once more the weak
amongst those assembled raised a murmur, and glances were directed
towards the door, as if the next moment panic was about to set in and a
rush was imminent. At that moment, as if in response to the President's
appealing look, the big bronzed skipper, Poole's father, British to the
backbone, took a step or two forward, and the President's face lit up
with a smile as he uttered a loud "Hah!" full of the satisfaction he
felt.
"Silence there," he shouted, directing his words at his wavering
followers, whose spirits seemed to have been completely dashed.
"Silence, and let our brave captain speak."
"I have only this to say," cried the skipper. "Be calm, gentlemen, be
calm. Are we who have carried all before us to be frightened by a
noise? It is an explosion. Whatever has happened you must be cool, and
act like the brave men you are. This is either some accident, or the
cunning enemy has sent in some emissary to lay a train. It is all plain
enough. Some of the powder collected in the magazine of the fort has
gone. There was a great flash, I saw it myself, and it evidently came
from there. Now, President, take the lead. Out with your swords,
gentlemen. I don't believe you will need them. Some pounds of
gunpowder have been destroyed. Had the enemy been there we should have
heard their burst of cheering, and the noise of their coming on, for
this place would have been the first they would have attacked."
The skipper's sensible words were greeted with a groan of despair, for
at that moment that of which he had spoken came floating in turn through
the open window.
"Ah," cried the President, catching at the skipper's arm and gripping it
fast as he pointed to the open window with his sword. "Brave words, my
friend, but you hear--you hear--" and another murmur of despair ran
through the crowd.
"Oh yes," said the skipper, "I can hear."
"The cries," said the President, "of the savage enemy."
"No," roared the skipper with a mocking laugh. "Your enemies, man,
can't cheer like that," and he rushed to the window. "There they go
again. Why, Don, that's not a Spanish but good old English shout. Yes,
there they go again. I don't know what it means, but I can hear, far
off as they are, those were the voices of some of my crew."
"What?" cried the President.
"Come here, all of you," cried the captain, "and look out. There's
nothing to fear. Follow my lead and give another cheer back. That
shouting came from the gunboat deck. Look, Don Ramon, you can see my
fellows waving their caps, and those two boys are busy on the bridge
doing something, I can't make out what. Yes, I can, they're bending on
a flag. There: up it goes. Why, gentlemen, we have been scaring
ourselves at a puff of powder smoke. Why, by all that's wonderful--" He
stopped short and held up his hand.
"Silence, please," he cried after a pause, and a dead stillness reigned
once more as every one who could get a glimpse of the gunboat strained
his neck to stare.
"I am stunned, confused," whispered the President. "What is it,
captain? For pity's sake speak."
"No, sir, I'll let your best friend do that."
"My best friend? You speak in riddles."
"Yes, wait a minute, and the answer, a big one, to this great riddle
will come," cried the captain. "Can't you see, man? the lads are busy
there getting ready for your friend to speak. Another moment or two and
you will hear what he says--that Don Ramon is President of this
Republic, and his seat in the chair is safe against any enemy that may
come. Ah, all together. Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!"
The skipper's cheer was loud, but it was stifled before it was
half-uttered, for once more that terrific roar arose, making the
Presidential building quiver and the glass in several of the windows
come tinkling down into the stone-paved court.
Most of those present had this time seen the flash--the roar had set the
ears of all ringing once again, as a great puff of smoke dashed out like
a ball and then rose slowly in the sunshine, forming itself into a great
grey ring, quivering as another burst of cheering arose from the
gunboat's deck.
For it was neither attack from the cunning enemy nor the catastrophe
caused by explosion, as the fresh burst of cheering from the gunboat
fully explained, for they were British cheers from the prize crew,
echoed by those on board the schooner.
There was nothing the matter, only a happy thought had occurred to the
middy, and he wondered that it had not come before, as he hurried to the
proper spot, made a little search, and found that he was right--that
there was a spare breech-block on board which enabled him and Poole,
after gaining access to the magazine, to thrust a blank cartridge into
the great gun and announce the fact in what was literally a _feu de
joie_.