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Fitz the Filibuster, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 36. Real War |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. REAL WAR There was little sleep that night for those on board, for once his little cargo was discharged, the skipper had everything made snug and ready for putting to sea if necessary at a moment's notice. Most of the men had been busy over the landing of the cases and guns, and Fitz had thoroughly enjoyed the looking on, feeling a strange longing the while to go ashore and superintend the unpacking and putting together of the gun-limbers, and the mounting of the pieces. Not that there was a great deal to do, for, in obedience to instructions, the British manufacturers had sent the little field-guns with everything so simplified that the rough artillery-men from the Central American fort had few difficulties with which to contend. He saw little of Poole in the darkness, but knew that he was busy over something with a couple of men at his beck, while a third had had a duty of his own where a bright light had gleamed out and a little chimney had roared in a way which made Poole anxiously consult his father, who was superintending the landing of cases, when in their brief conversation something was said about sparks, and then a couple of tarpaulins were rigged up with lines, in a way which entirely cut off the galley from the rest of the deck. The result of all this was, that when the deck was clear and hatches replaced, the Camel stood smiling, with glistening face, for his work too was done, and the fresh provisions that had been abundantly brought on board by the women of the place were in a most welcome form for the half-starved, weary crew, and about midnight there was something as nearly like a banquet as could be expected under the circumstances, and to the delight of all. There had been no form; the only ceremony had been for officers and men to sit down sailor or tailor fashion, cross-legged upon the deck, and eat as much as such men would. "Hah!" said the boatswain, turning towards the two lads, after being very silent for quite half-an-hour. "I call this something like; but I do hope as the Camel's had time to pick a bit." So busy had the party on board been, that they had thought little about the proceedings on shore, the less so that the excitement and noise of shouting orders, trampling feet, and the buzz of chattering women and children had drifted farther and farther away to the opposite side of the town, where beyond the low houses and hovels of the poorer part of the population the long low valley commenced which rapidly became a pass, the key, so to speak, of the little city. Here Don Ramon had mustered his force, and here during the rest of the night his men worked by the light of the stars, making a wall of stones with openings for the field-pieces, and clearing the road behind between them and the earthwork nearer to the fort, to which in case of emergency they could be withdrawn ready for another stand. He was no novice in such matters, having passed his life as he had amidst a volcanic people where revolutions came and went as if indigenous to the countries bordering upon the Mexican Gulf. In his way he was no bad soldier, and in fact a better man than his rival the tyrant and oppressor, whom he had been urged by the superior part of his fellow-countrymen to supplant. Hence it was that before morning, and without interruption, he made the most of the rough but enthusiastic and willing materials to his hand, so that at last he could breathe more freely and accept the congratulations of his friends over the knowledge they shared that Villarayo would find when he came up that not only had he a formidable nut to crack, but the probability before him that the nutcrackers would give way first. All this was plain enough in the coming daylight, when the skipper and the two lads made their way ashore in one of the boats from the spot where the _Teal_ was moored, floating more lightly now, and almost as gracefully in the pearly grey light as the beautiful little waterfowl after which she was named. "Why, it looks almost like an anthill," said Fitz, as they approached the mouth of the pass, whose sides were dotted with men, most of whom were carrying rifles, while each displayed a formidable knife in his belt. "But there doesn't seem to be any sign of the enemy as yet." "No," said Poole; "but I say, father, do you think that they will be able to manage those guns?" "Yes," said the skipper gravely. "The men who had the gumption to plant them like that will be pretty sure to find out the way to use them with effect. Besides, they have had some experience, of course, with the old-fashioned pieces in the fort." "There go their colours up!" cried Fitz excitedly, as the national flag was run up to the head of the flagstaff that had been raised during the night. "I hope they'll win, Captain Reed, for the Don's been very plucky, and I suppose he is in the right." "If he hadn't been in the right I wouldn't have helped him as I have," said the skipper gruffly. "No," said Poole firmly, as if to endorse his father's words. "But don't you think, father, that if you brought all our chaps ashore to set these men by the guns at liberty and leave our lads to work them, they'd manage them much better--fire more regularly and twice as fast?" "Yes, that they would," cried Fitz excitedly. "There's hardly one of them who doesn't know his gun-drill." "How do you know that?" said the skipper grimly. "Oh, I asked them," replied the lad, flushing. "They all talk to me about their old life on board different Queen's ships. It was because I was a midshipman, I suppose. Why," he continued, growing more excited by what he saw, "our Chips--I mean, your Chips," he said, hastily correcting himself--"would make a splendid captain for one of the guns; Mr Butters another, of course; and the Camel, though he's cook now. Oh, I could man all those guns easily." "Like to do it, perhaps," said the skipper dryly, "and fancy that battery was the broadside of a ship?" "Yes, of course," said the lad; "I mean--" he stammered--"that is--Oh, it's nothing to do with me." "No," said the skipper quietly, as he stood looking critically at the preparations Don Ramon had made, while the scene around seemed to have had the same peculiar exciting effect upon his son as it had upon the midshipman, for Poole said suddenly-- "Why, father, if you were to do that it would make all the difference, and be like turning the scale to Don Ramon's side." "Yes, my boy," said the skipper, "and here he is;" for the Don suddenly appeared, mounted upon a sturdy mule, cantering towards them, with his steed making very light of the rugged stony ground, and stopping short close up to the group in response to a touch upon its rein, when its rider sprang lightly to the ground, looking as wiry and fresh as the beast he rode, in spite of the labours of the night. "Ah, my friend! Welcome!" he cried. "And you too, my braves. Now," he added joyously, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "have not my brave fellows worked? Are we not ready for the enemy when he comes? What have you to say? There are the guns! Tell me, are they well-placed? You who have brought them know so much. If they are not right, tell me what to do, and it shall be done." "I would not alter anything now," said the skipper gravely. "Why not, if they, are wrong? There is time, and plenty, for my scouts are far enough away, and the enemy is not in sight." The skipper was silent, but his eyes were not idle, and he seemed to be examining every disposition closely. "He does not speak," continued Don Ramon. "Then you, my young English officer; you come from a ship with guns, what have you to say?" "I was wondering," said Fitz, flushing, "not about the guns, for they seem well-placed, but whether the enemy could come down that little valley up yonder or get round by the rear." "No, no, no," cried the Don exultantly. "Velova can only be reached by this pass, which my guns command. There is no other way--by land--but there is the sea." "And the gunboat?" said Fitz. "Ah-h, yes, the gunboat!" cried the Don, with his face convulsed, as he clenched his hands. "The gunboat--yes. It is the key to the Presidency." "No," said the skipper suddenly, "I would change nothing, Don Ramon. As far as I know, your position is magnificent." "Hah!" cried the Don, with his face smoothing once more, and his eyes lighting up with pleasure. "But you think my grand, my beautiful and perfect little guns that you have brought me are well-placed?" "Capitally," said the skipper sincerely. "But they are not perfect," said the Don, with a peculiar smile, as he keenly watched the skipper the while. "There is one thing wanting." "Surely not," cried the skipper angrily. "I saw them packed myself, and I can answer for it that nothing was left out, unless it was in the hurry of the unpacking last night. Quick, while there is time! What has been left behind? Do you mean there is something still on board?" "Yes, my good friend," said the Don softly; "the crew. Captain Reed," he continued excitedly, "with your brave fellows to man that battery the day must be my own. Villarayo's sun would set in blood and dust; my poor oppressed country would rise in pride to happiness and peace; and I should be President indeed--my people's father--he who has saved them from slavery and chains." The skipper shook his head. "No, no," continued the Don softly. "Listen. This country is rich in mines; there are precious stones; there is no reward you could ask me afterwards that I would not give. I care for nothing of these things, for I am fighting for my country and my people's homes. Captain Reed, you have always been my friend, my trusted friend, who brought me all these in answer to my prayer. There is this one thing more. I ask it of my trusted friend." Poole glanced at his father's stern face, which seemed to turn colder and harder than he had ever seen it before, and then turned quickly to look at Fitz, who was watching him with questioning eyes which seemed to say, What will he reply? But reply there was none, apparently for minutes, though the space of time that elapsed could have been numbered in moments, before he spoke, and then it was in a low, softened and pained voice. "No, Don Ramon," he said. "You ask me for what I cannot give." "Give!" cried the Don passionately. "I offer to pay you!" "Yes, sir," said the captain, without changing his tone, "and that makes it worse. I tell you my heart is with you in your project, and that I wish you success, but I am answerable to those men, their friends, and I suppose to my country's laws for their lives. I have no right to enter into such an enterprise as this." "Why?" cried the Don passionately. "You fought with me before!" "Yes--to save their lives and yours. It was in an emergency. This is a different thing. I cannot do it." "Then you forsake me?" cried the Don angrily. "That is neither true nor fair," replied the skipper sternly. "I have helped you truly and well, and run great risks in bringing you those munitions of war. With that you must be content. As for forsaking you, you know in your heart, through my help and the counsel you have received from my young companion here, you never stood in a better position for dealing a death-blow at your rival's position. Is that the truth, or is it not?" "Ah!" cried the Don passionately, evading the question. "When your help means so much you give me empty words." "That is no answer, sir," replied the skipper. "Is what I have said the truth, or is it not?" Don Ramon turned upon him furiously, his eyes flashing and his hands clenched; but as he met the Englishman's stern questioning eyes he stopped short, fixed by them, as it were, and then tossing his open hands in the air with a gesture which seemed to say, There, I surrender! his angry countenance softened, and he supported himself by taking hold of the pommel of his saddle. "Yes," he said wearily, "of course it is the truth. You always were the man in whom I could trust, and I suppose you are right. Forgive me for being so exacting. But, captain, I have so much at stake." "Then trust to the strength of your cause, your position, and the bravery of your people. But I am not going to forsake you, Ramon," continued the skipper, in a graver and softer tone, "and I will tell you this; if the day goes against you, the schooner will be lying a few hundred yards from shore with her boats ready to take off you and as many of your friends as you wish to bring. I will do that at any risk, but I can do no more." Don Ramon was silent for a few moments, before repeating the captain's last words slowly. Then, after a pause-- "It may be different," he said, "but if matters are as bad as that, it will be because I have fired my last shot, and Villarayo has found that another lover of his country is in his way no more. No, Captain Reed, I shall not have to put your hospitality to the test. I could not escape, and leave those who have been fighting for me to the death. There," he added quickly, completely changing his tone, "I do not mean to die; I mean to win. Forgive me once again. You will after your fashion shake hands?" "With all my heart," cried the skipper, stretching out both his, which were eagerly caught and raised quickly to the Spaniard's lips. "Thank you," he cried, "I am a man once more. Just now I talked like a disappointed woman who could not have her way.--What does that mean?" he said sharply as there was a shout from the distance. "People coming down the pass," cried Fitz excitedly, and there was the report of a rifle which ran reverberating with many echoes along the rocks. Before the sounds had ceased Don Ramon had sprung upon his mule, to turn smiling with a comprehensive wave of his hand to the trio, and then cantered off amongst the rugged stones, while they watched him till he reached the battery of field-pieces and sprang off to throw the rein to one of his men. "That shot was the opening of the ball," said the skipper. "Now, my lads, back aboard the schooner, to make our arrangements, Poole, for keeping my word with the Don if he and his people have to run." "No!" burst out both the boys in a breath. "No?" cried the skipper good-humouredly. "What do you mean? This isn't going to be a show. You don't want to stop and see the fight?" "Not want to stop and see it?" cried Fitz excitedly. "Well, I am not fond of fighting, father," said Poole, "but I do. I want to see Don Ramon win." "Humph!" grunted the skipper. "Well, you must be disappointed. As for you, Mr Burnett, the sooner you are out of reach of bullets the better." "Well," cried Fitz, "I like that--coming from the skipper of a trading schooner! Do you know what I am?" "Of course," was the answer, with a smile. "It doesn't seem like it," cried Fitz. "I know I am almost a boy still--Don't laugh, Poole!" he added sharply, with a stamp of the foot--"Well, quite a boy; but young as I am, I am a naval officer, and I was never taught that it was my duty to run away if ever I came under fire." "It's the safest way," said the skipper mockingly. "'He who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day.' That's it, isn't it?" "I suppose so," said Fitz, getting on his stilts--"to be laughed at for a coward as long as he lives. Look here, Captain Reed, I am your prisoner, but you are not my captain, and I mean to stop and see this fight. Why, I must. I shall have to tell. Captain Glossop all about this some day, and I should look well if I owned that I had run away.-- But you don't mean it, sir. It's all nonsense to talk of being in danger up here, all this distance off. Yes, he is joking, isn't he, Poole?" "Well, there's not much joke about it, my lad," said the skipper gravely. "I must own that I don't want to go away myself. Seems to me that what we ought to do is to hurry back to where the women are, get a good supply of linen and bandages from them, and muster some bearers for--Yes, the firing is going on, and I don't suppose that it will be long before some poor fellows will be falling out and crawling back to the rear." "Yes," said Fitz eagerly; "I never thought of that. Come on, then, and let's make haste so as to get back in time." The skipper nodded, and they hurried away, but had very little distance to go, for the sound of the firing was bringing the curious from out of the town, and it was not long before they had been furnished with the material for binding up wounds, and better still, with a doctor, who joined hands with them at once in making the rough ambulance arrangements. Within half-an-hour they were back at the spot where the interview with Don Ramon had taken place, to find that which their ears had prepared them for, the rattle of musketry going steadily on as the enemy advanced, while they were just in time for the sharp dull thud and echoing roar of the first field-piece, whose shell was seen to burst and send up its puff of smoke far along the rugged valley. This checked the advance for some minutes, scattering the enemy in all directions, but it was plain to the lookers-on from their post of observation, that they were being rallied, and the speaking out of the second gun from the battery plainly told that this was the case. What followed in the next two hours was a scene of confusion and excitement far up the valley, and of quiet steady firing from the battery, whose shells left little for Don Ramon's advance posts to do. They lay low in their shelters, and built up rifle-screens, hastily made, firing as they had a chance, but their work only helped to keep the enemy back. It was to the guns that Don Ramon owed his success. There was no lack of bravery on the part of the enemy's officers, for they exposed themselves recklessly, rallying their men again and again, and gradually getting them nearer and nearer to those who served the guns. But the rifle-firing was wild, and not a man among the gunners went down, or was startled from his task of loading and laying the sheltered pieces. All the same the enemy advanced, the rugged pass affording them plenty of places that they could hold, and at the end of three hours they had made such progress that matters were beginning to look serious for the defenders of Velova, and the time had come when it was evident to the watchers that Don Ramon was making ready to retire his guns to his next defence, for the teams of mules were hurried up and placed in a hollow beyond the reach of the enemy's rifles; and now too it was seen plainly enough that Villarayo or his captains were preparing for a rush to capture the guns, and in the excitement the skipper forgot about all risks to him and his, and proposed that they should hurry to a spot higher up one side of the pass and fifty yards nearer to the battery. This proved to be an admirable point of vantage, and enlightened the lookers-on to far more than they had been before, for they were startled to see how much greater was the number of the attacking force than they had believed. The enemy were in two bodies, gathered-together and lying down on the opposite sides of the pass, and the lads had hardly raised their heads above the shelter of some stones when they saw that the order had been given for the advance, and the men were springing to their feet. "I must go and warn him," cried the skipper, beneath his breath, "or he will lose his guns; and then--" He said no more, but stood spellbound like his young companions at what was taking place, for Don Ramon was better supplied with information than he had believed, and as the attacking forces of the enemy sprang up, he found that the direction of the battery's fire had been altered to left and right, and the attacking forces had barely commenced their crowded charge when the six pieces burst forth almost together with such a hurricane of grape that a way was torn through each rough column and the fight was over, the smoke from the discharge as it rose showing the enemy scattered and in full flight, the steep sides of the little valley littered with the wounded, and more and more faltering behind and dropping as their comrades fled. "_Viva_!" shouted the skipper, with all his might; but it was a feeble sound as compared with the roar of voices which rose from the battery and beyond, while it only needed the rifle-shots of those lying in the shelters higher up the pass, and a shell dropped here and there till the full range of the field-pieces had been reached, to complete Villarayo's discomfiture for that day at least. "Now," said the skipper quietly, "we must leave the succour of the wounded to Ramon's own people. I am sick of all this. Let's get back on board the schooner." It was about an hour afterwards that Poole went to his father on the deck of the _Teal_. "Oughtn't we to have stopped a little longer," he said, "and tried to be of some help?" "I should have liked to, my boy," said the skipper sadly, "but I didn't want you and young Burnett to see what was bound to follow. The rougher portion of Don Ramon's followers have not the same ideas of mercy to a fallen enemy that belong to a European mind, and so I came away." _ |
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