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Fitz the Filibuster, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 45. Too Good To Be True |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE 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." _ |
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