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Fitz the Filibuster, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 47. 'Cause Why |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. 'CAUSE WHY "Now we know," said Poole joyously, as they left the cabin and went forward to their old place to discuss their plans: "what we have got to do is to cut and run. Come on; let's go and sit on the bowsprit again. It will soon be dinner-time. I wonder what the Camel has got?" "Oh, don't talk about eating now," cried Fitz, as they reached the big spar, upon which he scrambled out, to sit swinging his legs, and closely followed by Poole. "What's the first thing?" "Who's to man the gig," said Poole; "and I've got to pick the crew." "I should like to pick one," cried Fitz. "All right, go on; only don't choose the Camel, nor Bob Jackson." "No, no; neither of them," cried Fitz. "I say, we ought to have old Butters." "One," said Poole sharply. "Now it's my turn; Chips." "Yes, I should like to have him," cried the middy. "But I don't know," he continued seriously. "He's a splendid fellow, and so handy; but he might want to turn it all into a lark." "Not he," cried Poole. "He likes his bit of fun sometimes, but for a good man and true to have at my back in a job like this, he's the pick of the whole crew." "Chips it is, then," said Fitz. "That's two." "Dick Boulter, then." "Three!" cried Fitz. "Harry Smith." "Four," said Fitz. "Four, four, four, four," said Poole thoughtfully. "Who shall we have for number five? Here, we'll have the Camel, after all." "Oh," cried Fitz; "there'll be nothing to cook." "Yes, there will; the big gun and the propeller. He's cook, of course, but he's nearly as good a seaman as there is on board the schooner, and he'll row all right and never utter a word. There, we've got a splendid boat's crew, and I vote we go and tell father what we've done." "I wouldn't," said Fitz. "It'll make him think that we hadn't confidence in ourselves. Unless he asks us, I wouldn't say a word." "You are right," said Poole; "right as right. Now then, what's next? I know: we'll go and make the lads get up the Manilla rope and lay it down again in rings as close as they'll go." "On the deck here?" said Fitz. "No, no; right along the bottom of the gig. And we must have her lowered down first with two men in her, ready to coil the cable as the others pass it down. Now then, let's get inboard again and find old Butters." "But he'll be wanting to know what we want with that rope." "Sure to," said Poole; "but he'll have to wait. Oh, here he comes. Here, bosun!" he cried. "I want you to get up that new Manilla cable, lower down the gig, and coil it in the bottom so that it will take up as little room as possible, and not be in the men's way." "What men's way?" said the boatswain. "Chips, Harry Smith, the Camel, and Dick Boulter," said Poole. "Ho!" grunted the boatswain, and he took off his cap and began to scratch his head, staring at both in turn. "Whose orders?" he grunted, at last. "I just seen Mr Burgess, and he never said a word." "The skipper's orders," cried Poole. "Ho!" said the boatswain again. "Well, that's good enough for me," and he stood staring at them. "Well, get the men together and see about the rope," cried Poole. "What's your game? Going to take the end out to a steam-tug, or is the gunboat going to tow us out to sea?" "Don't ask questions, please. It's private business of the skipper's, under the orders of Mr Burnett and me." "Ho! All right, my lad; only oughtn't I to know what we are going to do? You are going off somewhere in the boat, eh?" "Yes, that's right." "And I'm not to come?" "Oh, but you are," cried Poole, "and I've told you the men I've picked for the job. Don't you think it's a good crew?" "Middling," said the boatswain grudgingly. "Might be better; might be wuss. But look here, young fellow; I don't like working in the dark." "I am sorry for you," said Fitz, "for this will be an all-night job." "Then I'd better take my nightcap," said the boatswain quietly. "But what's up? Are you going to make fast to the gunboat and tow her in?" "You know we are not," replied Poole. "Well, I did think it was rather an unpossible sort of job. But hadn't you better be open and above-board with a man, and say what it all means?" "It means that you and the other men are under the orders of Mr Burnett and me, and that we look to you to do your best over what's going to be a particular venture. You'll know soon enough. Till then, please wait." "All right," said the boatswain. "I'm your man. For the skipper wouldn't have given you these orders if it wasn't square;" saying which the man walked off to rouse up the little crew, all but the Camel, whom he left to his regular work in the galley. "We shan't want him yet," said Butters, as the boys followed him. "Had he better get us some rations to take with us?" "Oh no," said Poole. "We oughtn't to be away more than three or four hours if we are lucky." "Why, this 'ere gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser," grumbled the boatswain. "But I suppose it's going to be all right," and he proceeded to give his orders to the men. "Now we shall begin to have them full of questions," said Poole. "I begin to wish we were making it all open and above-aboard." "I don't," said Fitz; "I like it as it is. If we told everybody it would spoil half the fun." "Fun!" cried Poole, screwing up his face into a quaint smile. "Fun, do you call it? Do you know that this is going to be a very risky job?" "Well, I suppose there'll be some risk in it," replied the middy; "but it will be all in the dark, and we ought to get it done without a shot being fired. I say, though, I have been thinking that you and I must keep together, for I am afraid to trust myself over getting out that block. I should have liked to have done that first, but the splash it would make is bound to give the alarm, and there would be no chance afterwards to get that cable fast, without you let old Butters and the men do that while we were busy with the gun." "No," said Poole decisively; "everything depends upon our doing these things ourselves. The cable can be made fast without a sound, and as soon as it is passed over the side of the boat, the men must lay the gig alongside the bows for us to swarm up, do our part, and then get to them the best way we can. I expect it will mean a jump overboard and a swim till they pick us up." "Yes," said Fitz; "that's right. Ah, there comes the end of the cable. It's nice and soft to handle." "Yes," said Poole, "and needn't make any noise." The lads sauntered up to where the men were at work, three of them lowering down the gig, while the carpenter and boatswain were bringing up the cable out of the tier, the former on deck, the boatswain down below. "So you're going to have a night's fishing, my lad?" said the carpenter. "Well, you'll find this 'ere a splendid line. But what about a hook?" "Oh, we shan't want that yet, Chips," said Poole coolly. "Nay, I know that, my lad; but you've got to think about it all the same, and you'll want a pretty tidy one for a line like this. I didn't know the fish run so big along this coast. Any one would think you'd got whales in your heads. I never 'eard, though, as there was any harpoons on board." "Oh no, we are not going whale-fishing," said Poole quietly. "What's it to be then, sir? Bottom fishing or top?" "Top," said Poole. "Then you'll be wanting me to make you a float. What's it to be? One of them big water-barrels with the topsail-yard run through? And you'll want a sinker. And what about a bait?" "We haven't thought about that yet, Chips." "Ah, you aren't like what I was when I was a boy, Mr Poole, sir. I used to think about it the whole day before, and go to the butcher's for my maggits, and down the garden for my wums. Of course I never fished in a big way like this 'ere; but I am thinking about a bait. I should like you to have good sport. Means hard work for the Camel to-morrow, I suppose." "And to-night too, Chips, I hope," said Poole. "That's right, sir," said the man cheerily, as he hauled upon the cable. "But what about that bait? I know what would be the right thing; perhaps the skipper mightn't approve, and not being used to it Mr Burnett here mightn't like to use such a bait." "Oh, I don't suppose I should mind, Chips," said Fitz, laughing. "What should you recommend?" "Well, sir, I should say, have the dinghy and go up the river a mile or two till we could land and catch a nice lively little nigger--one of them very shiny ones. That would be the sort." The two lads forgot the seriousness of the mission they had in view, exchanged glances, and began to laugh, with the result that the man turned upon them quite an injured look. "Oh, it's quite right, gentlemen; fishes have their fancies and likings for a tasty bit, same as crocodiles has. I arn't sailed all round the world without picking up a few odds and ends to pack up in my knowledge-box. Why, look at sharks. They don't care for nigger; it's too plentiful. But let them catch sight of a leg or a wing of a nice smart white sailor, they're after it directly. Them crocs too! Only think of a big ugly lizardy-looking creetur boxed up in a skin half rhinoceros, half cow-horn--just fancy him having his fads and fancies! Do you know what the crocodile as lives in the river Nile thinks is the choicest tit-bit he can get hold of?" "Not I," said Poole. "Giraffe perhaps." "No, sir; what he says is dog, and if he only hears a dog running along the bank yelping and snapping and chy-iking, he's after him directly, finishes him up, and then goes and lies down in the hot sun with his mouth wide open, and goes to sleep. Ah, you may laugh, sir; but I've been up there in one of them barges as they calls darbyers, though how they got hold of such an Irish name as that I don't know. It was along with a orficer as went up there shooting crocs and pottomhouses. Oh, I've seen the crocs there often--lots of them. Do you know what they opens their mouths for when they goes to sleep, Mr Burnett, sir?" "To yawn, I suppose," said Fitz. "Haul away there, my lad! Look alive!" came in a deep growl from below; and Chips winked and made the great muscles stand out in his brown arms as he hauled, but kept on talking all the same. "Yawn, sir! Nay, that isn't it. It's a curiosity in nat'ral history, and this 'ere's fact. You young gents may believe it or not, just as you like." "Thank you," said Fitz dryly; "I'll take my choice." "Ah, I expect you won't believe it, sir. But this 'ere's what it's for. He leaves his front-door wide open like that, and there's a little bird with a long beak as has been waiting comes along, hippity-hop, and settles on the top of Mr Croc's head, and looks at first one eye and then at the other to see if he's really asleep, and that there is no gammon. He aren't a-going to run no risks, knowing as he does that a croc's about one of the artfullest beggars as ever lived. I suppose that's why they calls 'em amphibious. Oh, they're rum 'uns, they are! They can sham being dead, and make theirselves look like logs of wood with the rough bark on, and play at being in great trouble and cry, so as to get people to come nigh them to help, and then snip, snap, they has 'em by the leg, takes them under water to drown, and then goes and puts 'em away in the cupboard under the bank." "What for?" said Poole. "What for, sir? Why, to keep till they gets tender. Them there Errubs of the desert gets so sun-tanned that they are as tough as string; so hard, you know, that they wouldn't even agree with a croc. Yo-hoy! Haul oh, and here she comes!" added the man, in a low musical bass voice to himself, as he kept on dragging at the soft Manilla rope. "I say, Burnett," said Poole seriously, "don't you think we'd better get pencil and paper and put all this down--Natural History Notes by Peter Winks, Head Carpenter of the Schooner _Teal_?" "Nay, nay, sir, don't you do that. Stick to fact. That's what I don't like in people as writes books about travel. They do paint it up so, and lay it on so thick that the stuff cracks, comes off, and don't look nat'ral." "Then you wouldn't put down about that little bird that comes hippity-hop and looks at the crocodile's eyes?" "What, sir! Why, that's the best part of it. That's the crumb of the whole business." "Oh, I see," said Fitz. "Then that's a fact?" "To be sure, sir. He's larnt it from old experience. I dare say he's seen lots go down through the croc turning them big jaws of his into a bird-trap and shutting them up sudden, when of course there aren't no more bird. But that's been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, and the birds know better now, and wait till it's quite safe before they begin." "Begin what?" said Fitz sharply. "Well, sir," said the carpenter, as he hauled away, "that's what I want to tell you, only you keep on interrupting me so." Fitz closed his teeth with a snap. "Go on, Chips," he said. "I'll be mute as a fish." "Well, sir, as I said afore, you young gents can believe it or you can let it alone: that there little bird, or them little birds, for there's thousands of them, just the same as there is crocodiles, and they are all friendly together, I suppose because crocs is like birds in one thing--they makes nests and lays eggs, and the birds, as I'm telling of you, does this as reg'lar as clockwork. When the croc's had his dinner and gone to sleep with his front-door wide open, the little chap comes hopping and peeping along close round the edge, and then gets his own living by picking the crocodile's teeth." "Ha-ha!" laughed Fitz. "'Pon my word, Poole, I should like to put this down." "Oh, it don't want no putting down, sir; it's a fact; a cracker turns mouldy and drops off." "Well, won't this go bad?" cried Fitz, laughing. "Not it, sir. You don't believe it, I see, but it's all natur'. It's a-using up of the good food as the croc don't want, and which would all be wasted, for he ain't a clean-feeding sort of beast. He takes his food in chops and chunks, and swallows it indecent-like all in lumps. A croc ain't like a cow as sits down with her eyes half shut and chews and chews away, sentimental-like, turning herself into a dairy and making a good supply of beautiful milk such as we poor sailors never hardly gets a taste on in our tea. A croc is as bad as a shark, a nasty sort of feeder, and if I was you young gents I'd have a study when I got ashore again, and look in some of your big books, and you'd find what I says is all there." "Did you find what you've been telling us all there?" said Poole. "Nay, my lad; I heard best part of it from my officer that I used to go with. Restless sort of chap he was--plenty of money, and he liked spending it in what he called exhibitions--No, that aren't right-- expeditions--that's it; and he used to take me. What he wanted to find was what he called the Nile Sauce; but he never found it, and we never wanted it. My word, the annymiles as he used to shoot when we was hungry, and that was always. My word, the fires I used to make, and the way I used to cook! Why, I could have given the Camel fifty out of a hundred and beat him. We didn't want any sauce. Did either of you gents ever taste heland steak? No, I suppose not. Fresh cut, frizzled brown, sprinkled with salt, made hotter with a dash of pepper, and then talk about juice and gravy! Lovely! Wish we'd got some now. Why, in some of our journeys up there in what you may call the land of nowhere and nobody, we was weeks sometimes without seeing a soul, only annymiles--ah, and miles and miles of them. I never see such droves and never shall again. They tell me that no end of them has got shot.-- Beautiful creatures they were too! Such coats; and such long thin legs and arms, and the way they'd go over the sandy ground was wonderful. They never seemed to get tired. I've seen a drove of them go along like a hurricane, and when they have pulled up short to stare at us, and you'd think that they hadn't got a bit of breath left in their bodies, they set-to larking, hip, snip, jumping over one another's backs like a lot of school-boys at leap-frog, only ten times as high." "Did you ever see any lions?" said Fitz, growing more serious as he began to realise that there was very little fiction and a great deal of fact in the sailor's yarn. "Lots, sir. There have been times when you could hear them roaring all round our camp. Here, I want to speak the truth. My governor used to call it camp, but it was only a wagging, and we used to sleep on the sand among the wheels. Why, I've lain there with my hand making my gun rusty, it got so hot and wet with listening to them pretty pussy-cats come creeping round us, and one of them every now and then putting up his head and roaring till you could almost feel the ground shake. Ah, you may chuckle, Mr Poole, but that's a fact too; I've felt it, and I know. And do you know why they roared?" "Because they were hungry?" "Partly, sir; but most of it's artfulness. It's because they know that it will make the bullocks break away--stampede, as they calls it--and rush off from where there's people to take care of them with rifles, and then they can pick off just what they like. But they don't care much about big bullock. They've got tasty ideas of their own, same as crocs have. What they likes is horse, and the horses knows it too, poor beggars! It's been hard work to hold them sometimes--my governor's horse, you know, as he hunted on; and I've heard them sigh and groan as if with satisfaction when the governor's fired with his big double breech-loader and sent the lions off with their tails trailing behind and leaving a channel among their footprints in the sand. I've seen it, Mr Burnett, next morning, and I know." "All right, Chips," cried Poole. "We won't laugh at you and your yarns. But now look here; there must be no more chaff. This is serious work." "All right, sir," said the man good-humouredly, as he wiped his dripping face. "No one can't say as I aren't working--not even old Butters." "No, no," said Poole hastily. "You are working well." "And no one can't say, sir, as I've got my grumbling stop out, which I do have sometimes," he added, with a broad grin, "and lets go a bit." "You do, Chips; but I want you to understand that this is a very serious bit of business we are on." "O!" A very large, round, thoughtful _O_, and the man hauled steadily away, nodding his head the while. "Serous, eh? Then you aren't going fishing?" "Fishing, no!" "Then it's something to do with the gunboat?" "Don't ask questions," cried Poole. "Be satisfied that we are going on a very serious expedition, and we want you to help us all you can." "Of course, my lads. Shall I want my tools?" "No." The man was silent for a few moments, looking keenly from one to the other, and then at the rope, before giving his leg a sharp slap, and whispering with his face full of animation-- "Why, you're going to steal aboard the gunboat in the dark, and make fast one end of this 'ere rope to that there big pocket-pistol, so as we can haul her overboard. But no, lads, it can't be done. But even if it could it would only stick fast among them coral rocks that lie off yonder." "And what would that matter, so long as we got it overboard?" "Ah, I never thought of that. But no, my lad; you may give that up. It couldn't be done." "Well, it isn't going to be done," said Fitz sharply; "and now let's have no more talk. But mind this--Mr Poole and I don't want you to say anything to the other men. It's a serious business, and we want you to wait." "That's right, sir. I'll wait and help you all I can; and I'll make half-a-davy, as the lawyers calls it, that I won't tell the other lads anything. 'Cause why--I don't know." _ |
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