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Fitz the Filibuster, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 52. Fitz's Conscience Pricks |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. FITZ'S CONSCIENCE PRICKS Daybreak brought a blank look of amazement into the lads' countenances. The soft, sweet, bracing air of morning floated from the glorious shore, all cliff and indentation looking of a pearly grey, almost the same tint as the surf that curled over upon the rocks distant about two miles. A mere glance was directed at the dangerous coast, for every eye was turned seaward, east, north, and south, in search of the gunboat; but she was not to be seen. "Surely she's not gone down!" cried Fitz. "Oh, hardly," said Poole; "but it's very puzzling. What do you make of it, Butters?" "Well, sir," said the boatswain, "I'm thinking that like enough she's got upon a rock and stuck fast, while the sharp current has carried us along miles and miles, and quite out of sight." "But they may have got the screw all right, and gone straight out to sea." "Nay, sir. Not in the dark. We got them fans too fast; and besides, I don't see no smoke on the sea-line. The steamer leaves a mark that you can see her by many miles away. No, sir, I think I'm right; it's us as has drifted." "Which way?" said Poole. "North or south?" "Can't say yet, sir. May be either. South," he added emphatically the next moment. "How do you know?" cried Fitz. The boatswain smiled. "By the colour of the sea, sir," replied the man, screwing up his eyes. "Look at the water. It isn't bright and clear. It's got the mark of the river in it. Not much, but just enough to show that the current hugs the shore, bringing the river water with it; and there it all is plain enough. Look at them little rocks just showing above the surface. You watch them a minute, and you'll see we are floating by southward, and we may think ourselves precious lucky that we haven't run upon any of them in the night and been capsized. You see, we have come by two headlands, and we have only got to row back to the north to come sooner or later in sight of landmarks that we know." "Then give way, my lads," said Fitz; "a fair long steady stroke, for the skipper must be getting terribly uncomfortable about us, Poole, eh?" "Yes. Pull your best, boys. What do you say, Fitz, to taking an oar each for a bit? I'm chilly, and a good way from being dry." "Good idea," said Fitz, changing places with one of the men. "You'll keep a sharp look-out, boatswain. The enemy may come into sight at any moment as we round these points, and even if she daren't come close in, she may send after us with her boats." "Trust me for that, sir," said the boatswain, and the oars began to dip, with the sun soon beginning to show tokens of its coming appearance, and sending hope and light into every breast. It was a glorious row, the chill of the night giving place to a pleasant glow which set the lads talking merrily, discussing the darkness through which they had passed, the events of the night, and their triumphant success. "If we could only see that gunboat ashore, Burnett!" cried Poole. "Ah," said Fitz, rather gravely; "if we only could!" And then he relapsed into silence, for thoughts began to come fast, and he found himself wondering what Commander Glossop would say if he could see him then and know all that he had done in the night attack. "I couldn't help it," the boy said to himself, as he pulled away. "I shouldn't wonder if he would have done precisely the same if he had been in my place. I feel a bit sorry now; but that's no good. What's done can't be undone, and I shan't bother about it any more." "Now, Mr Burnett, sir," said the boatswain, in a tone full of remonstrance, "don't keep that there oar all day. Seems to me quite time you took your trick at the wheel." "Yes," said the lad cheerily; "I am beginning to feel precious stiff," and he rose to exchange seats with the speaker, Poole rising directly afterwards for the carpenter to take his place. "I'd keep a sharp look-out for'ard along the coast, Mr Burnett, sir," said the boatswain, with a peculiar smile, as the lad lifted the lines. "Oh yes, of course," cried Fitz, gazing forward now, and then uttering an ejaculation: "Here, Poole! Look! Why didn't you speak before, Butters?" "Because I thought you'd like to see it fust, sir. Yes, there she lies, just beyond that headland." "At anchor?" cried Poole. "Can't say yet, sir, till we've cleared that point; but she's upon an even keel, and seems to be about her old distance from the shore. That must be the southernmost of them two great cliffs, and we are nearer the river than I thought." "Lay your backs into it, my lads," cried Poole. The gig travelled faster as the two strong men took the place of the tired lads; and as they rowed on it was plain to see that the gunboat was much farther from the point and shore than had been at first imagined. "It would be awkward," said Fitz, "if they sent out boats to try and take us, for they must see us by now." But the occupants of the gunboat made no sign, and when at last the _Teal's_ gig was rowed round the headland which formed the southern side of the entrance to the river, all on board could hardly realise how greatly they had been deceived by the clear morning light, for the gunboat was still some three or four miles away, and apparently fast upon one of the reefs of rocks, while from her lowered boats, crowded with men, it was evident that they were either busy over something astern, or preparing to leave. "They must be hard at work trying to clear the screw," cried Fitz excitedly. "Can't make out, for my part, sir," replied the boatswain, while Poole carefully kept silence; "but it looks as much like that as ever it can, and we have nothing to mind now, for we can get right in and up the river long before their boats could row to the mouth." Poole steered close in to the right bank of the river, so as to avoid the swift rush of the stream, this taking them close under the perpendicular cliff; and they had not gone far before there was a loud "Ahoy!" from high overhead. Looking up they made out the face of Burgess the mate projecting from the bushes as, high upon a shelf, he held on by a bough and leaned outwards so as to watch the motions of the boat. "Ahoy!" came from the men, in answer to his hail. "All right aboard?" shouted the mate. "Yes. All right!" roared the boatswain. "What are they doing out yonder to the Spaniel?" "Trying to get her off, I suppose. She went ashore in the night. I came up here with a glass to look out for you, and there she was, and hasn't moved since. What about that gun?" "Burnett has drawn its tooth," shouted Poole. "Father all right?" "No. Got the grumps about you. Thinks you are lost. You didn't foul the screw, did you?" "Yes," shouted Poole. "Then that's what they're about; trying to clear her again; and when they do they've got to get their vessel off the rocks. I'm going to stop and see; but you had better row up stream as hard as you can, so as to let the skipper see that you have not all gone to the bottom. He told me he was sure you had." The men's oars dipped again, and they rowed with all their might, passing the dinghy with the man in charge moored at the foot of the cliff, while soon after they had turned one of the bends and came in sight of the schooner a loud hail welcomed them from those who were on board. Then Poole stood up in the stern, after handing the rudder-lines to his companion, and began waving his hat to the skipper, who made a slight recognition and then stood watching them till they came within hail. "Well," he said, through his speaking-trumpet, "what luck?" "The gun's done for, father, and the gunboat's ashore," shouted Poole, through his hands. "Oh. I heard that the enemy had gone on the rocks. And what about the propeller?" "Oh, we fouled it, father," said Poole coolly. "That's right," said the skipper, in the most unconcerned way. "I thought you would. There, look sharp and come aboard. There's some breakfast ready, but I began to think you didn't mean to come. What made you so long?" He did not wait to hear the answer, but began giving orders for the lowering of another boat which he was about to send down to communicate with the mate. "I say," said Fitz, grinning, "your dad seems in a nice temper. He's quite rusty." "Yes," said Poole, returning the laugh. "I suppose it's because we stopped out all night. There, get out! He's as pleased as can be, only he won't make a fuss. It's his way." The day glided on till the sun was beginning to go down. Messages had passed to and fro from the watchers, who had kept an eye upon the gunboat, which was still fast. Fitz, after a hearty meal, being regularly fagged out, had had three or four hours' rest in his bunk, to get up none the worse for his night's adventure, when he joined Poole, who had just preceded him on deck. He came upon the skipper directly afterwards, who gave him a searching look and a short nod, and said abruptly-- "All right?" "Yes, quite right, thank you, sir." "Hah!" said the skipper, and walked on, taking no notice of Poole, who was coming up, and leaving the lads together. "I say," said Fitz sarcastically, "I can bear a good deal, but your father goes too far." "What do you mean?" asked Poole. "He makes such a dreadful fuss over one, just for doing a trifling thing like that. Almost too much to bear." "Well, he didn't make much fuss over me," said Poole, in rather an ill-used tone. "I felt as if we had done nothing, instead of disabling a man-of-war.--Hullo! what does this mean?" For just then the boat came swiftly round the bend, with the mate sitting in the stern-sheets, the dinghy towed by its painter behind. A shout from the man on the watch astern brought up the skipper and the rest of the crew, including those who had been making up for their last night's labours in their bunks, all expectant of some fresh news; and they were not disappointed, nearly every one hearing it as the boat came alongside and the mate spoke out to the captain on the deck. "Found a way right up to the top of the cliff," he said, "and from there I could regularly look down on the gunboat's deck." "Well?" said the skipper sharply. "No, ill--for them; she's completely fast ashore in the midst of a regular wilderness of rocks that hardly peep above the surface; and as far as I could make out with my spyglass, they are not likely to get off again. They seem to know it too, for when I began to come down they had got three boats manned on the other side, and I left them putting off as if they were coming up here." "Again?" said the skipper thoughtfully. "Yes; to take it out of us, I suppose, for what we've done. How would it be to turn the tables on them and make a counter attack?" "Granting that we should win," said the skipper, "it would mean half our men wounded; perhaps three or four dead. I can't afford that, Burgess." "No," said the mate abruptly. "Better stop here and give them what they seem to want. I think we can do that." "Yes," said the skipper. "All aboard; and look sharp, Burgess. Let's be as ready for them as we can. The fight will be more desperate this time, I'm afraid." "Not you," said the mate, with a chuckle, as he sprang on deck. "Well, my lads, you did wonders last night. How did you like your job?" "Not at all," cried Fitz, laughing. "It was too wet." The mate smiled, and the next minute he was hard at work helping the skipper to prepare to give the Spaniards a warm reception, taking it for granted that it would not be long before they arrived, burning for revenge. The preparations were much the same as were made before, but with this addition, that the carpenter, looking as fresh as if he had passed the night in his bunk, was hard at work with four men, lashing spare spars to the shrouds, so as to form a stout rail about eighteen inches above the bulwarks, to which the netting was firmly attached. There was no question this time about arming the crew with rifles, for every one felt that success on the part of Villarayo's men would mean no quarter. "Then you mean this to be a regular fight?" Fitz whispered to Poole, after watching what was going on for some time. "Why, of course! Why not?" "Oh, I don't like the idea of killing people," said Fitz, wrinkling up his forehead. "Well, I don't," said Poole, laughing. "I don't like killing anything. I should never have done for a butcher, but I would a great deal rather kill one of Villarayo's black-looking ruffians than let him kill me." "But do you think they really would massacre us?" said Fitz. "They can't help looking ruffianly." "No, but they have got a most horribly bad character. Father and I have heard of some very ugly things that they have done in some of their fights. They are supposed to be civilised, and I dare say the officers are all right; but if you let loose a lot of half-savage fellows armed with knives and get their blood up, I don't think you need expect much mercy. They needn't come and interfere with us unless they like, but if they come shouting and striking at us they must take the consequences." "Yes, I suppose so," said Fitz; "but it seems a pity." "Awful," replied Poole; "but there always has been war, and people take a deal of civilising before they give it up. And they don't seem to then," said the lad, with a dry smile. "No," said Fitz; and the little discussion came to an end. _ |
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