"No, no," cried the Don enthusiastically. "You English are too clever and too brave. The captain of that gunboat is a fool. You could easily have done this thing. But you have the guns you brought all safe aboard?"

"Yes."

"And you have some of your brave men with you?"

"Yes; more than half my crew."

"Then I am saved, for you will fight upon my side, and every one of your brave Englishmen is worth a hundred of the miserable three parts Indian rabble bravos and cut-throats who follow Villarayo's flag."

"Well, I didn't come here to fight, Don Ramon, and I have no right to strengthen your force," said the skipper sternly. "My duty is to land the munitions of war consigned to you; and that duty I shall do."

"But your men! They are armed?"

"Oh yes. Every one has his rifle and revolver, and knows how to use them."

"And suppose you are attacked?" said the Don, catching him by the arm.

"Well," said the skipper dryly, "we English have a habit of hitting back if we are tackled, and if anybody interferes with us in what we have to do, I dare say we shall give a pretty good account of ourselves. But at the present moment it seems to me that it's my duty to get back to my ship and wait until you show me where I can land my cargo."

"Ah!" said the Don, and as he spoke Fitz had his first announcement that day was near at hand, for he began to dimly see the eager, animated countenance of the Spaniard, and to make out the figures of his well-armed followers cl.u.s.tering round.

"Well, sir, what is to be done?"

"One moment; let me think. It will be safest, perhaps, for you to return to the ship and wait."

"Where?" said the skipper. "That gunboat is hanging about the coast, waiting to capture us if she can."

"Yes, I know; I know. And ash.o.r.e Villarayo's men are swarming. They have hunted us through the pa.s.s all night, and hundreds of them are coming along the coast to cut us off from reaching boats and escaping out to sea."

"Then it's time we were off," said the skipper sharply.

"Too late," replied the Don.

"But my schooner?"

"Will they capture that?" cried the Don.

"Well no," replied the skipper. "There's not much fear, sir; my mate will look out too sharply. No. That will be safe. Don Ramon, if you will take my advice, you and your party had better break up and take to flight for the present, while I will make for any port you like to name and wait your orders, ready for when you can gather your friends together and make another attempt."

"Ah, yes, Captain Reed, you mean well; but where shall I flee? This is my last place of refuge! Here, at my own home! It is best perhaps that you and your men should get back to your ship. I and my friends are pretty well surrounded, and have but two ways open to us. The one is to surrender to Villarayo's merciless cut-throats and die like dogs; the other, to stand at bay behind the walls of my poor home, fight to the last, and die for our wretched country like soldiers and like men.

Shake hands, captain, in your brave English way. I and my friends thank you for all you have done, and for making, as you say you have, a little stronghold where we can hold on to the last. It is not your fault, neither is it mine. I could have won the day, and brought happiness and peace to my poor land; but it was not to be. Villarayo has been too strong. That war-vessel with its mighty gun holds us at its mercy.

Whoever has that to back him up can rule this place; for any fort that we could raise, even with the guns you have brought, would be crumbled into the dust. There! Farewell! You have your boat. Save yourself and your true, brave men. Quickly, while there is time!"

"Yes, Don Ramon; that must be so," said the skipper, and Fitz Burnett's cheeks began to burn, heated with the spirit within him, as he listened to the speaker's words, almost in disgust, for in his excitement it seemed as cowardly as cruel to leave these brave Spaniards to such a fate.

But then came the change, and his heart gave a leap, and his eyes flashed with pride. He thought no more of his own position in the Royal Navy than he did of the complications that had placed him where he was.

The British fighting spirit that has made our nation what it is was strong within him, and his fingers tingled to clasp the skipper's hand, and failing that, he tightly gripped Poole's arm, as the lad's father said--

"No, Don Ramon, I can't leave you in the lurch like this. You and your fellows must come with me."

"No," said the Don proudly; "my place is here," and he drew himself up, looking every inch in the broadening light the soldier and the man.

What more the skipper would have spoken remained unsaid, for _crack, crack, crack_! sounding smothered amongst the trees, came the reports of the rifles and the replies made by Don Ramon's vedettes as they were driven in, and the skipper's eyes flashed as he placed a little whistle to his lips and blew shrilly, bringing his own men together at the run.

Then taking in the position in one quick glance, he could see a puff of smoke arising from the direction of the river and the boat, telling only too plainly that even had he wished to escape with his men, the way to safety was cut off.

But in those moments no such idea entered his head, any more than it did that of Fitz or Poole. The way was open to the hacienda, and joining hands with the Spanish Don, he began to retire towards the defence he had prepared, and in a very few minutes the house had been reached, and the breastworks manned by the mingled force, consisting of Don Ramon's followers and the schooner's crew, whose shots began to tell in such a way that the enemy's advance was checked, and the bright sun rose above the distant jungle, lighting up the enemy at bay.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE NON-COMBATANT.

"Here, you, Mr Burnett, you are a non-combatant," said the skipper, suddenly coming upon Fitz, after going round the walls of the hacienda with Don Ramon, and seeing that they were manned to the best advantage.

"Oh, yes, sir, I don't want to fight," replied the boy carelessly, and wincing rather with annoyance as he saw the Spaniard give him a peculiar look.

"But you look as if you do, fingering that double-barrelled gun."

"Do you wish me to give it up, sir?"

"No, certainly not. Keep it for your defence. You don't know how you will be situated, and it may keep one of the enemy from attacking you.

The sight of it will be enough. You, Poole, keep well in shelter. I don't want you to be running risks."

"I shan't run risks, father, unless you do," replied Poole. "I shall keep close beside you all the time."

"No," said the skipper sharply, "you will stop with Mr Burnett. I leave him in your charge, and--Here! Who's that? Winks, you stop with my son and Mr Burnett there. Be ready to help them if they are in trouble."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the carpenter, and he drew himself up with his rifle-b.u.t.t resting on his bare toes.

"There, Fitz," said Poole, grinning with delight; "you can't go back to your old tea-kettle of a gunboat and say that we didn't take care of you."

"Such nonsense!" cried Fitz, flushing. "Any one would think that I was a child. I don't see anything to laugh at," and as he spoke the boy turned sharply from Poole's mirthful face to look searchingly at the carpenter, who was in the act of wiping a smile from his lips.

"Oh, no, sir, I warn't a-laughing," the man said, with his eyes twinkling. "What you see's a hecho like, or what you call a reflection from Mr Poole's physiomahogany. This 'ere's a nice game, aren't it!

I'm sorry for those pore chaps aboard, and our two mates in the boat.

They'll be missing all the fun."

"Why, Poole," cried Fitz suddenly, "I forgot all about them. I suppose they'll have gone back to the schooner."

"Not they!"

"Then you think the enemy's captured them?"

"That I don't," replied Poole. "They'll have run the boat in, according to orders, in amongst the shade, and be lying there as snug as can be, waiting till they're wanted."

"Well, I don't know so much about that, Mr Poole, sir," put in the carpenter. "Strikes me that as sure as nails don't hold as tight as screws unless they are well clinched, when we have driven off these here varmin, and go to look for them in that 'ere boat we shall find them gone."