"Oh, you know as near as I do. Very soon, and the sooner the better.

Oh, I say, she must see us. She's heading round and coming straight in."

"For us or the fort?"

"Both," said Poole emphatically.

And then they waited, fancying as the last gleam of the orange sun sank out of sight that they could hear the men breathing hard with suppressed excitement, as they stood there with their sleeves rolled up, waiting for the first order which should mean hauling away at ropes and the schooner beginning to glide towards the great buoy, slackening the cable for the men in the dinghy to cast-off.

"Here, look at that!" cried Fitz excitedly, unconsciously identifying himself more and more with the crew.

"What's the matter?" said Poole.

"Wet your hand, and hold it up."

"Right," said Poole; "and so was old Burgess. I don't believe there's a man at sea knows more about the wind than he does. Half-an-hour ago, dead to sea; now right ash.o.r.e."

"Stand by, my lads," growled the boatswain in response to a word from the mate; and a deep low sigh seemed to run all across the deck, as to a man the crew drew in a deep long breath, while with the light rapidly dying out, and the golden tips of the mountains turning purple and then grey, the first order was given, a couple of staysails ran with jigging motion up to their full length, and a chirruping, creaking sound was heard as the men began to haul upon the yard of the mainsail.

"Ah!" sighed Fitz. "We are beginning to move."

As he spoke the man at the wheel began to run the spokes quickly through his hands, with the result that to all appearance the men in the dinghy, and the buoy, appeared to be coming close under their quarter. Then there was a splash, the dinghy grated against the side, and one of its occupants climbed aboard with the painter, closely followed by the other, the first man running aft with the rope, to make it fast to the ring-bolt astern, while the stops of the capstan rattled as the cast-off cable began to come inboard.

"Oh, it will be dark directly," said Poole excitedly, "and I don't believe they can see us now."

The enemy would have required keen eyes and good gla.s.ses on board the gunboat to have made them out, for as the sails filled, the schooner careened over and began to glide slowly along the sh.o.r.e as if making for the fort, which she pa.s.sed and left about a quarter of a mile behind, before she was thrown up into the wind to go upon the other tack, spreading more and more canvas and increasing her speed, as the gunboat, now invisible save for a couple of lights which were hoisted up, came dead on for the town, nearing them fast, and calling for all the mate's seamanship to get the schooner during one of her tacks well out of the heavy craft's course, and leaving her to glide by; though as the darkness increased and they were evidently unseen, this became comparatively easy, for the war-vessel's two lights shone out brighter and brighter at every one of the schooner's tacks.

But they were anxious times, and Fitz's heart beat fast during the most vital reach, when it seemed to him as they were gliding by the gunboat's bows that they must be seen, even as he could now make out a few sparks rising from time to time from the great funnel, to be smothered in the rolling smoke.

But the next minute they were far away, and as they tacked it was this time so that they pa.s.sed well abaft under the enemy's stern.

"Ah," said a voice close to them; and as they looked round sharply it was to see the skipper close at hand. "There, boys," he said, "that was running it pretty close. They can't have been keeping a very good look-out aboard that craft. It was much nearer than I liked.--Ah, I wonder how poor Don Ramon will get on."

That finished the excitement for the night, for the next hours were pa.s.sed in a monotonous tacking to and fro, making longer and longer reaches as they got farther out to sea; but they looked sh.o.r.eward in vain for the flashes of guns and the deep thunderous roar of the big breech-loading cannon. But the sighing of the wind in the rigging and the lapping of water against the schooner's bows were the only sounds that greeted them in the soft tropic night.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

"NEVER SAY DIE!"

As long as the excitement kept up, Fitz paced the deck with Poole, but for two or three nights past regular sleep and his eyelids had been at odds. The consequence was that all at once in the silence and darkness, when there was nothing to take his attention, he became very silent, walking up and down the deck mechanically with his companion to keep himself awake, and a short time afterwards for no reason at all that he was aware of, but because one leg went before the other automatically, his will having ceased to convey its desires to these his supporters, and long after Poole had ceased talking to him, he suddenly gave a violent lurch, driving Poole, who was in a similar condition, sideways, and if it had not been for the bulwark close at hand they would both have gone down like skittles. For they were both fast asleep, sound as a top, fast as a church, but on the instant wide-awake and angry.

"What did you do that for?" cried Fitz fiercely. "I didn't," cried Poole angrily. "You threw yourself at me."

"That I didn't! How could I?"

"How should I know? But you've made a great bruise on my elbow; I know that."

"Quiet! quiet!" said the mate, in a deep low growl. "Do you want to bring the gunboat down on us, shouting like that?" And he seemed to loom up upon them out of the darkness.

"Well, but he--" began Fitz.

"Quiet, I tell you! I have been watching you lads these last ten minutes. You've both been rolling about all over the deck, and I expected to see you go down on your noses every moment. Snoring too, one of you was."

"Well, that wasn't I, I'm sure," cried Fitz shortly.

"Oh, are you?" said the mate. "Well, I'm not. There, you are no use up here, either of you. Go down and tumble into your bunks at once."

"But--" began Poole.

"You heard what I said, my lad. Go and have a good long snooze, and don't make a stupid of yourself, bandying words like that. The watch have all been laughing at you both. Now then, clear the deck. I am going to keep things quiet."

The officer in charge of a deck is "monarch of all he surveys," like Robinson Crusoe of old, according to the poem, and as "his right there is none to dispute," both lads yielded to Burgesses sway, went down to their berths, rolled in just as they were, and the next minute were fast asleep, breathing more loudly than would have been pleasant to any neighbour. But there was none.

Their sleep was very short but very solid all the same, and they were ready to spring up wide-awake and hurry on deck just before sunrise, upon hearing the trampling overhead of the watch going through the manoeuvres known as 'bout ship, and then proceeding to obey orders angrily shouted at them by the mate, whose loud voice betokened that he was in an unusual state of excitement, for his words were emphatic in the extreme as he addressed the men after the cry of "all hands on deck," in a way which suggested to one who overheard that they were a gang of the laziest, slowest slovens that ever handled a rope.

"Here, rouse up!" cried Poole. "Hear him?"

"Hear him? Yes. What's the matter?"

"I dunno. Any one would think that we were going to run the gunboat down."

The lads ran up on deck, and stared in wonder, for instead of the catastrophe that Poole had verbally portrayed, the reverse seemed the probability. In fact, instead of their tacking against the adverse wind having carried them well out to sea, the progress they had made in a direct line was comparatively small, and to the dismay of both the sleepers as they looked over the stern, there was the gunboat not three miles away, foaming down after them under a full pressure of steam.

"How do you account for this?" said Fitz.

"I dunno, unless they went right in, got to know that we had just left, and came after us full chase."

It was the idea of the moment, and to use the familiar saying, Poole had hit the right nail on the head. It was morning, and Nature's signals were in the east, announcing that the sun was coming up full speed, while the former tactics of tacking against the freshening wind had to be set aside at once, for it was evidently only a question of an hour before the gunboat would be within easy range, and what she might do in the interim was simply doubtful. But the skipper and his mate were hard at work; the course had been altered for another run southward, close along the coast; studding-sail booms were being run out from the yards ready for the white sails to be hoisted; and a trial of speed was being prepared between canvas and steam, proof of which was given from the gunboat by the dense clouds of black smoke rolling out of the funnel and showing how hard the stokers were at work.

It was a busy time then; sail after sail filled out till the schooner showed as a cloud of canvas gilded by the rising sun, while she literally skimmed through the water dangerously near to a rocky coast.

But as the sun rose higher that danger pa.s.sed away, for as if by magic the wind dropped, leaving the sails flapping, the graceful vessel no longer dipping her cut-water low-down into the surface and covering the deck with spray.

Poole looked at his father and drew his breath hard, for he saw too plainly the peril in which they stood. They were still gliding gently through the water, but more slowly each minute, and riding now upon an even keel, while the gunboat astern was tearing along, literally ploughing her way, and sending a diverging foam-covered wave to starboard and port.

"Pretty well all over, Burgess," he said, in a low hoa.r.s.e voice, and Fitz stole out his hand to grip Poole's wrist and give a warm sympathetic pressure; and he did not draw it back, but stood holding on, listening the while to the mate's slow, thoughtful reply.

"I don't know yet," said the latter, half closing his eyes and looking towards the west. "The winds play rum games here sometimes, and you hardly know where you are. They may go through one of their manoeuvres now. This is just about the time, and I shouldn't wonder if we had a sharp breeze from the west again, same as we did yesterday and the day before."

"No such luck," said the skipper bitterly. "It won't be the wind off sh.o.r.e; it will be the _Teal_ on. You'll have to make for the first opening you see as soon as there's wind enough, and run her right in.

Don't hesitate a moment, Burgess; run her right ash.o.r.e, and then we must do the best we can with the boats, or swim for it."

"Run her right ash.o.r.e!" said the mate grimly.

"Yes--so that she's a hopeless wreck, impossible to get off."

"Seems a pity," growled the mate; and his words found an echo in Fitz Burnett's breast.