CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

FITZ HAS A DREAM.

The middy did not say much, but a very short time later he proved that he shared his companion's feelings, both lads sleeping with all their might, and trying to make up for a great deal of exertion connected with their disturbed existence of the past few days.

It is generally conceded by the thoughtful over such matters, that dreams come after the more solid portion of a person's sleep, that they are connected with a time when the rested brain is preparing to become active once again, and set to work in its daily routine of thought.

This may be the rule, but it is said that there is no rule without an exception. Fitz Burnett's slumber in his hot, stuffy berth was one of these exceptions, and rather a remarkable one too, for almost directly after dropping off he began to dream in the most outrageous manner, that proving for him a sort of Arabian Night which had somehow been blown across on the equatorial winds to Central America. The whole of his dream was vivid in the extreme while it was in progress, and if it could have been transcribed then, no doubt it would have proved to be of the most intense interest; but unfortunately it had to be recalled the next morning when its clearness was muddled, the sharpness of its features blurred.

Two or three times over he tried to dismiss it from his mind altogether, for it worried him; but it absolutely refused to be got rid of, and kept coming back with the utmost persistency, making him feel bound to drag it back and try to set it in order, though this proved very difficult.

It was some time before he could get hold of the thread at all, and at the first pull he found that he drew up several threads, tangled and knotted up in the most inextricable confusion, while they were all in some way connected with Chips the carpenter's plans.

He did not want the task: it bothered him, for in the broad sunshine of the morning Chips's notions seemed to him to be ludicrously absurd; but somehow he felt bound to go on disentangling them, because he was, as it were, in some way mixed up with them, and had been during the night helping him to carry them out.

"Makes my head feel quite hot," he said to himself, as he leaned over the bulwark looking down at the water hurrying past the schooner. "I haven't got a fever coming on, have I? If it doesn't all soon go off I'll ask Captain Reed to give me some of his quinine. Ugh! Horribly bitter stuff! I have had enough physic this voyage to last me for a year."

And then he lapsed into a sort of dreamy state in which he dragged out of his sleeping adventures that he had been acting as a sort of carpenter's boy, carrying the bag, which weighed him down, while all the time he had to keep handing gigantic augers to Chips, and wiping his forehead every now and then with handfuls of shavings, while his master kept on turning away, trying to bore holes through the steel plates of the gunboat, and never making so much as a scratch. Then came a rest, and he and Chips were lying down together in a beautiful summer-house built upon a shelf of the cliff, with lovely vines running all over it covered with brilliant flowers, and growing higher and higher, with the upper parts laden with fruit which somehow seemed to be like beans. He did not know why it was, but his rest in this beautiful vine-shaded place, whose coverings seemed to grow right up into the skies, was disturbed by the carpenter's banter, for Chips kept calling him Jack, and laughing at him for selling his mother's cow for a handful of beans, and asking why he didn't begin to climb right up to the top of the great stalk into the giant land. Before he could answer they were back again by the side of the gunboat, seated in the dinghy, and Chips was turning away at his cross-handled auger, which now seemed to go through the steel as easily as if it were cheese-rind, while when the dreamer took hold of a handful of the shavings that were turned out, they were of bright steel, and so hard and sharp that they made the carpenter angry because they did not remove the perspiration and only scratched his face. But he kept on turning all the time, till the auger had gone in about six inches, when he left off and asked for another, driving this in at a tremendous rate and again asking for another and another, until he had driven in a whole series of them which extended from the level of the dinghy's gunwale right up the gunboat's side.

Then it seemed to the sleeper that the dinghy was pa.s.sed along to the war-vessel's stern, where Chips made her fast to the rudder-chains, and then held out his hand for the powder-bag, which was so big that it filled up all the bottom of the little boat and swelled right over the side. It was very heavy, but Fitz felt that it must be done, though it was not proper work for a young officer in Her Majesty's Navy.

But Chips was sitting astride the rudder, holding out his hands, and the bag was obliged to be pa.s.sed up. Directly afterwards it was made fast, and Chips came back holding a black string moistened with gunpowder, and holding out the end to him to light with a match. This he did, after striking many which would not go off because his hands were wet; and then he sat back watching the powder sparkle as it gradually burned along the string towards the neck of the bag full of black powder, which somehow seemed to be the soot from one of the chimneys at home, while Chips the carpenter was only the sweep.

Fitz remembered his sensations of horror as he sat expecting to see the explosion which would blow him into the water; and his dread was agonising; but just then the dinghy began to glide along till it was underneath the augers extending upwards like a ladder, and up these the carpenter climbed, beckoning him to follow, to the gunboat's deck, where all the Spanish sailors were lying fast asleep.

Here he seemed to know that he must step cautiously for fear of treading on and waking the crew; but Chips did not seem to mind at all, going straight in one stride right to where the big breech-loader lay amidships on its carriage, waiting to be lifted out and dropped overboard.

And here the confused muddle of dreams became condensed into a good solid nightmare that would not go, for Fitz felt himself obliged to step to the heaviest part of the huge gun and lift, while Chips took the light end and grinned at him in his efforts to raise it, while as he lifted, and they got the gun poised between them, each with his clasped hands underneath, it kept going down again as if to crush his toes. But he felt no pain, and kept on lifting again and again, till somehow it seemed that they were doing this not upon the gunboat's planks, and that they could not get it overboard because the deck was that shown in the tinselled picture of the Red Rover hanging upon the wall of the gardener's cottage at home, while the sea beyond was only paper painted blue. All the same, though, and in spite of his holding one end of the gun, Chips was there, wearing a scarlet sash and waving a black flag upon which was a grinning skull and cross-bones.

When he got as far as that, Fitz could get no farther, for things grew rather too much entangled; so much so that it seemed to him that he awoke just then with his brain seething and confusion worse confounded, telling himself that he must have had the nightmare very badly indeed, and wondering whether it was due to fever coming on, or something indigestible he had had to eat.

But he said nothing about his dream for some hours, long after he had been on deck, to find that there had been no alarm during the night, had been refreshed by breakfast, and had heard that the gunboat was at anchor where she had been the previous night, and this from Mr Burgess's lips, for he had been down stream with the boat himself.

It was getting towards mid-day, when the sun was shining with full power, and the opinion was strong on deck that if the gunboat people intended to make another attack they would defer it till the day was not quite so hot.

Just then Fitz Burnett seemed to come all at once to a conclusion about his confused dream. Perhaps it was due to the heat in that valley, having ripened his thoughts. Whatever it might have been, he hurried to Poole, got hold of his arm, and told him to come forward into the bows.

"What for?" asked Poole.

"Because there's no one there, and we can talk."

"All right," said the lad. Leading the way he perched himself astride upon the bowsprit and signified that his companion should follow his example; and there they sat, with the loose jib-sail flapping gently to and fro and forming an awning half the time.

"Now then," said Poole, "what is it? You look as if you had found something, or heard some news. Is the gunboat going away?"

"I wish it were," was the reply. "I wanted to tell you that I had last night such a dream."

"Had you? Well, are you going to tell it to me?"

"No; impossible, for I can't recollect it all myself, only the stupid and muddled part of it. But I have been trying to puzzle it out this morning, and that set me thinking about other things as well, till at last, all of a sudden, I got the very idea we want."

"You have! What is it?" cried Poole excitedly. "Tell me gently, for perhaps I could not bear it all at once."

"It's the way to disable the gunboat."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes."

"A good sensible, possible way, that could be done?"

"Yes, and by one person too, if he had the pluck."

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 c.o.c.ksure.

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 c.o.c.k-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 sh.e.l.l 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 surrept.i.tiously been bringing arms and ammunition that are contraband of war."

"_Phee-ew_!" whistled Poole, grinning. "What big words! What a splendid speech!"