As for Fitz and Poole, they had nothing to do but think, and naturally they thought a great deal, especially when the night came on, with the watching party who had been sent below to the mouth of the river back with the announcement that the gunboat was in its old place, the boats all up to the davits, and not a sign of anything going on. But far from taking this as a token of safety, the skipper and mate made their arrangements to give the enemy a warm welcome if they should attack, and also despatched a couple of men in the dinghy to make fast just off the edge of the first bend and keep watch there, trusting well to their ears for the first warning of any boat that might be coming up.

The two lads stole away into their favourite place for consultations as soon as it was dark, to have what they called a quiet chat over their plans.

"I don't see that we could do any more," said Fitz, "but we must keep talking about it. The time goes so horribly slowly. Generally speaking when you are expecting anything it goes so fast; now it crawls as if the time would never be here."

"Well, that's queer," said Poole. "Ever since I knew that we were going it has seemed to gallop."

"Well, whether it gallops or whether it crawls it can't be very long before it's time to start. I say, how do you feel?"

"Horrible," said Poole. "It makes me think that I must be a bit of a coward, for I want to shirk the responsibility and be under somebody's command. My part seems to be too much for a fellow like me to undertake. You don't feel like that, of course."

Fitz sat there in the darkness for a few minutes without speaking. Then after heaving a deep sigh--

"I say," he whispered, "shall you think me a coward if I say I feel just like that?"

"No. Feeling as I do, of course I can't."

"Well, that's just how I am," said Fitz. "Sometimes I feel as if I were quite a man, but now it's as if I was never so young before, and that it is too much for chaps like us to understand such a thing."

"Then if we are both like that," said Poole sadly, "I suppose we ought to be honest and go straight to the dad and tell him that we don't feel up to it. What do you say?"

"What!" cried Fitz. "Go and tell him coolly that we are a pair of cowardly boys, for him and Mr Burgess to laugh at, and the men--for they'd be sure to hear--to think of us always afterwards as a pair of curs? I'd go and be killed first! And so would you; so don't tell me you wouldn't."

"Not going to," said Poole. "I'll only own up that I'm afraid of the job; but as we've proposed it, and it would be doing so much good if we were to succeed, I mean to go splash at it and carry it through to the end. You will too, won't you?"

"Yes, of course."

There was a slight rustling sound then, caused by the two lads reaching towards one another and joining hands in a long firm grip.

"Hah!" exclaimed Fitz, with a long-drawn expiration of the breath. "I'm glad I've got that off my mind. I feel better now."

"Same here. Now, what shall we do next? Go and talk to old b.u.t.ters and tell him what we want him to do?"

"No," cried Fitz excitedly. "You forget that we are in command. We've no business to do anything till the time comes, and then give the men their orders sharp and short, as if we were two skippers."

"Ah, yes," said Poole, "that's right. That's what I want to do, only it seems all so new."

"I tell you what, though," said Fitz. "We shall be going for hours and hours without getting anything, and that'll make us done up and weak. I vote that as we are to do as we like, we go and stir up the Camel and tell him to send us in a nice meal to the cabin."

"But it isn't long since we had something," suggested Poole.

"Yes, but neither of us could eat nor enjoy it. I couldn't, and I was watching you; but I feel that I could eat now, so come on. It'll help to pa.s.s the time, and make us fit to do anything."

"All right," said Poole, and they fetched Andy from where he was sitting forward talking in whispers with his messmates, told him what they wanted, and ordered him to prepare a sort of tea-supper for the little crew of the gig.

The Camel was ready enough, and within half-an-hour the two lads were doing what Poole termed stowing cargo, the said cargo consisting of rashers of prime fried ham, cold bread-cake, hot coffee and preserved milk.

They did good justice to the meal too, and before they had ended the skipper came down to them, looked on for a minute or two, and then nodded his satisfaction.

"That looks well, my lads," he said. "It's business-like, and as if your hearts were so much in your work that you didn't feel disposed to shirk it. It makes me comfortable, for I was getting a little nervous about you, I must own."

The boys exchanged glances, but said nothing.

"Here, don't mind me," continued the skipper. "Make a good hearty meal, and I'll talk to you as you eat."

"About our going and what we are about to do, father?" said Poole.

"Well, my boy, yes, of course."

"I wish you wouldn't, father. It's too late now to be planning and altering, and that sort of thing."

"Yes, please, Captain Reed," cried Fitz excitedly. "It's like lessons at school. We ought to know what we've got to do by now, and learning at the last minute won't do a bit of good. If we succeed we succeed, and if we fail we fail."

"Do you know what a big writer said, my boy, when one of his characters was going off upon an expedition?"

"No, sir," said Fitz.

"Good luck to you, perhaps," said Poole, laughing, though the laugh was not cheery.

"No, my lad," said the skipper. "I have not been much of a reader, and I'm not very good at remembering wise people's sayings, but he said to the young fellow when he talked as you did about failing, 'In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail,' which I suppose was a fine way of saying, Go and do what you have got to do, and never think of not succeeding. You're not going to fail. You mustn't. There's too much hanging to it, my boys; and now I quite agree with you that we'll let things go as they are."

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

CHIPS SNIFFS.

The silence and darkness made the lads' start for their venturesome expedition doubly impressive, the more so that the men were looking on in silence and wonder, and no light was shown on board the schooner.

The gig with its load of cable had been swinging for hours by the painter, and midnight was near at hand, when the little crew, each armed with cutla.s.s and revolver, stood waiting for their orders to slip down into their seats.

This order came at last, accompanied by one command from the skipper, and it was this--

"Perfect silence, my lads. Obey orders, and do your best.--Now, my boys," he continued, as soon as the men were in the boat, "do not fire a shot unless you are absolutely obliged. Mr Burgess will follow in the large boat with a dozen men, to lie off the mouth of the river ready to help you if you are in trouble; so make for there. If you want to signal to them to come to you, strike a couple of matches one after the other, and throw them into the water at once. Last night the gunboat did not show a light. I expect that it will be the same to-night, as they will think they are safer; but I fancy amongst you, you will have eyes sharp enough to make her out, and the darkness will be your best friend, so I hope the sea will not brime. There, your hand, Mr Burnett. Now yours, Poole, my boy. Over with you at once."

The next minute the boys had slid down into the boat, to seat themselves in the stern-sheets with the boatswain; the carpenter pulled the stroke oar, so that he was within reach if they wished to speak, and with the boatswain taking the rudder-lines they glided slowly down the stream.

"Tell them just to dip their oars to keep her head straight, boatswain,"

said Poole quietly. "We have plenty of time, and we had better keep out in mid-stream. A sharp look-out for anything coming up."

"Ay, ay, my lad," was the reply, and they seemed to slip on into the black darkness which rose before them like a wall, while overhead, like a deep purple band studded with gold, the sky stretched from cliff to cliff of the deep ravine through which the river ran.

"Now, Poole," said Fitz suddenly, speaking in a low voice, almost a whisper, "you had better say a word or two to Mr b.u.t.ters about the work we are on."

"No," replied Poole; "it was your idea, and you're accustomed to take command of a boat, so you had better speak, for the boatswain and the carpenter ought to know. The other men will have nothing to do but manage the gig--"

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the boatswain, in a deep sigh, while Chips, who had heard every word, only gave vent to a sniff.

Fitz coughed slightly, as if troubled with something that checked his breath.