Fitz the Filibuster Part 65

"Look here, if you are beginning to banter," replied Fitz hotly, "I'm off."

"Yes, you've just let yourself off--bang. We had got to be such friends that I thought you had dropped all that and were going to make the best of things. You know well enough that Villarayo was a bully and a brute, a regular tyrant, and that Don Ramon is a grand fellow and a regular patriot, fighting for his country and for everything that is good."

"Yes, yes, I know all that," said Fitz; "but that doesn't alter my position until he has quite got the upper hand and is acknowledged by England. I feel that it is my duty to be--to be--what do they call it?--neutral."

"Oh, you are a punctilious chap. Then you would be neutral, as you call it, and let Villarayo smash up and murder everybody, because Don Ramon has not been acknowledged by England?"

"Yes, I suppose so," said Fitz; "but these are all diplomatic things with which I have nothing to do."

"And you have got a good idea, then, that might save us out of this position?"

"Ye-es; I think so."

"And you won't speak?"

"I feel now that I can't."

"Humph!" grunted Poole. "It seems too bad, and not half fair to the governor."

"It is not fair to me to make me a prisoner," retorted Fitz.

"He didn't make you one. You came and tumbled down into our hold, and we did the best we could for you. But don't let's begin arguing about all that again. Perhaps you are right from your point of view, and I can't think the same, only of helping to get the _Teal_ out of this sc.r.a.pe."

"I wish I could help you and do my duty too," said Fitz.

"I wish you could," replied Poole. "But I don't think much of your notion. You said it was all a dream."

"No, not all. It came from my dreaming and getting into a muddle over what Chips the carpenter said."

"I thought so," said Poole coolly; "all a muddle, after all. Dreams are precious poor thin stuff."

"This isn't a dream," cried Fitz sharply.

"And this isn't a dream," cried Poole, flus.h.i.+ng up. "I have been thinking about it, and I can't help seeing that as sure as we two are sitting here, those mongrel brutes that swarm in the gunboat will sooner or later get the better of us. Our lads are plucky enough, but the enemy is about six to one, and they'll hang about there till they surprise us or starve us out; and how will it be then?"

"Why, you will all be prisoners of war, of course."

"Prisoners of war!" cried Poole contemptuously. "What, of Villarayo's men, the sweepings and sc.u.m of the place, every one of them armed with a long knife stuck in his scarf that he likes to whip out and use!

Hot-blooded savage wretches! Prisoners of war! Once they get the upper hand, there will be a regular ma.s.sacre. They'll make the schooner a prisoner of war if I don't contrive to get below and fire two or three shots into the little magazine; and that I will do sooner than fall alive into their hands. Do you think you would escape because you are an English officer? Not you! Whether you are fighting on our side or only looking on, it will be all the same to them. I know them, Burnett; you don't; and I am telling you the honest truth. There! We'll take our chance," continued the lad coldly. "I don't want to know anything about your dreams now."

Poole was in the act of throwing one leg over the bowsprit, and half turned away; but Fitz caught him tightly by the arm.

"I can't help it," he cried excitedly, "even if it's wrong. Sit still, Poole, old chap. I've been thinking this. You see, when I went aboard the _Tonans_ everything was so fresh and interesting to me about the gun-drill and our great breech-loader.--Did you ever see one?"

"Not close to," said Poole coldly. "Ah, well, I have, and you have no idea what it's like. Big as it is, it's all beautifully made. The breech opens and shuts, and parts of it move on hinges that are finished as neatly as the lock of a gun; and it is wonderful how easily everything moves. There are great screws which you turn as quietly as if everything were silk, and then there's a great piece that they call the breech-block, which is lifted out, and then you can stand and look right through the great polished barrel as if it were a telescope, while all inside is grooves, screwed as you may say, so that the great bolt or sh.e.l.l when it is fired is made to spin round, which makes it go perfectly straight."

"Well, yes, I think I knew a good deal of that," said Poole, almost grudgingly.

"Well, you know," continued Fitz excitedly, "perhaps you don't know that when they are going to fire, the gun is unscrewed and the breech-block is lifted out. Then you can look through her; the sh.e.l.l or bolt and the cartridge are pushed in, the solid breech-block is dropped in behind them, and the breech screwed up all tightly once again."

"Yes, I understand; and there's no ramming in from the muzzle as with the old-fas.h.i.+oned guns."

"Exactly," said Fitz, growing more and more excited as he spoke. "And you know now what a tremendously dangerous weapon a great gun like that is."

"Yes, my lad," said Poole carelessly; "of course I do. But it's no good."

"What's no good?" said Fitz sharply.

"You are as bad as Chips. If we got on board we couldn't disable that gun, or get her to the side. She'd be far too heavy to move."

"Yes," said Fitz, with his eyes brightening, and he gripped his companion more tightly than ever. "But what's the most important part of a gun like that?"

"Why, the charge, of course."

"No," cried Fitz; "the breech-block. Suppose I, or you and I, got on board some night in the dark, unscrewed the breech, lifted out the block, and dropped it overboard. What then?"

Poole started, and gripped his companion in turn.

"Why," he said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "they couldn't fire the gun. The charge would come out at both ends."

"To be sure it would."

"Well--Oh, I don't know," said Poole, trembling with excitement; "I should muddle it. I don't understand a gun like that."

"No," cried Fitz; "but I do."

"Here," panted Poole; "come along aft."

"What are you going to do?"

"Do! Why, tell my governor, of course! Oh, Burnett, old fellow, you'll be the saving of us all!"

The lad's emotion communicated itself to the proposer of the plan, and neither of them could speak as they climbed back on to the deck, and, seeing nothing before their eyes but breech-loaders, hurried off, to meet Mr Burgess just coming out of the cabin-hatch.

"Is father below there?" cried Poole huskily. "Yes; just left him,"

grunted the mate, as he stared hard at the excited countenances of the two lads. "Anything the matter?"

"Yes. Quick!" cried Poole. "Come on down below." The skipper looked up from the log he was writing as his son flung open the cabin-door, paused for the others to enter, and then shut it after them with a bang which made the skipper frown.

"Here, what's this, sir?" he said sternly, as he glanced from one to the other. "Oh, I see; you two boys have been quarrelling, and want to fight. Well, wait a little, and you'll have enough of that. Now, Mr Burnett, speak out. What is it? Have you and my son been having words?"

"Yes, father," half shouted Poole, interposing--"such words as will make you stare. Tell him, Burnett, all that you have said."

The skipper and the mate listened in silence, while Poole watched the play of emotion their faces displayed, before the skipper spoke.

"Splendid, my lad!" he cried. "But it sounds too good to be true. You say you understand these guns?"

"Yes, sir; I have often stood by to watch the drill, and seen blank cartridge fired again and again."