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Fitz the Filibuster, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 31. Fitz Shows Pepper |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. FITZ SHOWS PEPPER "Here, Mr Burnett!" came out of the darkness, and Fitz stopped short. "Yes, sir." "Do you know that you are a great nuisance?" It was invisible, but Fitz flushed and felt, after his fashion, peppery. "I don't understand you, sir," he said hotly. "I spoke plainly, my lad. You are always in my way, and you never were more so than at this minute." "Then why did you take me prisoner, sir?" said the boy angrily. "Why, in the name of thunder, did you come and tumble down my hatchway instead of stopping on the gunboat? I didn't ask you to come. Here, you are as bad as having a girl on board, or something made of wax, that mustn't be spoiled. I can't stir without thinking of having to take care of you." "Oh," cried Fitz angrily. "This is adding insult to injury, sir." "Well, yes, it don't sound very pleasant, does it, my boy? But you are a young nuisance, you know. I mustn't have you hurt. You see, Poole's my own, and I can do what I like with him; but you--Now then, what were you going to do?" "I was going with Poole, sir." "Of course!" cried the skipper angrily. "Just like a middy. I never had anything to do with one before, but I've heard times enough from those who have, that if there's a bit of mischief afloat, the first nose that goes into it is a middy's." "I don't know what I've done, sir, that you should keep on insulting me like this." "Insult! Bah! Is it insulting you to stop you from going into the most dangerous bit of to-night's work?" "Poole's going, sir." "Yes; to do his duty as my son, in this emergency. But it's not your duty, and you will be in the way. It's very risky, my lad. For aught I know there may be half-a-dozen scouts between here and the landing-place, waiting to shoot down any one who tries to open up communication with the boats." "I know that, sir." "And yet you want to go?" "Yes," said the boy warmly. "You are going to send poor Poole, and I want to share his danger with him. I might help him." "I am going to send poor Poole? Yes, my boy, because I am obliged. That job has to be done, and I'd sooner trust him than any one here. I can't spare my men, and I can't send one of these Spanish chaps. It won't do to have it muffed. But _poor_ Poole, eh? You seem to have grown mighty fond of him all at once." "Oh no, I'm not," said the boy haughtily; "but he has been very kind to me, and I'm not ungrateful. I might be able to help him if he gets into danger." "Oh," said the skipper; "and suppose you get into danger?" "Oh, then he'd help me, sir, of course. I'm sorry for him. He can't help being a filibuster's son." "Filibuster, eh? So I'm a filibuster, am I? Upon my word, you're about the most cheeky young gentleman I ever ran against in my life. Well, all right. You must chance it, I suppose." "Yes, please," said Fitz eagerly. "Yes, please, eh? Well, keep your eyes well skinned, my lad. You two sharp-eyed youngsters ought to be able to take care of yourselves; but look here, I don't want you to fight. This is our mess, not yours." "Well, I don't want to fight," said Fitz. "I want to get back on board some English vessel." "Same here. That's what I want to do: get you on board the schooner. That's an English vessel." "But not the sort I want, sir." "Beggars mustn't be choosers, my lad; but there, I've no more time to talk. Just one word, though: I don't want you to fight, but I see you've got my double gun, and I'll just say this. If you see Poole in difficulties with any of those murderous mongrels, nine parts Indian and one part Spaniard, don't you flinch about using it." "I shouldn't, sir, then." "All right; then be off." The skipper turned away, and Poole hurried up. "What's my governor been saying to you?" "Bullied me for being here," replied Fitz; "but he said that I might go with you." "He did!" "Yes, and gave me orders to shoot all the niggers who attacked you." "Hooray! Then come on." The two lads hurried off together through the darkness, leaving the hacienda and its defenders behind as they began to retrace their steps along the rough track leading to the corduroy road. "Here, we mustn't talk," whispered Poole. "There's pretty nearly sure to be a post of the enemy somewhere in front. We can't have such luck as to get down there to the river without something in our way. I'll go on first." "That you don't," said Fitz. "If any one goes first I will." "Now, no nonsense!" cried Poole angrily. "I'm boss of this job, and if you don't do as I tell you I'll leave you behind." "I've got your father's orders to come and take care of you," retorted Fitz; "and if you come any of your bounce and cheek now there'll be a row, and it will end in my punching your head." "Poof! Cock-a-doodle-do!" whispered Poole. "There: come on! Let's walk side by side. I'll settle all that with you when the work is done. I say, keep your eyes skinned, and both ears wide open. I'll look to the right, you look to the left. We'll get on that wooden road and follow it down to the wharf." "Pretty wharf it is! I say, I hope those poor fellows haven't been murdered." "Oh, don't talk like that. They've got the boat, and let's hope they're safe. But it's been hard lines for them, waiting there all this time, with nothing to do but nibble their biscuits and kill flies.--Pst!" Fitz imitated his companion's act and stopped short, his eyes striving hard to pierce the gloom in front; but for nearly a minute both stood on the strain. "Nothing," said Poole. "Come on. It was some little animal escaping through the bushes; but make ready." The clicking of the locks of both pieces sounded painfully loud in the silence as they went cautiously on, stopping again and again to listen, each wishing they could hear some sound to relieve the painful tension from which they suffered; but everything living seemed to have been scared away, and they kept on without interruption, while the river instead of getting nearer seemed to grow farther off, till at last Poole slipped on one of the muddy logs which formed the road, and nearly went headlong, but was saved by his companion, who in his effort to hold him up, fetched him a sharp rap on the head with the barrel of his gun. "Thank you," said Poole. "Oh, I only tried to keep you up," said Fitz, breathing hard. "I meant for that affectionate crack you fetched me on the head. I say, this arn't sporting, you know." "What do you mean?" whispered Fitz. "I mean, don't shoot me so as to fill the bag." "Don't fool," cried Fitz angrily. "All right; but don't hit me again like that. It hurts." "Pish! It was an accident. I am afraid--" "So am I," said Poole, taking him up sharply; "horribly." "I mean, that we have got on the wrong road." "I thought so; but we can't be. There is only this one, if you call it a road, leading straight down to the river--no, not straight; circumbendibus-y." "No," said Fitz, "it must have branched off, or we should have been at the river long enough ago." "No, we have come too slowly." "Where is the river, then?" said Fitz. _Plash! Quenk_! At that moment some kind of waterfowl rose from its lair with a good deal of fluttering of its wings, and a plaintive cry of alarm. "Ah!" sighed Fitz, with a deep expiration of his breath. "At last!" "Yes, at last. Mind how you come. The wharf must be just here. Can you make out that bank of mist?" "Yes; I can see the top of it cut off quite sharply, and with the stars above it. That must be the river, then." "That's right," said Poole. "Here, look out; we are quite close to the edge of the wharf. I say, what luck! We've got here safely, after all. Ah-h! What are you about?" "Slipped," said Fitz, with a gasp. "The wood's like ice." "Precious hot ice. I'm dripping. Do take care. If you go overboard you'll be swept right away, and I'm bothered if I come after you." "I don't believe you," said Fitz, with a little laugh. "But oh, I say!" "What's the matter now? Smell crocs?" "No, no. I was thinking about those poor fellows in the boat. It's so horribly silent. Surely they have escaped." Poole was silent for a few moments, and it seemed to the middy that he was breathing unusually hard. "Is anything the matter?" whispered Fitz, at last. "Oh, don't talk like that!" came in an excited whisper. "Then why don't you give the signal? What is it?" "I was listening, and fancied I heard some one coming behind us. Face round, and if any one tries to rush us let 'em have it--both barrels. Those big shot of yours may check them, and I'll hold my bullet in reserve." Fitz made no answer, but breathed harder as he stood ready with his fingers on the triggers. "Fancy," said Poole at last. "Now then." "Are you going to shout?" "No; I've got the dad's pipe," and applying the little silver whistle to his lips he made it give forth one little shrill chirrup, and then waited, while the stillness seemed to Fitz more awful than before, and his heart sank lower with the dread lest the men were dead, the boat gone, and his project completely at an end. _Chirrup_! Another what seemed to be a painfully long pause, and then _Chirrup_! once again. The pause seemed even longer than before to the listeners, but the interval was short indeed before from out of the mist in front came a low hoarse "What cheer, oh!" followed by a sneeze and a grunt. "Teals?" cried Poole. "Ay, ay! Two on us," came back. "Shall we pull ashore?" "Yes; come on." "Right. That you, Mr Poole?" "Yes! Look sharp!" There was a loud rustling, apparently about a hundred yards away, followed by the scraping of an oar over the side of the boat, and then the sound of paddling coming nearer and nearer, till the dimly-seen forms appeared out of the mist, and the boat grated against the side of the rough pier. "How goes it, sir?" said one of the men. "All right so far," replied Poole. "But how is it with you two?" "Offle, sir." "What do you mean?" "Heads so swelled up with skeeters that we can't wear our hats. We've finished the grub, and to-morrow morning we was a-going to toss whether I should eat him or him should eat I." "No nonsense," said Poole. "No, sir; there arn't been none," said the speaker, in a low growl. "This 'ere's been the roughest job I was ever on. We'd have given anything to come and jine our mates so as to get a shot. Anybody lost the number of his mess?" "No," said Poole. "No one even hurt." "'Cept us, sir, and we've each of us got ten hundred million wounds." "Wounds?" "Yes, sir; skeeters. Trunks as big as elephants. They'd have sucked poor Jem here quite dry, only he did as I did, made it up with water, and there was plenty of that.--But you've come to fetch us, haven't you?" "No; only to set you on the alert." "On the which, sir? What ship's that?" "Nonsense!" cried Poole. "We are all coming down to get on board the schooner as quickly as we can." "And a blessed good thing too," growled the other man. "But you'd better stop where y'are, for this 'ere's an awful place. Anybody might have my job for me." "Yes," said Poole, "I know it must have been terribly bad, but we are off again directly with the news that you two are all right." "That we are which, sir?" said the first speaker. "Oh, I say, Mr Poole, sir, don't go and tell the skipper a lie like that." "No, no; of course I'll tell him about how you have suffered; but we haven't been lying in feather-beds up there. Here, I say, Fitz, don't laugh." "I couldn't help it," cried Fitz. "No, sir, you couldn't," said the first man. "We couldn't at first. I laughed at Jem to see him smacking his own face all over, and he laughed at me and said mine looked beastly. And we didn't either of us look nice when the sun rose this morning, not even when we'd had a good wash. But it's all over now, as you are coming down, and the first thing Jem and me's going to do as soon as we gets aboard the schooner is to go and hide our heads in the hold. Say, Jem, old lad, I wonder what Chips will say to you when he sees your mug!" "Just the same as he will say to you, messmate, about yourn." "Hush! Don't talk. Get back into hiding again, and be ready to pick up the first load as soon as they come down." "What of, sir? Prisoners or plunder?" "Spaniards, my lad. Come, be serious. We are in a queer fix up there, shut in by the enemy. Have you seen anything of them here?" "Yes; about a couple of dozen ugly-looking beggars, sort of mahogany-brown, come and had a look; but they didn't see us, and went back. It was just afore that first firing began." "That's right," cried Poole. "Back with you; but it won't be long before some one comes, and then you must drop down to the coast, signal the schooner, land your load, and come back; but keep two men to help you." "Ay, ay, sir." "One word; you haven't seen any of the Teals, I suppose?" "Oh yes, sir. Old Butters rowed up with the dinghy this evening." "Last evening, mate," growled the other. "Yes, that's right, messmate. He just had a word with us. Mr Burgess sent him. He wanted news, but of course we had got none, only about the shooting. The bosun said that if the skipper didn't soon come back he was afraid accidents would happen to the schooner--catch fire, or something--for old Burgess was making it so hot for everybody that he was glad to get away in the little boat." "Off with you!" said Poole, and he and his companion hurried back through the gathering mist. _ |
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