“Here they come,” said Poole, making Fitz start round again. “What swells,” he continued bitterly. “The dad ought to go below and put on his best jacket. Look at the golden braid.”
“I say,” cried Fitz, “he’ll see my uniform. What will he say to me?”
“Take you for an English officer helping in a filibustering craft.”
“Oh, but I shall explain myself,” cried Fitz. “But it would be rather awkward if they didn’t believe me. Here, you, Poole, I don’t understand a word of Spanish; you will have to stand by me and help me out of a hole.”
“And put my father in?” cried Poole. “You are a modest chap!—Why, look there, I am bothered if the dad isn’t going to do it!” cried the lad excitedly.
“Do what?”
“Put on his best jacket. Look, he’s going to the cabin-hatch. No, he isn’t. What’s he saying to old Butters?”
The lad had no verbal answer, but he saw for himself. The gunboat’s cutter was still a couple of hundred yards away, and coming steadily on, when, as if by accident or from the action of the swell, the spokes of the wheel moved a little, with the consequence that the wind began to fill the schooner’s sails, the man at the wheel turned it a little, and the canvas shivered once more.
But the schooner had begun to move, gliding imperceptibly along, and as this manoeuvre was repeated, she moved slowly through the water, keeping the row-boat almost at the same distance astern. A full minute had elapsed before the officer noticed this, and he rose in the stern-sheets and shouted an order in Spanish, to which the mate replied by seeming to repeat it to the man at the wheel, who hurriedly gave the spokes a turn, the sails filled, and the Teal glided steadily on.
“Yah!” roared Butters furiously. “Out of the way, you great clumsy lubber!” And he made a rush at the man, who loosed his hold of the spokes and backed away as if to shelter himself from blows, while, swinging free, the rudder yielded to the pressure of the swell and the schooner glided along faster still.