The men rushed to the sheets, and when the wind came again, it came to stay, striking the heavily-canvassed schooner a tremendous blow, to which she only careened over, and not a drop of water came on board, for the light studding-sails were let go to begin flapping and snapping like whip-thongs until the violence of the gust had passed; and by that time the men were busy reducing the canvas, and the schooner was flying through the water like the winning yacht in a race.
“Never say die!” cried Poole, with a laugh. “We are going faster than the gunboat now.”
“Yes,” replied Fitz thoughtfully; “but she has the command of the sea, and can cut us off.”
“As long as her coals last,” said Poole, “and they’re burning them pretty fast over this. I’d give something to guess what old Burgess means to do. He’s got something in his head that I don’t believe my father knows.”
“Oh, he’d be sure to know,” said Fitz, whose hopes were rising fast, his sympathies being entirely now with those who had proved such friends.
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t. Old Burgess can be as mute as a fish when he likes, and there’s nothing pleases him better than taking people by surprise.”
“But what can he do more than race right away?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Burnett, old chap. It’s no use for him to think of racing right away. What he’ll do is this. I have said something of the kind to you before. He knows this coast just like his ABC, the bays and rivers and backwaters and crannies all amongst the rocks. He’s spent days and days out in a boat sounding and making rough charts; and what he’ll do, I feel certain, is this—make for some passage in amongst the rocks where he can take the little Teal, run right in where the gunboat dare not come, and stay there till she’s tired out.”
“But then they’ll sink us with their gun.”
“Oh no; he’ll get her right into shelter where she can’t be seen.”