“Then the gunboat captain will send after us with his armed boats and board us where we lie.”
“Let him,” said Poole grimly. “That’s just what old Burgess and all the lads would like. Mr Don what’s-his-name and his men would find they had such a hedgehog to tackle that they’d soon go back again faster than they came.”
“Do you think your father would do that?” said Fitz, after a glance aft, to note that they were leaving the gunboat steadily behind.
“Why, of course,” cried Poole. “But it’s resisting a man-of-war.”
“Well, what of that? We didn’t boggle about doing it with one of the Queen’s ships, so you don’t suppose that dad would make much bones about refusing to strike to a mongrel Spaniard like that?”
Fitz was silent, and somehow then in a whirl of exciting thoughts it did not seem so very serious a thing, but brought up passages he had read in old naval books of cutting-out expeditions and brave fightings against heavy odds. And then as they went flying through the water the exhilaration of the chase took up all his attention, and the conversation dropped out of his mental sight, for it lasted hours, and during all that time the Teal skimmed along, following out her old tactics close to a lovely surf-beaten shore, passing bluff and valley openings where there were evidently streams pouring out from the mountains to discolour the silver sea, and offering, as the middy thought, endless havens of refuge, till about the hottest part of the day, when the pitch seemed to be seething in the seams. All at once the captain, after a short conversation with his mate, went forward with a couple of men, and Burgess went himself to take the wheel. “Now then,” said Poole, “what did I tell you?”
“Do you think we are going to turn in here?”
“That’s just what I do think. Here, do you want a job?”
“Yes—no—of course—What do you want me to do?”
“Go and tell the Camel to get the oiliest breakfast he can all ready, for we are half-starved.”