Fitz forgets.
The boarding-netting was partially drawn aside, and Fitz noted that more than ever the crew of the schooner looked like well-trained man-of-war’s men, each with his cutlass belted on, waiting for the next order, given in the skipper’s voice, when the gig’s falls were hooked on and she was run up to the davits and swung inboard, as were the other boats, and when the lad sprang on deck he saw that the netting was being lowered down and secured over the gangway.
It was plain enough that from the moment the gig had pushed off, all hands had been at work preparing to resist attack if an attempt at capture were made; and once more the middy forgot his own identity as a naval officer in his eagerness and interest in all that was going on.
“Oh, one word, Mr Burnett,” said the skipper, as he passed where the lad was standing. “Hadn’t you better go below? You’ve got to think about who you are if the Spaniards take us,” and then with a good-humoured smile as he read the vexation in the boy’s countenance, “Hadn’t I better lock you up in the cabin?”
“I say, Captain Reed,” cried the boy, in a voice full of protest, “I do wish you wouldn’t do this. I can’t help having a nasty temper, and this puts me all of a tingle. It seems so hard that men should always laugh at boys and think they are cowards. We can’t help being young.”
“Of course you can’t, my lad,” said the skipper, patting him on the back. “There, I will never tease you again. In all probability there won’t be anything serious, but if there is, take care of yourself, my boy, for I shouldn’t like you to be hurt.”
He gave his listener a pleasant nod, and hurried on towards the mate, while Fitz joined Poole, who had nothing now to do, and they occupied themselves in keeping watch for the expected boats and going about amongst the men, whose general appearance seemed to Fitz to be that they were going to some entertainment by way of a treat.
But the treat promised to be serious, for rifles were here and there placed ready for use, and close to every man there was a capstan-bar, evidently intended to use as a club, a most effective weapon whose injuries would not prove of a very dangerous type.
Fitz whispered as much to his companion, who nodded and then replied—
“Well, that depends on what the lads call the spaniel dogs. The dad doesn’t want it to be too serious, of course, but we can’t help it if these fellows make our lads savage. You see, we’ve got cutlasses and rifles, and fellows forget to be gentle if they are hurt.”