“How would you do it, my lad?”
“Oh, by climbing up, father, a bit at a time, getting hold of the bushes and hauling oneself up sometimes.”
“Ah,” said the skipper quietly. “You would be very clever if you did. It might be managed for a little way up, but all that upper part isn’t perpendicular; it hangs right over towards us. Impossible, my lad. Nothing could get up there but a bird or a fly. We must give up that idea. Burgess, you will have to lower a boat and let her drift down to the headland there, stern on, and with the men ready to pull for their lives, as you may be fired at. When you get to the head you must let her slide along close under the bushes till you get a sight of the boats and see what they’re doing.”
“Right,” said the mate. “Now?”
“Yes; the sooner the better.”
Poole glanced at Fitz, and then started to speak to his father; but before he could open his lips there was an emphatic—
“No! You would only be in the way, my lads. I want four strong men to row, and one in the stern to look out; and that one is Mr Burgess.”
“Very well, father,” said the lad quietly, but he looked his disappointment at Fitz, whose vexation was plainly marked on his countenance, as he mentally said, “Oh, bother! He might have let us go.”
Things were done promptly on board the Teal, and in a few moments the cutter was lowered down with its little crew after the netting had been cast loose and raised; and then they watched her glide down with the stream, stern on, with the rowers balancing their oars, the stroke dipping his now and then to keep her head to stream, and the mate standing with his back to them till the headland was reached, when he knelt down, caught at the overhanging bushes and water-plants, and let the boat drift close in and on and on without making a sign, till she disappeared.
Just then Fitz heaved a sigh.