“Yes, of course,” came in a growl.
“There, sir! You ’ear?”
“Yes, I hear,” said Poole, “and I dare say we could, but only at the expense of half the lads killed and wounded; and that would be paying too dear. Now, look here, my lad; here’s an idea rather in your way. Couldn’t we make a plan to scuttle and sink the gunboat where she lies? What do you say to that?”
“Can’t be did, sir. I could creep alongside the schooner and do it to her; but that there gunboat’s got heavy steel plates right round her, going ever so deep, and they’d be rather too much for my tools. They’d spoil every auger I’ve got. The skipper hasn’t got a torpedo aboard, has he? One of them new ’uns that you winds up and sets a-going with a little screw-propeller somewheres astern, and a head full of nitro—what-d’ye-call-it, which goes off when it hits?”
“No,” said Poole, as he lay back gazing at the gunboat through his half-closed eyes, and in imagination saw the little thread-like appearance formed by the disturbed water as a fish-torpedo ploughed its way along; “we didn’t bring anything of the kind.”
“No, sir; I thought you wouldn’t. But what about a big bag of powder stuck alongside her rudder? You see, you might tie the bag up with a bit of spun-yarn rubbed with wet powder, and leave a long end hanging down as far as the boat in which you rowed out.”
“And set a light to it?” said Fitz.
“That’s right, sir. You see,” cried Chips, “and it would go fizzling and sparkling till we rowed right away out of reach, and up she’d go, bang.”
“And while you were striking matches to light the touch-string, the enemy would be shooting at you or dropping cold shot or pig-ballast into us to sink the boat,” said Poole.
“Bah!” said Fitz. “They keep such a strict watch that they would never let a row-boat come near.”