Fitz the Filibuster

by George Manville Fenn

Here he seemed to know that he must step cautiously for fear of treading on and waking the crew; but Chips did not seem to mind at all, going straight in one stride right to where the big breech-loader lay amidships on its carriage, waiting to be lifted out and dropped overboard.

And here the confused muddle of dreams became condensed into a good solid nightmare that would not go, for Fitz felt himself obliged to step to the heaviest part of the huge gun and lift, while Chips took the light end and grinned at him in his efforts to raise it, while as he lifted, and they got the gun poised between them, each with his clasped hands underneath, it kept going down again as if to crush his toes. But he felt no pain, and kept on lifting again and again, till somehow it seemed that they were doing this not upon the gunboat’s planks, and that they could not get it overboard because the deck was that shown in the tinselled picture of the Red Rover hanging upon the wall of the gardener’s cottage at home, while the sea beyond was only paper painted blue. All the same, though, and in spite of his holding one end of the gun, Chips was there, wearing a scarlet sash and waving a black flag upon which was a grinning skull and cross-bones.

When he got as far as that, Fitz could get no farther, for things grew rather too much entangled; so much so that it seemed to him that he awoke just then with his brain seething and confusion worse confounded, telling himself that he must have had the nightmare very badly indeed, and wondering whether it was due to fever coming on, or something indigestible he had had to eat.

But he said nothing about his dream for some hours, long after he had been on deck, to find that there had been no alarm during the night, had been refreshed by breakfast, and had heard that the gunboat was at anchor where she had been the previous night, and this from Mr Burgess’s lips, for he had been down stream with the boat himself.

It was getting towards mid-day, when the sun was shining with full power, and the opinion was strong on deck that if the gunboat people intended to make another attack they would defer it till the day was not quite so hot.

Just then Fitz Burnett seemed to come all at once to a conclusion about his confused dream. Perhaps it was due to the heat in that valley, having ripened his thoughts. Whatever it might have been, he hurried to Poole, got hold of his arm, and told him to come forward into the bows.

“What for?” asked Poole.

“Because there’s no one there, and we can talk.”

“All right,” said the lad. Leading the way he perched himself astride upon the bowsprit and signified that his companion should follow his example; and there they sat, with the loose jib-sail flapping gently to and fro and forming an awning half the time.

“Now then,” said Poole, “what is it? You look as if you had found something, or heard some news. Is the gunboat going away?”