Fitz the Filibuster

by George Manville Fenn

The lads waited till they thought all was safe, while their crew never stirred, and Poole whispered once more—“Well, what is to be done?”

The next moment Fitz’s lips were sending tickling words into the lad’s ear, as he said sharply—

“Mustn’t change—stick to our plans. I am going to tell Butters to work the boat alongside, and then pass her to the stern.”

“Hah!” breathed Poole, as he listened for the faint rustle made by his companion in leaning towards the boatswain and whispering his commands.

The next minute the boat was in motion, being paddled slowly towards the gunboat in a way the boys did not know till afterwards, for it was as if the gig as it lay there in the black darkness was some kind of fish, which had suddenly put its fins in motion, the five men having leaned sideways, each to lower a hand into the water and paddle the boat along without a sound.

The darkness seemed to be as black as it could possibly be, but all at once, paradoxical as it may seem, it grew thicker, for a great black wall had suddenly appeared looming over the boat, and Poole put out his hand, to feel the cold armour-plating gliding by his fingers, as the men, to his astonishment, kept the craft in motion till they had passed right along and their progress was checked by the gig being laid bow-on beside the gunboat’s rudder; and as soon as the lads could fully realise their position they grasped the fact that the propeller must be just beneath the water the boat’s length in front of where they sat.

Then silence once again, every one’s heart beating slowly, but with a dull heavy throb that seemed to send the blood rushing through the arteries and veins, producing in the case of the lads a sensation of dizziness that was some moments before it passed off, driven away as it was by the tension and the acute desire to grasp the slightest sound where there was none to grasp.

Every one was waiting now—as all felt sure that so far they had not been heard—for the middy’s order to commence, while he felt as if he dared not give it, sitting there and letting the time glide by, convinced as he was now that the end of the Manilla cable could not be attached to one of the fans without their being heard, and in imagination he fancied the alarm spread, and saw his chance of ascending to the deck and reaching the gun, die away.

Then he started, for Poole pinched his arm, sending a thrill through him, and as it were setting the whole of his human machine in action.

“Now or never,” he said to himself, and leaning forward to the boatswain he whispered a few words in the man’s ear, with the result that a very faint rustling began, a sound so slight that it was almost inaudible to him who gave the order; but he could feel the boat move slightly, as it was held fast beside the rudder, and the next minute when the young captain of the adventure raised his hand—as he could not see—to feel how the boatswain was getting on, he touched nothing, for the big sturdy fellow was already half-way to the bows of the gig.