“What I want is clean decks, with all them there trash cleared away, and time for me and the bosun having the craft to ourselves just to go round and smell it all over before we begin.”
“Of course,” cried Poole.
“You see, it’s a big job, gentlemen, and it’s no use for us to roosh it. What I want is for us to be able to lay this ’ere boat aboard, and leave to begin. I want room, sir, and to see what tools I want, and—”
“Ahoy there, Mr Poole!” came from the next boat. “Let your men give way and follow me. I am going to board the gunboat now, and put a prize crew on board.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” cried Poole; and then to the carpenter, who sat moistening his hands prior to giving them a rub on his knees, “There you are, Chips. Give way, my lads. We are going to make fast a tow-rope to the gunboat’s stern. Keep your eyes open, and you will see how Chips will haul her off.”
There was another laugh as the men bent to their oars, rowing so vigorously that several of the small craft full of Don Ramon’s followers, hanging round the ponderous-looking craft upon the rocks, hurriedly made way as if half expecting to be run down, and a few minutes later the schooner’s boats, headed by Mr Burgess, were alongside their late dangerous enemy, to spring on board, the Spanish crew drawing back to the other side to crowd together and look carelessly on, all idea of resistance being at an end.