Just then, as Poole turned upon him irritably, the gig touched the gunboat’s side, and the boys sprang on board, to be greeted by the mate and the members of the prize crew, who had moored her well under the guns of the little fort.
“Hullo, young fellows! I know what you want,” cried the mate.
“Then you are cleverer than I am,” said Poole, laughing, “for I don’t.”
“Then why have you come?”
“Ask Burnett here. He seems to be Grand Panjandrum now.”
“You’ve come,” said the mate, “by the President’s orders, to bring me ashore to drink wine and eat cake, or some nonsense of that kind, and you may go back and tell him I can’t leave my post.”
“Wrong,” said Fitz; and he hurried away forward, to come into sight again waving his hand to Poole to join him.
“Whatever’s the matter with the fellow?” said Poole to himself, as he followed the middy.
Fitz met him half-way, caught him by the collar, and with his face flushed and eyes flashing, whispered something in his ear.
“No!” cried Poole. “You don’t mean it!”