Poole looked at his father and drew his breath hard, for he saw too plainly the peril in which they stood. They were still gliding gently through the water, but more slowly each minute, and riding now upon an even keel, while the gunboat astern was tearing along, literally ploughing her way, and sending a diverging foam-covered wave to starboard and port. "Pretty well all over, Burgess," he said, in a low hoarse voice, and Fitz stole out his hand to grip Poole's wrist and give a warm sympathetic pressure; and he did not draw it back, but stood holding on, listening the while to the mate's slow, thoughtful reply. "I don't know yet," said the latter, half closing his eyes and looking towards the west. "The winds play rum games here sometimes, and you hardly know where you are. They may go through one of their manoeuvres now. This is just about the time, and I shouldn't wonder if we had a sharp breeze from the west again, same as we did yesterday and the day before." "No such luck," said the skipper bitterly. "It won't be the wind off shore; it will be the _Teal_ on. You'll have to make for the first opening you see as soon as there's wind enough, and run her right in. Don't hesitate a moment, Burgess; run her right ashore, and then we must do the best we can with the boats, or swim for it." "Run her right ashore!" said the mate grimly. "Yes--so that she's a hopeless wreck, impossible to get off." "Seems a pity," growled the mate; and his words found an echo in Fitz Burnett's breast. "Yes, but it would be a greater pity for my beautiful little schooner to fall a prize to that wretched tea-kettle there; and I won't have my lads treated as prisoners. I'd sooner we all had to take to the woods." "All right, sir. You're skipper; I'm mate. It's you to give orders, me to carry them out. But I'm beginning to think that they'll have us before we get the wind. You see, it's nearly calm." "Yes," said the skipper, "I see; and I wonder they haven't begun firing before." He walked right aft with the mate, leaving the lads alone, with Poole looking five years older, so blank and drawn was his face. But it brightened directly, as he felt the warm grip of the young middy's hand, and heard his words. "Oh, Poole, old chap," Fitz half whispered, after a glance round to see if they were likely to be overheard, but only to find that every seaman was either intent upon his duty or watching the enemy in expectation of a first shell or ball from the heavy gun. "Oh, Poole, old chap," he said again, "I am sorry--I am indeed!" "Sorry?" said Poole quietly. "Yes; for you've all been very kind to me." "Well, I am glad to hear you say so, for I tried to be, and the dad liked you because you were such a cocky, plucky little chap. But there: it's no use to cry over spilt milk. I suppose it isn't spilt yet, though," he added, with a little laugh; "but the jug will be cracked directly, and away it will all go into the sea. But I say, can you swim?"