"Oh, don't talk about eating now," cried Fitz, as they reached the big spar, upon which he scrambled out, to sit swinging his legs, and closely followed by Poole. "What's the first thing?" "Who's to man the gig," said Poole; "and I've got to pick the crew." "I should like to pick one," cried Fitz. "All right, go on; only don't choose the Camel, nor Bob Jackson." "No, no; neither of them," cried Fitz. "I say, we ought to have old Butters." "One," said Poole sharply. "Now it's my turn; Chips." "Yes, I should like to have him," cried the middy. "But I don't know," he continued seriously. "He's a splendid fellow, and so handy; but he might want to turn it all into a lark." "Not he," cried Poole. "He likes his bit of fun sometimes, but for a good man and true to have at my back in a job like this, he's the pick of the whole crew." "Chips it is, then," said Fitz. "That's two." "Dick Boulter, then." "Three!" cried Fitz. "Harry Smith." "Four," said Fitz. "Four, four, four, four," said Poole thoughtfully. "Who shall we have for number five? Here, we'll have the Camel, after all." "Oh," cried Fitz; "there'll be nothing to cook." "Yes, there will; the big gun and the propeller. He's cook, of course, but he's nearly as good a seaman as there is on board the schooner, and he'll row all right and never utter a word. There, we've got a splendid boat's crew, and I vote we go and tell father what we've done." "I wouldn't," said Fitz. "It'll make him think that we hadn't confidence in ourselves. Unless he asks us, I wouldn't say a word." "You are right," said Poole; "right as right. Now then, what's next? I know: we'll go and make the lads get up the Manilla rope and lay it down again in rings as close as they'll go." "On the deck here?" said Fitz. "No, no; right along the bottom of the gig. And we must have her lowered down first with two men in her, ready to coil the cable as the others pass it down. Now then, let's get inboard again and find old Butters." "But he'll be wanting to know what we want with that rope." "Sure to," said Poole; "but he'll have to wait. Oh, here he comes. Here, bosun!" he cried. "I want you to get up that new Manilla cable, lower down the gig, and coil it in the bottom so that it will take up as little room as possible, and not be in the men's way." "What men's way?" said the boatswain. "Chips, Harry Smith, the Camel, and Dick Boulter," said Poole. "Ho!" grunted the boatswain, and he took off his cap and began to scratch his head, staring at both in turn. "Whose orders?" he grunted, at last. "I just seen Mr Burgess, and he never said a word." "The skipper's orders," cried Poole. "Ho!" said the boatswain again. "Well, that's good enough for me," and he stood staring at them. "Well, get the men together and see about the rope," cried Poole. "What's your game? Going to take the end out to a steam-tug, or is the gunboat going to tow us out to sea?"