of the cabin-hatch.

"Is father below there?" cried Poole huskily. "Yes; just left him,"
grunted the mate, as he stared hard at the excited countenances of the
two lads. "Anything the matter?"

"Yes. Quick!" cried Poole. "Come on down below." The skipper looked
up from the log he was writing as his son flung open the cabin-door,
paused for the others to enter, and then shut it after them with a bang
which made the skipper frown.

"Here, what's this, sir?" he said sternly, as he glanced from one to the
other. "Oh, I see; you two boys have been quarrelling, and want to
fight. Well, wait a little, and you'll have enough of that. Now, Mr
Burnett, speak out. What is it? Have you and my son been having
words?"

"Yes, father," half shouted Poole, interposing--"such words as will make
you stare. Tell him, Burnett, all that you have said."

The skipper and the mate listened in silence, while Poole watched the
play of emotion their faces displayed, before the skipper spoke.

"Splendid, my lad!" he cried. "But it sounds too good to be true. You
say you understand these guns?"

"Yes, sir; I have often stood by to watch the drill, and seen blank
cartridge fired again and again."

"But the breech-block? Could it be lifted out?"

"It could aboard the _Tonans_, sir, and I should say that this would be
about the same."

"Hah!" ejaculated the skipper. "But it could only be done by one who
understands the working of the piece, and we should be all worse than
children over such a job."

Poole's eyes were directed searchingly at the middy, who met them
without a wink.

"As I understand," continued the captain, "it would be done by one who
crept aboard in the dark, unscrewed the gun, took out the block, and
carried it to the side. I repeat, it could only be done by one who
understands the task. Who could do this?"

"I could, sir," said Fitz quietly.

"And you would?"

"If I were strong enough. But I am sure that I could do it if Poole
would help."

"Then if it's possible to do, father," said the lad quietly, "the job is
done."

"But look here," interposed the mate, in his gruff way; "what about Don
Ramon? What will he say? He wouldn't have that great breech-loader
spoiled for the world."

"How would it be spoiled?" cried Fitz sharply.

"Aren't you going to disable it by chucking the breech-block over the
side?"

"Pooh!" cried Fitz contemptuously. "These parts are all numbered, and
you can sen