"Yes, and everything will depend upon how long it is before the reinforcements come and they make their advance. It may be hours yet, and it may be before the break of day. There, don't talk to me again, my lad; I want to think." So it was in silence and darkness that the corduroy road was traversed, and the rear-guard reached the little wharf to find the advance gathered-together, waiting to fire or descend at once into the boat. There was not a sound to be heard from the direction by which they had come, and the skipper giving the order to embark at once, the men stepped down carefully and well, till, dangerously packed, the order was given to push off, Poole and Fitz being together in the stern, where the skipper passed out an oar to steer, and they began rapidly to descend the flooded stream. "There must have been rain in the mountains," he said quietly, and then aloud, "Sit fast, my lads, and keep her well in trim. Two oars out there, just to give me steering way, but you need hardly pull. Everything depends upon your keeping steady. There, boys," he said, to those at his side, "we are none too soon. It's lightening yonder in the east." That morning the sun, as it rose high above the mist, shone down upon the crowded decks of the schooner, her white sails glistening as the land was left behind, with Poole and Fitz Burnett using the glass in turn to watch the mouth of the little river; but they watched in vain, for there was no sign of enemy hurrying to the bank, nothing to disturb the peace and beauty of the scene. Poole scuffled up to the masthead, glass in hand, and Fitz Burnett followed him, to stand as near as he could, with the ratlines cutting into his feet and a crick coming in the back of his neck, as he held on tightly, and leaned back watching his companion's action, longing to get hold of the glass and use it himself. In fact, he was suffering from that impatience which often attacks us all and makes us feel as we watch another's action how much better we could do it ourselves, from the greatest matter down to such a trifle us untying a knot in a piece of string. Meanwhile, with the white sails swelling out above and below, and the double glass to his eye, the skipper's son was slowly sweeping the coast-line, letting nothing escape him, as he looked in vain for some sign of the enemy. "See her, my boy?" came from the deck, and Fitz looked down, to see that the skipper and Don Ramon were watching them. "No, father," cried Poole. "I wasn't looking out to sea." "Then why don't you?" cried the skipper angrily. "Are you trying to see cocoanuts on the trees? Sweep the horizon, sir, and give us the first notice of that gunboat's masts."