We were therefore glad when night fell and darkness shielded us from inquisitive glances. Instead of flags we now used a green light, which we showed at short intervals both towards land and sea. Hour after hour passed and nothing happened. Darkness reigned everywhere, even in the town. Only on the pier there burned a small green light--the pier-head light intended to show incoming vessels the entrance to the harbour. From time to time we imagined we saw a signal light in one of the houses to the south-east; but always the glasses showed that we were mistaken. As midnight drew near, it became noticeably brighter--no wonder, for towards one o'clock the moon would rise. I once more approached the pier, this time within six hundred yards, and at the risk of discovery showed my green light once again. Then, when this last attempt proved fruitless, I steamed slowly back to the rendezvous off Inishtooskert. Cautiously we felt our way along the cliffs to the anchorage. So still was the night that even on the forecastle the stroke of our propeller-blades could be clearly heard. It must have been an hour and a half after midnight when the anchor rattled down into the depths and we brought up in the shadow of Inishtooskert, in what seemed to us a hiding-place well screened in every direction. If the sentry on the pier was not asleep, he must, no doubt, have heard the rattle of the anchor chain. But nothing happened. The moon had meanwhile risen, but as we lay close under the west side of the island we could count on being in deep shadow till close on the dawn. Hour after hour passed, and as morning approached my hope that the Irish would manage to communicate with us during the night gradually faded away. When at last day dawned, I gave up the game for lost. Useless to run boldly alongside Fenit Pier, for who could suppose we should be allowed to unload our munitions unmolested; useless to pretend an accident to the machinery, for at once we should have a swarm of officials on board; impracticable to send men ashore in a boat at some outlying spot to make inquiries, for I could not spare a man, in view of future eventualities. And yet I hated to turn back. The one thing that gave me some small consolation was to find that all my men were equally unwilling to do so. Well, but, if we stay, how long will they let us lie here? We had not long to wait for an answer. I was just discussing the question with my second, when suddenly we were startled by a shout from the look-out man: 'Steamer on the starboard bow.'... 'The pilot steamer!'