Gervase followed the captain on deck where the men were busy with the halliards, and all was lively confusion and disorder. The seamen were already swarming on the yards of the _Dartmouth_, and the long boat of the _Swallow_ was in the water, with the carpenters hammering upon the rough barricado with which they were protecting her sides. The wind which from the morning had been blowing in quiet airs from the north-west, had gone round to the north and had freshened somewhat. In the summer sky there was hardly a cloud; the waves leapt and flashed in the sunshine, and the vessels were beginning to plunge at their cables in the livelier sea. By the time that Gervase had finished his scrutiny of the cutlasses and muskets, and had seen to the loading of the three guns that the _Phoenix_ carried, McKeller and the men had the vessel under sail. Then the windlass was manned, and it was only when the anchor had been lifted, and the little vessel was slipping through the water that Gervase felt their work was really begun and his task was about to be completed. The captain himself had taken the tiller, standing square and firm, with his coat thrown aside, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and showing his brown, muscular arms. “There goes the _Dartmouth_,” he cried to Gervase, who was standing near him, “well done, and seamanly. And the _Mountjoy_--she has the lead of us, being weightier and more strongly timbered. I don´t grudge it to Browning; he´s a good fellow and a gallant seaman. We´ve sailed together ere now. And the old _Jerusalem_--she´ll come up when the eggs are boiled. We´ll have to knock once or twice before they let us in.” The _Dartmouth_ led the way with her ports open and the iron muzzles of her guns all agrin, the white sails on her lofty spars swelling out under the freshening wind. She did not wait for her consorts, but held her way steadily toward the river´s mouth where the castle of Culmore guarded the entrance. The _Mountjoy_ outsailed the _Phoenix_ much to the chagrin of Douglas, and three cables´ lengths already divided them. The men leaned over the bulwarks watching the fort where they could see the soldiers hastening to the guns, and could hear the drums beating the alarm. As yet the _Dartmouth_ was not within range of the cannon, but already a round shot or two had come skipping along the water and had fallen short. As they drew toward the river´s mouth the breeze had grown lighter, and Gervase feared that the afternoon would set in a stagnant calm. But they had the tide with them, and the wind blew fairly up the river. “There´s the music now,” cried Douglas, as the guns of the fort flashed along the ramparts; “there´s a hole in the royal yonder, but ´twill take more than that to turn old Leake. Will he never let them hear him?”