Several vultures, the large carrion crows formerly described, were perched on the neighbouring trees, or stalking along the beach, on the look-out for any waifs that might be cast ashore, as their perquisites. Sentries were placed along the hillside, with their arms glancing in the sun, to give notice of the approach of any of the crew of the Mosca that might have escaped and taken to the woods, should they have the hardihood to attack any stray Spider crawling about on shore. His Majesty's schooner was at anchor beneath us, right in the centre of the cove, with her sails loose to dry, and her blue ensign and pennant hoisted, but there was not a breath of wind to stir either. There were several lines of clothes stretched from different parts of the rigging, some of the garments deeply saturated with blood. The crew were busy overhauling the rigging, and repairing the injuries sustained in the action, their voices and loud laughter sounding hollow from the water, and echoing amongst the sails, while the long, silver-clear note, and the short merry chirrup of the boatswain's whistle, as the water-casks were hoisting in from the launch alongside, rose shrill above the confused sounds. All this time the sea-breeze was stealing on, throwing out its cat's paws, like tirailleurs covering the advance of the main body, eating into and crisping away the outer edge of the polished mirror of the anchorage, as if it had been the advancing tide gradually breaking away the ice of some smooth frozen river. We could hear the rushing of the wind before a feather moved near us; by and by there was a twitter amongst the topmost leaves of the tree under which we sat, and some withered ones came whirling down, and a dry twig dropped on my hat with a tiny rattle. The highest and lightest sails of the schooner began to flap and shake. "There comes the breeze, Mr M'Taggart," cheeped a _wee_ mid on board. "All hands furl sails," was growled along her deck by the hoarse voice of the boatswain. "There it comes--haul down the square sail." Round swung the Spider, with her topsail, top-gallant sail, and royal all aback, and her fore and aft sails undulating and rumbling in the breeze; presently she gradually dropped a fathom or two astern, as more scope was given her. "In royal--hands by the topsail, and topgallant clewlines--fore and main brails;" and the next minute she rode steadily on the surface of the blue and roughened cove, head to wind, the tiny wavelets sparkling in the sun, and laplapping against her cutwater; with every thing snugly furled, and the breeze rushing past her in half a gale of wind, driving the waves in a small surf upon the beach to leeward, and roaring through the trees where we sat; while the sound of the swell, as it pitched against the iron-bound coast, came down strong, vibrating on our ears like distant thunder.