Two days later all was ready for the advance. It was near midnight—upon April 22nd,—when the command was passed around:
“Muffle your oars and take the town!”
With one hundred and ten men in the jolly boats, the privateers neared the sleepy, little seaport. Not a sound broke the silence, save the drip, drip of the sweeps, yet, as they approached the white-washed walls of the lower town,—a bonfire was touched off upon the shore.
“’Tis well,” whispered a stout sailor. “Now we can see to shoot!”
As he said this, many lights appeared in the houses of Guayaquil. The townspeople were wide awake.
“What means this, sirrah?” thundered Rogers at a native guide, who was piloting him to the shore.
The fellow had a ready answer.
“’Tis the celebration of All Saints Day,” he answered smiling. “The people here are good Christians.”
“They know that we are coming,” growled the English captain, for, as the native spoke, a Spaniard upon the shore was heard to shout:
“Puna has been captured! The enemy is advancing! Arm! Arm!”