Bells clanged from the steeples of the little churches. Muskets and guns went off. Black masses could be seen surging into the streets. Cannon roared, and a screeching shot spun ahead of the on-coming boats.
“’Tis nothing,” said Rogers. “The alarm has only just been given. Preparations are not complete and we can rush them, easily.”
But Captain Cook had his own opinion upon the affair.
“The Buccaneers,” said he, “never attack any large place after it is alarmed. My advice is to keep away.”
“Don’t go in,” cried several. “Wait and rush them when they are not so well prepared.”
Even the men seemed disinclined to advance.
Thus cautious counsel prevailed: the boats dropped down-stream again—about three miles below the town—and were joined by two small barques. They were prizes which had been recently captured. Here the flotilla lay while the cries in the city grew inaudible,—for the inhabitants saw that the attack had been avoided.
When flood-tide came, Captain Rogers once more ordered an advance upon the town.
“No! No!” argued Dover. “They are too well prepared. Night will cloak our movements, so we should then go on. I, myself, advise the sending of a trumpeter with a flag of truce. He shall propose that we make some trades with the people of this place.”
“Your measure is half-hearted,” said Rogers, with heat. “You are a craven knave. Let’s rush the town like Englishmen and heroes!”