“Exactly half-past six,” replied General Matajente.
“Then the tide has turned and is on the ebb. Shall I let her go, sir?”
“Yes, if all is in readiness.”
“In a moment, sir, as soon as I attach this,” and he held up a percussion cap; “and this,” and he displayed a small shoulder of lamb.
Strange combination! thought the boys as they saw these last articles needed to complete the engine of death that was about to be set sailing under the most alluring flag of peace—agriculture; and they watched intently as the gaunt seaman strode through the surf to the side of the lighter, then climbed on board.
The morning was misty, but at such a short distance from shore he was easily discernible, bending over and moving his hands and arms. He was not engaged in this for more than two minutes, then he dropped over the side, and called out, “Push her off, men!”
Old John waded ashore, and the lighter, loaded with explosives and disguised with market gardeners’ truck, with the choice from butchers’ stalls, with delicacies from the fruiterers; yes, even with a few flowers, which were strewn carelessly on top, as if placed there by some one who had given them as a memento to the owner of the cargo—this engine of death drifted slowly into the mist, out toward the sea, borne by the ebb tide.
The artillery captain spoke for a moment with General Matajente, then turned to the boys and bade them good-by, saying that he must go to the castles.
“But first, won’t you please tell us what you did when you went on the lighter while the men were holding her?” asked Harvey. “We saw what was done on shore, but cannot understand what followed.”
“Certainly, my lad. You noticed that I carried a percussion cap and a shoulder of lamb?”