At the foot of the lot on which the cedars now grow there was a landing-place. The men on shore saw the yawl push out from the schooner and head towards the landing.
They watched ten minutes, and the yawl did not change its course.
“Some man in that yawl knows well enough where this landing-place is, an’ they’re coming to it, you can bet your last guinea,” remarked Jim Avery. “My advice is to git away from here quick, an’ take to the lime-kiln.”
“Wait a few minutes first, to make sure they’re comin’,” suggested someone.
They watched five minutes longer, and then, keeping a thick bunch of cedars directly in range of the boat, they ran half-bent to the lime-kiln and shell-heap at the landing, and there concealing themselves, set one of their number to watch the movements of the boat.
In the lime-kiln they began to discuss a plan of action.
“Load the big musket with buckshot and give that to ’em first, if they undertake to land,” was the first proposition.
“Put in a rippin’ good charge. Four fingers of powder, and ram it hard—”added Jim Avery.
The steel ramrod sent out its cling as the wad was pounded down.
“Oh, the devil! Put in more buckshot than that if you want ’em to know we mean it. There!” continued Jim, as he clapped his hand over the bore and let a handful of buckshot guzzle down upon the first charge, “that’ll plug ’em.”