"And before midnight Xuarez will have landed his new regiments," said Tim, turning away. "Well, there's no help for it, I suppose. Come, Jack and Peter, 'tis no use waiting here. We must wait till these scouts return."
"And meanwhile, Tim?"
"Come with me to the telegraph-office. I'm going to send an account of the sea-fight to my paper."
"You are sure the wires are not cut to the southward?" said Peter, as they trudged along to the office.
"They weren't this morning anyhow. Why should they cut them? All they want to do is to intercept communication with the capital. They don't care two straws what goes to England."
"Xuarez does. He told me so."
"Ah! but, you see, Xuarez is not here at present, and has forgotten to give orders to cut them. When he arrives again, he'll do it, maybe."
"Well, seeing that he wishes the world to look on him as a noble patriot, he certainly won't care about your wiring plain truths about him to the old country. He'll either cut the wires or bring a war correspondent on his own hook."
"A rival!" cried Tim, indignantly. "If I thought so, I'd shoulder a musket myself, and go out to shoot the dirty villain. Here's the P.O., my boys! Peter! hold your noise. Jack's going to give me a history of the fight."
"I know as much about it as Jack does," said Peter, in an injured tone, as they entered the office.