Mike said something of the kind, but Vince made an allusion to the old proverb about not counting chickens until they were hatched.
“Get out!” cried Mike: “you always make the worst of things. I say, look how beautifully she comes along.”
“Yes, and she’ll be on one of they rocks if she don’t mind,” said the cook. “I say, my lads, there’ll be no breakfast till all this business is over, but if you step in here I’ll give you both some coffee and biscuit.”
“Oh, who could eat and drink now?” said Vince. “I can’t.”
“I can,” said the man; “and as my pokers are all hot, I mean to have a snack.”
The boys’ great dread was that they would be sent below, and consequently they kept out of the captain’s way, and saw all that was going on, till the cutter was within a few hundred yards; and then, all at once, the wind failed her, and she lay as motionless as the two smugglers. The same fate had befallen Daygo in his boat, he being a mile away; but they saw that he had put out his oars, and was rowing.
“Going to board us,” said the cook, with a sigh. “Now the fun’s going to begin.”
For two boats dropped from the cutter’s sides, and the boys saw an officer in uniform in each, with a couple of red-coated marines, whose pieces glistened in the morning sunshine, as did the arms of the sailors.
But they saw something else as well. At a word from the captain, a dozen of the men went on hands and knees to the arm chest, each sailor in turn taking a cutlass, pistols, and cartridge pouch, and crawling back under the shelter of the bulwarks to load.
Vince drew a deep sigh, and his face was flushed, while Mike looked of a sallow white.