“No,” said Fitz, and without heeding a faint rustling sound such as might have been made by some wild creature, or an enemy stealing up to listen to their words, he went on: “I was thinking that this is what we ought to do—I mean your father and the Don—steal off at once without making a sound, all of us, English and Spaniards too, down to that timber-wharf.”
“But suppose the enemy have got scouts out there?”
“I don’t believe they have. After that last thrashing they drew off ever so far, and that President is doing nothing but wait for the coming of his reinforcements.”
“That sounds right, Mr Poole, sir,” said the carpenter.
“Well, it’s likely,” said Poole, and the faint rustling went on unheard. “But what then?”
“Whistle up the boat. The men would know your signal.”
“Yes?”
“Load her up till the water’s above the streak, and let her drop down with the stream. I noticed that it ran pretty fast. Land the men at the mouth; leave them to signal for the schooner to come within reach—they could do that with the lantern, or a bit of fire on the shore, if they didn’t hear the captain’s pipe—and while they are doing that, four men with oars row back as hard as ever they could go, to fetch another boat-load.”
“Boat-load?” said Poole. “Why, it would take about four journeys, if not more.”
“Very likely,” said Fitz. “But there would be hours to do it in.”