And the hot day glided on.
There was a fair breeze, and the schooner fairly danced over the laughing waters, sending shoals of flying-fish skimming out before them, with their wing-like fins glistening like those of gigantic dragon-flies, before they dropped back into the sea.
Rations were served out to the eager crowd, and a buzz of conversation was kept up, to ascend to the two lads, who spent most of their time aloft, watching, talking, and comparing notes about what a peaceful time it seemed and how strange a contrast to the excitement of the previous day and night.
“It’s too good to be true, my lads,” said the skipper quietly, as the afternoon glided by. “We have made such a splendid run that it isn’t reasonable to expect fortune will favour us much farther.”
“Ah, you think that?” said Don Ramon, who came up rolling a fresh cigarette.
“Yes, sir, I do. In another hour we shall be round that headland, and in sight of Velova if the mate keeps us clear of that long reef of rocks which guards the bay.”
“Ah, and then you think Villarayo will be waiting for us with his men?”
“Oh no,” said the skipper; “I can’t say for certain, but I should doubt whether he has found out as yet that we are gone. I feel certain now that he would not stir till all his reinforcements had reached him.”
“That is right,” said the Don eagerly, “and even then—I know our people well—they will fight bravely twice, but it is very hard to move them again. But you spoke as if you were in doubt. What is it you expect?”
“I expect, sir, that as soon as we get round that headland we shall see the gunboat waiting for us, and ready to open fire. And once she gets well within range—”