“Bah!” ejaculated Fitz angrily, feeling more annoyed with himself than with Poole.
“Why of course she is going down at her usual rate.”
“Sun’s a he,” said Fitz. “It isn’t the moon.”
“Thankye. You have grown wise,” replied Poole sarcastically. “Do you know, I should have almost known that myself. But bother all this! I want to see the canvas shaken out ready for making a start.”
“Very stupid too,” said Fitz.
“Why?”
“Because the people on board the gunboat mayn’t see us now, with our bare poles; and even if they could make us out they wouldn’t be able to distinguish us from the other craft lying close in shore.”
“Right,” said Poole sharply. “I was getting impatient. I suppose we are going to run out through the darkness, same as we did before.”
“I hope not,” said Fitz meaningly. “Once was enough for a scrape like that.”
Poole grunted, with agreement in his cones, and then they leaned over the bulwarks together forward, following the example of most of the men, who were just as keenly on the look-out, and growing as excited in the expectation of the coming adventure, all but two, who, in obedience to a growl from the mate, lowered down the dinghy and then pulled her hand-over-hand by the mooring-cable to where it was made fast to the big ring in the buoy; and there they held on, ready to slip the minute the order was given from the deck.