“All right, then, I won’t say it again. I wonder where the dad will make for.”
“Well, that will depend on whether the gunboat sights us. I say, does it make you feel excited?”
“Yes, awfully. I seem to want to be doing something.”
“So do I,” said Fitz, “instead of watching the sun go down so slowly.”
“Look at the gunboat, then. She’s not moving slowly. My word, she is slipping through the water! Why, she’s bound to see us if it don’t soon get dark.”
The boys lapsed into silence, and as they ceased speaking they were almost startled by the change that had taken place on shore.
The shouting and singing had ceased; there was no sound of music, and the bells had left off their clangour; while in place there came a low, dull, murmurous roar as of surf beating upon some rocky coast, a strange mingling of voices, hurrying foot-steps, indescribable, indistinct, and yet apparently expressive of excitement and the change from joy to fear.
“It has upset them pretty well,” said Poole. “Why, I did hear that they were going in for fireworks as soon as it was dark, and they fired that gun like a challenge. I shouldn’t wonder if they have fireworks of a different kind to what they expect.”
“Yes,” said Fitz excitedly. “The gunboat will begin firing shells perhaps, and set fire to the town.”
“Bad luck to them if they do,” cried Poole earnestly, “for it’s a beautiful old place with its groves and gardens. Here, I say, Burnett, I wish this wretched little schooner were your Tonans, and we were going to fight for poor old Don Ramon. Don’t you?”