The moment they had heard that they were to go they began making their preparations; all their weapons were already in a perfect state of cleanliness, and shone as much as hands could make them, but every pistol and gun-lock was carefully re-oiled, every flint taken out and tightly replaced, while the blades of their cutlasses, that literally glittered, had a final touch given to them and the edges passed along the grindstone, which was sent spinning round in the little armoury as hard as it could go.
The skipper himself spent half the night with the steward, packing provisions, Joe Cross helping, for though he was to be coxswain of the boat, he said he came in there, for after the cook he held that he knew more about cooking “wittles” than any fellow in the ship, and this was acknowledged without dissent, though one of the men did say that Joe Cross took more than his share, since in addition to other duties he had the canisters of gunpowder in charge.
The morning was glorious, the sun and the early breeze soon chasing away the river mist, and before the tide had turned, everything was ready, the well-stored boat alongside, and an awning rigged up over the after-part big enough not merely to act as a screen for the gentlemen, but to shade those who were not rowing, while they were having their rest, while by a little addition the boat’s sail could be spread over the little unshipped mast and used as a covering from the night dews when the boat was moored somewhere to the bank after the day’s work was done.
“There, gentlemen,” said the skipper, “I think that’s about as near as we can get it; but I don’t see no sign of your Spanish guide as yet. It seems to me as if every one yonder is asleep. Here, you, Joe Cross, I knowed there’d be something. You’ve forgotten that screwdriver and the little bottle of oil.”
“That I aren’t, sir! They’re in the fore-locker in the little bag of tools.”
“Good,” grunted the skipper; “and I suppose you’ll help the doctor and young Mr Rodd skin the birds they shoot?”
“That’s right, sir, and Mr Rodd’s been laying down the law to me to take care and keep that there soapy stuff covered over as he dresses the inside of the skins with, ’cause he says it’s pison.”
The skipper grunted again as he stood at the side and scowled down into the boat.
“Spun yarn?” he said sharply.
“Plenty, sir.”