"Mr. Bainbridge."
"Yes, sir."
"Commodore Preble's orders are for me to go on shore to-morrow at seven thirty in the morning. By the way, you will go with me——"
"Oh, thank you, sir," interrupted the midshipman, his voice breaking; "thank you."
"I shall attend to everything, if you will allow me the honor."
Bainbridge put out his hand; Decatur took it without a word.
The next morning, on a narrow stretch of beach, there was a curious little gathering, or, better, two separate groups: one composed of five men talking together, and at a few paces' distance two silent figures.
The five men were conversing in whispers.
"Nevertheless, I intend doing it," said the tall slender man who was in the centre. "Do you see the button at his throat? A Yankee more or less does not count."
"Are you ready, gentlemen?"