"There, Mr. Somers, I have picked out the twenty-four best men in the ship—men that will work, fight, and hold their tongues," said Boatswain Longstone, when he had executed the important trust committed to him.
"Thank you, boatswain. What do you think of the weather?"
"It's going to be a nasty night."
"So much the better. Let every man take his pea-jacket; apply to the armorer for revolvers and cutlasses for each of them."
"A howitzer, Mr. Somers?"
"No; we must go as light as possible," replied Somers, as he proceeded to instruct the boatswain in regard to certain "slings" and other rigging that would be wanted.
Boatswain Longstone did not ask a single question about the nature or object of the enterprise; and with the exception of the admiral, and the captain and first lieutenant of the Chatauqua, not a man in the fleet besides Somers knew "what was up." It was necessary to conduct the enterprise with the utmost caution and secrecy.
The boatswain's predictions in regard to the weather proved to be entirely correct, for at eight bells, when the first watch was set, it was dark, foggy, and rainy. Somers had calculated upon this weather, when he had so promptly chosen the time for his venture. It was just the night for a difficult and dangerous enterprise, and the fog and the darkness were its best friends. While the boatswain was carrying out the orders given him, Somers had been engaged at the desk in his state-room, preparing for use certain papers, including his commander's commission in the Confederate navy, and his letter of instructions, intended for the Ben Nevis, or Louisiana. With his knife he scratched, and with his pen he wrote, until the documents suited his present purpose; and they were placed in his pocket.
At two bells—nine o'clock in the evening—while the rain poured down in torrents, Somers embarked with his force, consisting of Tom Longstone and twenty-four as athletic and resolute fellows as ever pulled an oar or handled a cutlass. The whale-boat was crowded, though it was of the largest size, being thirty feet in length. The oars were carefully muffled, and the seamen were so disposed that the oarsmen could be relieved without noise.
Wrapping his overcoat closely around him, Somers seated himself in the stern-sheets of the whale-boat, with the boatswain at his side. Though profoundly impressed by the magnitude and danger of the work in which he was engaged, he could not help thinking of the changes which had checkered his lot, since, two years before, he had sat in the first cutter of the Harrisburg, as an ordinary seaman. Now he was a master, and in command of the expedition. Tom Longstone had been with him then; he was with him now. In low tones, they talked of that eventful night, and of the changes which had occurred since that time.