"I think not," replied Captain Brookes. "This is a matter that requires skilled men."
"Very good, sir."
Gerald felt the disappointment keenly, but like a true Englishman he bore the refusal manfully. Not so with Stockton; his face showed unmistakable signs of relief when his chum had been thwarted in his desires to embark in a hazardous craft destined for a still more hazardous enterprise.
The Olive Branch was now within two miles of the entrance to the harbour. On either side of the narrow mouth were stone forts faced with earth, over which floated the Chilian flag—red, white, and blue, with a white star on the upper "canton" nearest the staff. Beyond were the Government works and the low stone houses of the town, while in the distance the snow-capped Andes reared their lofty peaks to a height of 14,000ft.
"Do you think they'll open fire, Mr. Sinclair?" asked Captain Brookes, jerking his thumb in the direction of the forts.
"I don't fancy so, sir," was the reply. "They will trust to their mines. Since the last war these johnnies think twice before tackling an ironclad."
"Very well, then—carry on. Are your men ready, Mr. Palmer?"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Then look sharp about it, if we are to warp into the dock before sunset. By the bye, Mr. Tregarthen," he continued, wheeling round and facing Gerald, "have you had any experience of creeping?"
"Plenty of it in the Vernon, sir."