It was a waiting game that Clif had set out to play, and it seemed the only thing that could help them under the circumstances. It was out of the question to think of attacking the Spaniards, superior at least in numbers. There was other work for the night.
Silently the American crew waited, listening for every sound. Soon these voices died out, and Clif concluded that they could venture to move once more.
"Row quietly," was his whispered order. "I'd like to give them a volley, but that would spoil our plans."
The men cautiously plied the oars and were soon steering softly toward their appointed place of landing. But quietly as they moved, the sound was borne ashore and they had not proceeded many boat lengths before another shot echoed across the water.
"To thunder with the Spaniard," exclaimed Clif, out of patience with the fresh outbreak. "He's firing at random. Go ahead. We'll meet them further down the shore if they're not satisfied."
This sentiment met the approval of the men, and they bent to the oars with vigor and spirit.
They were gliding swiftly across the water, and had nearly reached their landing place, when Clif heard a noise that put him on the alert.
"Do you hear that?" he exclaimed, after hastily stopping the rowers.
The men rested on their oars and listened.
"Sounds like the throbbing of an engine, sir," at last said one of the men. "It's a boat, sure."