Quietly the sailors had taken their stations. Each carried only a revolver; for night use rifles are less effective. Phil and Sydney stood side by side ready to lead their men on board the “Talofa.” The darkness was intense. The bold and densely wooded mountains rising precipitously above them cast a deep shadow over the waters of the bay.
A satisfied grunt from Tuamana was the first news that their quarry had been located. The chiefs keen eyes had perceived the ghostly outline of a sail. In a few minutes all recognized the schooner, lying near the extreme end of the bay. Her great mainsail was set and its whiteness against the land had first revealed her presence.
No one spoke. The steam launch had been slowed in speed, and all precautions taken to assure surprise. The fireman ceaselessly watched his boiler to prevent a sudden escape of steam and the machinist used oil freely to prevent the slightest machinery squeak which might reveal their presence.
In silence, except for the slight churn of the propeller and the swirl of water thrown from the bow of the launch in its progress, O’Neil steered straight for the black hull now distinctly outlined scarcely five hundred yards away. No lights were visible on the schooner—a good sign. The crew were either all asleep or ashore.
The launch, with its engine stopped, swung alongside. Ready hands made her fast, and a moment after the deserted decks were held by the Americans.
“You look out for the forward hatch,” Phil ordered Sydney. “O’Neil, take a half dozen men with Stump, and make sail. Tell the launch to take a line and tow us out of the bog.”
Phil with two sailors moved toward the cabin ladder. He gazed below into forbidding blackness.
“I wonder if Scott is down there?” he exclaimed. “If he is he will soon be up when he feels his ship under way.”
Phil heard the sound of the capstan as O’Neil and his men began to weigh the anchor. Then the squeak of gear grinding through unoiled blocks gave proof that the foresail and head-sails were being set. Soon a slight jar and the louder noise of the churning of the launch’s propeller told him the schooner was under way, and then slowly she moved through the quiet water of the bay toward the sea.
“Keep watch here,” Phil said to his two men. Then with his revolver in hand he slowly, cautiously descended the ladder. Stories told of this pirate Scott came into his mind. At the bottom the darkness was oppressive. Phil endeavored to listen for the breathing of the man he sought, but his own heart-beats deafened him. He did not know which way to turn. Where were the sleeping quarters?