eary silence fell upon all, and we
walked the deck without speaking, waiting and watching for the result of
that deliberation, which already had lasted above four mortal hours.

Twice was the young man who spoke French summoned to the cabin, but,
from the briefness of his stay, apparently with little profit; and now
the day began to wane, and the tall cliffs threw their lengthened
shadows over the still waters of the bay, and yet nothing was resolved
on. To the quiet and respectful silence of expectation, now succeeded a
low and half subdued muttering of discontent; groups of five or six
together were seen along the deck, talking with eagerness and animation,
and it was easy to see that whatever prudential or cautious reasons
dictated to the leaders, their arguments found little sympathy with the
soldiers of the expedition. I almost began to fear that if a
determination to abandon the exploit were come to, a mutiny might break
out, when my attention was drawn off by an order to accompany Colonel
Charost on shore to "reconnoitre." This, at least, looked like business,
and I jumped into the small boat with alacrity.

With the speed of four oars stoutly plied, we skimmed along the calm
surface, and soon saw ourselves close in to the shore. Some little time
was spent in looking for a good place to land; for, although not the
slightest air of wind was blowing, the long swell of the Atlantic broke
upon the rocks with a noise like thunder. At last, we shot into a little
creek with a shelving gravelly beach, and completely concealed by the
tall rocks on every side; and now we sprang out, and stood upon Irish
ground!

CHAPTER XIX.

A "RECONNAISSANCE."

From the little creek where we landed, a small zig-zag path led up the
sides of the cliff, the track by which the peasants carried the
sea-weed, which they gathered for manure, and up this we now slowly
wended our way. Stopping for some time to gaze at the ample bay beneath
us, the tall-masted frigates floating so majestically on its glassy
surface--it was a scene of tranquil and picturesque beauty, with which
it would have been almost impossible to associate the idea of war and
invasion. In the lazy bunting that hung listlessly from peak and
mast-head--in the cheerful voices of the sailors, heard afar off in the
stillness--in the measured plash of the sea itself, and the fearless
daring of the sea-gulls, as they soared slowly above our heads--there
seemed something so sug