the glass in
turn to watch the mouth of the little river; but they watched in vain,
for there was no sign of enemy hurrying to the bank, nothing to disturb
the peace and beauty of the scene.

Poole scuffled up to the masthead, glass in hand, and Fitz Burnett
followed him, to stand as near as he could, with the ratlines cutting
into his feet and a crick coming in the back of his neck, as he held on
tightly, and leaned back watching his companion's action, longing to get
hold of the glass and use it himself. In fact, he was suffering from
that impatience which often attacks us all and makes us feel as we watch
another's action how much better we could do it ourselves, from the
greatest matter down to such a trifle us untying a knot in a piece of
string. Meanwhile, with the white sails swelling out above and below,
and the double glass to his eye, the skipper's son was slowly sweeping
the coast-line, letting nothing escape him, as he looked in vain for
some sign of the enemy.

"See her, my boy?" came from the deck, and Fitz looked down, to see that
the skipper and Don Ramon were watching them.

"No, father," cried Poole. "I wasn't looking out to sea."

"Then why don't you?" cried the skipper angrily. "Are you trying to see
cocoanuts on the trees? Sweep the horizon, sir, and give us the first
notice of that gunboat's masts."

"All right, father," said the lad quietly, and he wrenched himself round
and made the lenses of the binocular slowly travel along the
horizon-line, as he rocked gently here and there with the action of the
schooner riding swiftly over the long smooth swell; for there was a
pleasant breeze, all possible sail was set, and they were rapidly
diminishing the distance between them and Velova Bay.

"See her?" said Fitz, as he noted that the skipper and his Spanish
friend had walked together forward--Don Ramon's followers, who crowded
the deck and sent up scores of tiny films of smoke from their
cigarettes, politely making way and forming quite a lane for their
leaders.

They were idling, chattering, and laughing together, the very types of a
party of idlers out on a sea-trip, and their rifles were leaning against
the bulwarks here and there, lying about the deck, or stuck in sheaves
together with their barrels appearing above the sides of the boats
swinging from the davits.

No one could have imagined from their careless indolent bearing that
they were posing as patriots, men who a short time b