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However, there was no use complaining. With the chance of a million dollars for nothing, one must expect a few thorns, so he kept his head closed whilst Davis, taking him on deck, drew a lightning sketch of the plan of campaign.

First they had to shift the Araya’s moorings so as to get closer to the Douro, then they had to put the Kanakas wise, and more especially Taute the cook and leader, then they had just to lay low, wait for midnight, and pounce.

“Righto,” said Mr. Harman, “and if we’re shiftin’ moorin’s, let’s shift now.”

They did, not drawing too noticeably near the Douro, but near enough to keep watch on her. Near enough to count the sun-blisters on her side with a glass. She was of smaller tonnage than the Araya and ketch-rigged. She had never been a beauty, and she wasn’t one now; she had no charms to mellow with age.

Night had fallen on Buenodiaz, and the band on La Plazza had ceased braying. Eleven o’clock was striking. Cathedral and churches tinkling and tankling and clanging the hour; a drunken crew had just put off for the grain ship lying farther out, and silence was falling on the scene, when, whizz-bang, off went the fireworks.