The guns were manned, the gunners already kindling fuses, when the
buccaneer fleet, whilst still heading for Palomas, was observed to
bear away to the west. The Spaniards watched them, intrigued.
Within a mile and a half to westward of the fort, and within a
half-mile of the shore - that is to say, on the very edge of the
shoal water that makes Palomas unapproachable on either side by
any but vessels of the shallowest draught - the four ships cast
anchor well within the Spaniards' view, but just out of range of
their heaviest cannon.
Sneeringly the Admiral laughed.
"Aha! They hesitate, these English dogs! Por Dios, and well
they may."
"They will be waiting for night," suggested his nephew, who stood
at his elbow quivering with excitement.
Don Miguel looked at him, smiling. "And what shall the night avail
them in this narrow passage, under the very muzzles of my guns? Be
sure, Esteban, that to-night your father will be paid for."
He raised his telescope to continue his observation of the
buccaneers. He saw that the piraguas towed by each vessel were
being warped alongside, and he wondered a little what this manoeuver
might portend.
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