If there had been a watch on board that craft throughout the night--and doubtless such had been the case--it had been kept in so quiet and unobtrusive a manner as to render it questionable to the jealous eyes which had been riveted on her from the shore until long past midnight.

Now, however, everything was in motion, and in less than five minutes after that billet of wood had fallen from the hands of the cook, as he was about to light his galley fire, the tops of the hats and caps of some fifty or sixty sailors were seen moving to and fro, just above the upper edge of the bulwarks.

Three minutes later, and two men appeared near the knight-heads, each with his arms folded, looking at the vessel's hawse, and taking a survey of the state of the harbor, and of objects on the surrounding shore.
The two individuals who were standing in the conspicuous position named were Raoul Yvard himself, and Ithuel Bolt.

Their conversation was in French, the part borne by the last being most execrably pronounced, and paying little or no attention to grammar; but it is necessary that we should render what was said by both into the vernacular, with the peculiarities that belonged to the men.
"I see only the Austrian that is worth the trouble of a movement," quietly observed Raoul, whose eye was scanning the inner harbor, his own vessel lying two hundred yards without it, it will be remembered--"and she is light, and would scarce pay for sending her to Toulon.

These feluccas would embarrass us, without affording much reward, and then their loss would ruin the poor devils of owners, and bring misery into many a family." "Well, that's a new idee, for a privateer!" said Ithuel sneeringly; "luck's luck, in these matters, and every man must count on what war turns up.