Indeed, although he was not acquainted with the saying, Otter's feelings would have been correctly summed up in the well-known phrase, "_C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre_." As yet the night was intensely dark, and its gloom did not tend to improve their spirits; also, as Otter had predicted, the wind was rising and soughed through the reeds and willows in melancholy notes.
So the time passed till it was nine o'clock.
"We must move down to the landing-place," said Leonard; "there will soon be some light, enough for us to work by." Then Otter took the lead and slowly, step by step, they crept back to the road and followed it down the shore of the canal opposite the water-gate.

Here was a place where boats and canoes were tied, both for convenience in crossing the canal to and from the camp and for the use of the slave-dealers when they passed to the secret harbour six miles away, where the dhows embarked their cargoes.
They waited awhile.

From the Nest came the sound of revelry, and from the slave camp there rose other sounds, the voice of groaning broken by an occasional wail wrung out of the misery of some lost creature who lay there in torment.

Gradually the sky brightened a little.
"Perhaps we had better be making a start," said Leonard; "there is a canoe which will serve our turn." Before the words were out of his mouth they heard the splash of oars, and a boat crept past them and made fast to the water-gate twenty yards away.
"Who goes there ?" came the challenge of the sentry in Portuguese.

"Speak quick or I fire." "Don't be in such a hurry with your rifle, fool," answered a coarse voice.