The missing boat was never heard of again.
Two days later, James Walsham had strolled up the hill to the east of the town, and was lying, with a book before him, in a favourite nook of his looking over the sea.

It was one of the lovely days which sometimes come late in autumn, as if the summer were determined to show itself at its best, before leaving.

It could not be said that James was studying, for he was watching the vessels passing far out at sea, and inwardly moaning over the fact that he was destined for a profession for which he had no real liking, instead of being free to choose one of travel and adventure.
Presently, he heard voices behind him.

The position, in which he was lying, was a little distance down on the slopes, on the seaward side of the path, and, as a screen of bushes grew behind it, he could not be seen by anyone passing along.
"All the men, with their pistols and cutlasses, are to assemble here at ten o'clock tonight, Johnson.

But do not give them orders till late, and let them come up, one by one, so as not to attract attention.
Lipscombe's men are to assemble at the same hour, and march to meet us.
This time, I think, there is no mistake.