Courtenay and Tollemache, who took the middle watch,
from midnight to 4 A.M., had failed to note the presence of several
canoes on the ink-black surface of the bay until the dog warned them by
growling, and ruffling the bristles on his back. The night was pitch
dark; the rising moon was not only hidden by the hills of the island,
but frequent storms of rain and hail rendered it impossible while they
raged to see or hear beyond the distance of a few feet. In all
probability, as the canoes bore down from windward, Joey had scented
them. He also gave the highly important information as to the quarter
from which attack might be expected. Three men, at least, had gained
the deck, but the prompt use of a revolver had caused them to retreat
as silently and speedily as they had appeared. That was all. There
was no actual fight. The phantoms vanished as silently as they came.
The only external lights on the ship were the masthead and sidelights,
hoisted by Courtenay to reveal the steamer's whereabouts in case one of
the boats chanced to be driven into the bay during the dark hours.
There was an electric lamp turned on in the donkey-engine room, and
another in the main saloon, but means were taken to exclude them from
showing without; if the Indians meant to be actively hostile, lights on
board would be more helpful to the assailants than to the assailed.
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