In the gangway, preparing to descend into one of the boats that were alongside, stood Sir Walter Raleigh, and his two friends. The two latter had already bidden Hildebrand farewell, but Sir Walter, who was the foremost of the three, held him by the hand still.
“I will bear it in mind, worthy Master Clifford,” he said, in an under tone. “Shedlock shall never know from me, or any but thyself, aught that hath passed, though, by my lady’s hand, I could tear the knave’s heart from his body, if ’twere but to see what ’tis made of.”
“Indeed, ’twould be to my disadvantage just now, noble Sir, that he should know I am thy poor friend,” said Hildebrand.
“It might, it might!” observed Sir Walter. “Have no doubt of my secresy. Farewell, and God keep thee, my friend!”
“Farewell! farewell!” said Hildebrand.
They shook hands again, and, this done, Sir Walter and his friends, without further observation, descended to their boat. All the other strangers had departed before, and none but her proper crew remained on board the “Eliza.”
Once parted from his friends, Hildebrand stepped quickly across the deck, and mounted to the poop. Glancing forward, he perceived that the white sails were all loosened, and were beginning to expand to the wind: the men were scattered in groups, in different parts of the ship; and every eye, from Master Halyard’s downwards, was turned wistfully on him. As he observed the general attention, Hildebrand doffed his plumed hat, and raised it gaily in the air.
“One cheer for merry England!” he exclaimed.
There was a dead pause for a moment: then the welkin rang with a hearty hurrah!