They had lingered behind during this brief dialogue. When Hildebrand had disposed of the Donna’s note, he stepped forward more boldly, and they shortly came abreast of Halyard.
“Art thou making for the mole?” asked Hildebrand of that person.
“No, captain, but for the beach,” answered Halyard. “I have a boat off the beach, with muffled oars.”
“Muffled oars?” echoed Hildebrand.
“Faith, I forgot to tell thee, captain,” rejoined Halyard; “but the Dons boarded us this morning. They seemed to be satisfied, after well overhauling us, that we were Scots; but, since then, we have a great gun-boat anchored alongside of us, and I doubt not are closely watched.”
“An’ the moon rise not quickly,” observed Hildebrand, “we may baffle them.”
Halyard, whether because he was of a different opinion, or that he conceived his sentiments to be unimportant, made no reply, and they pursued their way in silence. After a short interval, they came to the water-side, and passed directly to the beach.
Not a person was about, and the dark hulls of the shipping, scattered here and there over the water, at various distances, were the only objects that could be distinguished. After progressing for a few minutes, however, the quick eyes of the two Englishmen, used to maritime observation, discerned the less striking outline of their boat. It was lying afloat, a length or two out from the beach, with its oars—whether as a precaution against surprise, or for some less obvious purpose—shipped for service, and its coxswain stationed ready at the rudder.
A shrill whistle from Halyard, with a cry of “Boat ahoy!” uttered in a low but distinct tone, reached the coxswain’s ears, and the boat was instantly shot up to the beach. Halyard and Hildebrand, as by a preconcerted arrangement, hereupon stepped on one side, with the view of allowing the young Spaniard to pass in first; but that person, by a negative inclination of his head, declined the precedence, and waved them foremost.