After a little time, he found the door, and succeeded in drawing it open. The steerage was full of smoke, here black, and there white, according as it was near to or removed from several prospective portfires; and, through the gloom, he distinguished the figures of a dozen men, darting towards the main-hatchway, about thirty feet for’ard. The stench of gunpowder, emitted by the discharged guns, with the dense smoke, was almost suffocating; but, as the hatchways were open, the fresh air rushed in from above, and soon made the atmosphere more supportable. Before the smoke was dispelled, however, the gunners, who were the men that had figured in it, had passed up the main hatchway; and Don Rafaele stood on the lower deck alone.
A lighted lanthorn was standing on the deck, a few feet in his front; and, when he found himself alone, he sprang forward a pace, and caught it up. The din that now prevailed was quite stunning; and the report of fire-arms, the clashing of weapons, and the tramp of feet, mingled with loud hurrahs, shouts, and deep groans, made his heart quake, and seemed to rivet him to the spot. Nevertheless, he did not remain stationary. As the din grew more confounding, he sprang back to the cabin, and, with a trembling step, passed inward. Securing the lanthorn on the table, he sat down on the locker, and there resolved to await whatever was to betide.
But he did not keep his resolution. It would, indeed, have been a stout heart, or an inordinately insensible one, that could have met such an ordeal so passively. The din that prevailed was absolutely appalling, and, unless actively engaged, with danger to animate, and action to support him, no man even, much less a stripling, could have sustained it with unshaken nerves. Yet overhead all was quiet, and the noise seemed, as was actually the case, to come from one side, rather than to prevail in the ship. Don Rafaele was perfectly bewildered for a while: at length, burying his face in his hands, he burst into tears.
He remained thus for several minutes, when, still weeping, he threw himself on his knees, and raised his hands and eyes towards heaven. Long and fervent was his prayer, as was evident, not by his words (for he uttered none), but by his deep emotion, and the stirring and varied expressions of his face. At last, he rose from his knees, and, sitting down on the locker, near his former position, again buried his face in his hands.
He had been disposed in this manner but a short time, when the sounds of strife and turmoil ceased, and all became perfectly quiet. He was amazed. What could have happened? How had Hildebrand, whose voice he had distinguished so often in the recent din, or fancied he had distinguished, come off. He might be slain!
The heart of the young Spaniard turned cold as the bare possibility of such a catastrophe occurred to him. Shuddering with horror, he again turned his beautiful face upward, and his full eyes, brimmed with tears, seconded his prayer for his friend’s safety. But some time elapsed before he was to be assured of that happy circumstance. Though the tramp of feet overhead was now once more audible, no one approached the cabin; and he was too much agitated, not only with his fears, but by sorrow, to seek for information on the deck. Near an hour intervened before any one drew nigh. Then, however, with a beating heart, he heard a step descending through the contiguous hatchway. It paused at the cabin-door; the latch, which he had fixed in its socket, was then quickly raised; and Hildebrand burst into the cabin.
Don Rafaele sprang to meet him with the ardour of a mistress, and, as he came up with him, caught him affectionately by the hand.
“Thou art safe, then?” he cried, at the same time gazing earnestly in his face.
Hildebrand had removed from his face and apparel all trace of his participation in the recent conflict; but, notwithstanding this, his look, on his entry into the cabin, was pale and sad. As he met the warm welcome of his youthful friend, however, his countenance brightened; and if his eyes did not actually sparkle, they looked cheerful, and even lively. It was so inspiriting to receive such an earnest welcome, and, after encountering a strife so deadly, to find himself the object of such a devoted attachment, that the deepest affections of his heart were aroused, and, through their soothing influence, the strong excitement he had been labouring under was assuaged. A bright smile suffused his lip as he replied to Don Rafaele.