“Urge me no further, fair Rafaele,” said Hildebrand, before Don Rafaele could speak to him. “’Twere running thee into a needless peril, and would impede me grievously.”
“’Tis because, by my aspect and port, I would be a great aid to thee, making thee pass more reasonably for a Spaniard, that I seek to attend thee,” said Don Rafaele.
“I’faith, that might be,” answered Hildebrand; “yet not even to make mine own risk less, will I bring hazard on thee.”
“I see, thou art resolved to gainsay me, Senhor,” returned Don Rafaele. “I fear me, thou beginn’st to regard me troublesome.”
“Art in earnest, Rafaele?” asked Hildebrand, taking up his hand. “Know’st thou not that certain death, without an instant’s respite, will follow our detection? Thou art resolved! Then, will I refuse thee no further. Get thee a black band, and, when the night falls, we will off.”
It was now evening, but, though cloudy, it was yet quite light. The brightness of the scene, however, had passed away, and the night threatened to be a rough one. The wind increased every moment, and the noble river, which had lately looked so placid, was lashed into high waves, topped with foam, and raging like breakers. After a little time, it began to rain, first like sleet, and then in torrents. Moreover, the night, though it was the summer season, set in early, and it was quite dark by nine o’clock. Shortly after that hour, a small boat, scarcely larger than a punt, was manned by two seamen, and lowered from the stern of the English ship. Some doubt existed whether, to use a nautical term, it would “live” on the agitated water; but so adroitly did its two navigators bestow themselves, in anticipation of a mishap, that it maintained its equilibrium, and rode the waves gallantly. Still it was not without some difficulty that it was skulled round to the gangway. Hildebrand and Don Rafaele, muffled in long cloaks, which both the weather and their expedition required, and with their heads well protected by their slouched hats, there waited its approach. When it came alongside, Hildebrand, seizing a firm hold of the side-rope, lowered himself cautiously into its centre, and then helped Don Rafaele to descend. After that person had reached the boat, they both took their places in the stern, and the boat shoved off.
The storm now raged furiously, and it was only by the greatest efforts, aided by long experience, and unshaken intrepidity, that the navigators of the boat could shoot clear of the ship. When they did clear her, their danger was even augmented, and the wind, being no longer intercepted by the ship, threatened to capsize their frail bark every moment. The water roared again; and, withal, shot up in such high waves, boiling with spray, that they were almost blinded. To add to the terrors of their situation, the rain still descended in torrents; and the darkness, which had all along been excessive, seemed even to increase, and, like that of Egypt, could almost be felt. Nothing could be seen on the water as far as the eye could extend, but streaks of white foam; and on the shore, only a few lights were visible, now and then, like twinkling stars. Occasionally the boat almost whirled round. It required all Hildebrand’s strength, which was no little, to maintain his hold of the rudder, and even then the boat scarcely answered it. The waves beat under her as if they would knock in her bottom; and its inmates frequently bounced up in their seats, in spite of their utmost resistance, with the violence of the shock. Moreover, the wind blew right in their teeth, and, as they struggled forward, they shipped water every moment. Though the city, judging from the aforementioned lights, was little more than a quarter of a mile distant, it seemed impossible that they could ever reach it, and absolute madness to pursue the attempt. Indeed, they expected, almost with certainty, that they would be swamped by each wave. Still the bold man who held the helm retained his firmness; his iron nerves, as if they were strung for the occasion, never once flinched; and he seemed to dare peril, and defy the storm.
The boat pushed on; now shooting up the curl of a long, whistling wave; then, with reckless violence, dashing into the gaping trough below, which appeared to yawn even more under its bottom, and to let it sink yet deeper and deeper. Then the rain, and the wind, and the dashing spray, all blended together, beat down in it from above, and the little boat groaned again. How human beings could move through such horrors, where death was in every object, and retain their presence of mind, was truly amazing. Yet Hildebrand maintained his place at the rudder; and the two hardy seamen, though keenly alive to their situation, and fully expecting that every successive wave would swamp or overturn the boat, held on at their oars. Still they made but little progress; for, owing to the excessive agitation of the water, their oars, though so skilfully and adroitly worked, did not always dip, and, even when they did, the violence of the storm half counteracted the impulse. Nor was it by the tempest alone that all their terror was inspired. As they progressed, their ears were saluted by heart-rending shrieks; and thundering noises, like the clashing together of some immense bodies, and which they rightly conjectured to be collisions among the closely-packed shipping, silenced even the roar of the elements. Then a sharp, rushing sound broke on the ear; and the black hulls of two gigantic vessels, looking like the spirits of the storm, flew past together, amidst a terrible chorus of mortal shrieks.
The terrors of death hung around the cruizer’s little boat; but its fearless captain, however he might be moved inwardly, appeared to be still undaunted.