As by a thread,
With fearful hope
We downward fare,
Till on the strand
In safety for a time we land.
Fortunately for the success of the enterprise, the sky was cloudy, so that the moon, thickly veiled by vapors, was unable to betray the adventurers by her tell-tale light. A strong breeze was blowing seaward from the land and ruffling the surface of the black water to ragged caps of white, which promised anything but a pleasant journey to Crispin and his companion.
They were warmly clothed in thick garments of blue-dyed wool, consisting of tight-fitting jackets and loose trousers, tucked into high boots of untanned leather. In his belt Crispin carried a dagger and his revolver, while Gurt’s cutlass dangled by his side, and both men also wore those red fishermen’s caps common to the Ægean, with ample woollen capotes to protect them from the keen winds. Standing on the height of the lofty cliff, they could not see the beach for the profound gloom below, but to the left saw the camp of the enemy clearly defined in the fierce rays of the electric light. Everything there seemed to be as still as the grave, and the pirates were evidently sound asleep under canvas, for not a sound broke the stillness, save the whistle of the breeze and the sullen rolling of the waves on the sands below.
Maurice and the poet had brought up two coils of strong rope, each over a hundred feet in length; so, as the cliff measured but two hundred, there would be no difficulty about the ropes being too short. They tied these firmly together, then, making one end fast to a strong pine tree which grew some distance back from the verge, flung the other into the abyss below. The rope paid itself out rapidly, until, when only a few coils were left, it ceased running, which showed that it had touched bottom. Now the two adventurers prepared to descend, and shook hands with the Demarch and his nephew, both of whom were much affected. None of the four knew if they would meet again, for two were bound on a perilous voyage, and the others were beleaguered in a dangerous volcanic island by bloodthirsty enemies. If they reached the boat safely, and managed to push off into the open sea unseen by their enemies, they were to send up a rocket as a signal of success to the watchers on land. Gurt carried this useful article, and was the first to descend the slender rope, to which he clung like a spider to its thread, and dropped swiftly down until the thickening gloom hid him from their anxious eyes. After a time the rope slacked, and a gentle vibration stealing up it showed that Gurt had landed safely.
“Good-by, my dear lad,” said Justinian, as he embraced the brave poet. “You are sure you have everything?”
“My revolver, cartridges, cloak, a satchel filled with food, your letter to the Eparch. Yes, I think that is all. Gurt has the water-bottles and the rocket. Good-by, Maurice.”