“That,” said Poole, in a whisper.
“Oh yes, that splashing. Fish, I suppose.”
“No,” whispered Poole. “I believe it’s oars.”
He had hardly spoken when the skipper’s voice was heard giving orders almost in a whisper; but they were loud enough to be heard and understood, for there was a sudden rush and padding of feet about the deck, followed by a soft rattling, and the next minute the middy was aware of the presence of a couple of the sailors armed with capstan-bars standing close at hand.
Then all was silence once more, and the darkness suddenly grew more dense, following upon a dull squeaking sound as of a pulley-wheel in a block.
“They’ve doused the light,” whispered Poole. “It’s a boat coming off from the shore,” he continued excitedly, with his lips close to the middy’s ear. “It’s the people we expect, I suppose, but father is always suspicious at a time like this, for you never know who they may be. But if they mean mischief they will get it warm.”
Fitz’s thoughts went back at a bound to the dark night when he boarded with the cutter’s crew, and his heart beat faster and faster still as, leaning outward to try and pierce the soft transparent darkness of the tropic night, he felt his arm tightly gripped by Poole with one hand, while with the other he pointed to a soft pale flashing of the water, which was accompanied by a dull regular splash, splash.
“Friends or enemies,” whispered Poole, “but they don’t see us yet. I wonder which they are.”
Just then the lambent flashing of the phosphorescent water and the soft splashing ceased.
It was the reign of darkness far and near.