The streets, hitherto solitary, were peopled as if by enchantment by an immense crowd, which emerged in disorder from all the houses, so eager were they to breathe the fresh air of evening which the sea breeze brought up on its humid wing; the shops were opened, and lit up with an infinite number of coloured paper lamps. Ere long there was in this town, where, scarce an hour earlier, such silence and solitude prevailed, a medley of individuals of all classes and countries—English, Spaniards, Americans, Mexicans, French, Russians, Chinese—all dressed in their national costume: women, coquettishly wrapped in their rebozos, darting to the right and left provocative glances; perambulating tradesmen vaunting their merchandise, and serenos, armed to the teeth, trying to maintain good order. And all this crowd came and went, and stopped,—pushing and elbowing and laughing, singing, shouting, and quarrelling, making the dogs bark and the children cry.
Two young gentlemen, dressed in the simple but graceful uniform of officers of the United States Navy, who were coming from the interior of the town, forced their way with some difficulty through the crowd that impeded their every step on the port, as they proceeded toward the pier, where a large number of boats of all shapes and sizes were tied up. They had scarce reached the landing place ere they were surrounded by some twenty boatmen, who offered their services, while exaggerating in their praiseworthy fashion the surprising qualities and unparalleled speed of their boats, doing so in the bastard patois which belongs to no language, but is formed of words culled haphazard from all, and by means of which, in every seaport, the people of the country and strangers contrive to understand each other, and which is called in the Scales of the Levant the linguafranca.
After giving a careless glance at the numerous skiffs dancing before them, the officers abruptly dismissed the boatmen by peremptorily declining their services; but they did not get rid of them till they had told them they had a boat of their own, and scattered some small change among them. The boatmen withdrew, half vexed, half satisfied, and the officers were at length left alone on the jetty.
We have said that the sun had set for some time, and hence the night was gloomy. Still, the two officers, in order, doubtless, to assure themselves that the darkness concealed no spy, walked several times up and down the jetty, while conversing together in a low voice, and examining with the most scrupulous attention those spots which might have afforded shelter to anyone. They were certainly alone. One of them then drew from his breast one of those silver whistles, such as boatswains employ on board ships, and then produced a soft and prolonged note thrice repeated. A few moments passed, and nothing proved to the officers that their signal had been heard. At last, a soft whistle traversed the air and expired on the ears of the two men who were listening, with bodies bent forward and faces turned to the sea.
"They are coming," said one.
"We will wait," his comrade answered laconically.
They carefully wrapped themselves in their cloaks to guard themselves against the damp sea breeze; they leant against an old gun that served to tie boats up, and remained motionless as statues, without exchanging a syllable. A few minutes passed thus; the darkness grew gradually denser; the noises of the town insensibly died out, and the promenaders, driven away by the coolness of the night, quitted the seashore for the interior of the town. The beach was soon completely deserted—the two officers alone remained leaning against the gun.
At length a remote sound, scarcely perceptible, but which practised ears could recognise, rose from the sea. This sound became gradually more and more distinct; and it was easy, especially for sailors, to recognise the sharp and cadenced sound of oars striking against the tholes and dipping into the sea; although these oars, judging from the sound, were muffled, and employed with the utmost caution.
In fact, the boat itself ere long became visible. Its long black outline stood out in the luminous line traced by the moon on the waves, as it approached the jetty at great speed. The two officers had bent forward curiously, but did not leave the post of observation they had selected. On coming within pistol-shot, the boat stopped. Suddenly, a rough voice, lowered prudently, however, rose in the silence, singing the first verse of a song well known in these parts:
¿Qué rumor
Lejos suena,
Qué el silencio
En la serena
Negra noche interrumpió?[1]