The silent, hard-faced Hans leant forward and stared up the darkling water, his hand behind his ear.
“I hear them,” he said presently.
“Who?” asked Foy.
“The Spaniards and the wind—both,” he answered. “Come, up with the mainsail and pole her out to midstream.”
So the three of them took hold of the tackle and ran aft with it, while the rings and booms creaked and rattled as the great canvas climbed the mast. Presently it was set, and after it the jib. Then, assisted by the two watchmen thrusting from another of the boats, they pushed the Swallow from her place in the line out into mid-stream. But all this made noise and took time, and now men appeared upon the bank, calling to know who dared to move the boats without leave. As no one gave them any answer, they fired a shot, and presently a beacon began to burn upon a neighbouring mound.
“Bad business,” said Hans, shrugging his shoulders. “They are warning the Government ship at the harbour mouth. Duck, masters, duck; here comes the wind,” and he sprang to the tiller as the boom swung over and the little vessel began to gather way.
“Yes,” said Martin, “and here with it come the Spaniards.”
Foy looked. Through the grey mist that was growing lighter every moment, for the dawn was breaking, he caught sight of a long boat with her canvas spread which was sweeping round the bend of the stream towards them and not much more than a quarter of a mile away.
“They have had to pole down stream in the dark, and that is why they have been so long in coming,” said Hans over his shoulder.
“Well, they are here now at any rate,” answered Foy, “and plenty of them,” he added, as a shout from a score of throats told them that they were discovered.