"Go back softly, softly," Wyndham said to the indistinct figure in the stern as they got on board.
In a few minutes they reached the schooner and Marston's spirits rose. He had done with tracks and plots; now his job was straightforward. Moreover, he knew it well.
"I'll cast off the bow mooring," he said when Wyndham got on board. "Give me a line and you can haul the chain up quietly. It mustn't run through the pipe."
Shoving the gig forward, he jumped out on the buoy; then he unscrewed the shackle and, fastening on the line he brought, waved his hand. The chain slipped gently into the water and did not make much noise when the men on board pulled it up. Columbine was free now and had begun to drift when Marston seized her rail. He made the gig's painter fast and left her alongside, because the blocks on the Burton tackle would clatter if they tried to hoist her in. It was something to feel the schooner's deck under his galled feet, but there was much to be done before he could indulge his relief. Although they could not see the tug, she might have reached the port, and they must pass the three-mile limit before they would be safe. In the meantime, Columbine was drifting slowly down the harbor.
"We must chance hoisting the staysail," Wyndham remarked. "Get it up handsomely; stop if the chain clinks much."
The staysail had chain halyards and Marston sent a man aloft with a grease-swab. For all that, the halyard made some noise and the sail thrashed in the fresh breeze, until they hauled the sheets and Wyndham got her round. Columbine, with a small triangle of canvas set, stole down the harbor, and if the port-guards did not keep a keen look out, she might get away.
Marston, sitting on the bowsprit loosing the jib, watched the shadowy wall move back. They were passing the Cuban barque and she was not far from the end of the mole. Columbine moved faster; he heard the water ripple at her bows, and the beam of the lighthouse ahead got near. It was a sector light, screened on one bearing, and they could keep outside its illumination.
In a few minutes they would clear the end of the mole, and when the jib was loose Marston looked aft. Shadowy figures moved about the deck, getting the canvas ready to hoist. Not long since, he had doubted if they could steal out of the harbor. When one studied the plan coolly, it looked ridiculous, but they had tried and he began to hope they would succeed. Then he turned his head and thrilled as he saw the end of the mole slip by.
"Hoist the outer jib," said Wyndham when Marston joined him. "We must be cautious. The captain's launch has steam up and could catch us yet."
They got to work. The blocks rattled as the jib went up, but the wind blew the noise away. The splash at the bows was louder, and Wyndham waited, measuring the distance from the receding mole.