“We are ready,” said Perry, and soon after, muffled in their great coats, the young officers entered a cutter and were rowed away through the darkness and rain.
They landed at a certain point on the shore where there was a hut in which shone a light.
Here a Spaniard met them, and Spanish uniforms were put on over their own, muskets were taken, and they marched off.
The Spaniard was in the uniform of a captain, and wore a cloak.
He led the way, and after a march of half a mile they came to the outpost carcel, or prison.
The pretended Spanish officer gave the countersign, and going into the carcel told what his orders were.
It seemed a long time for the waiting officers in their disguise, but at last the clanking of chains was heard and out marched the prisoners, seven in number, and heavily ironed.
The pretended captain placed them in single file between his men, and off they marched in the darkness and storm. They did not return to the cabin, but continued along the shore, until they came to a boat, and dimly seen offshore was a small sailing craft.
“Now, señor, unlock these irons, and let the men go aboard as quickly as possible, for their craft must be well off the coast before dawn, and with this gale they can be, for it blows straight out of the harbor. Then see us back to the cabin, and your work is done,” said Mark Merrill.
“I should know that voice among a thousand—by heaven! you are Mark Merrill.”