However, they slackened their pace, but still headed toward the sea.
“We must get a boat,” said Ethan. “It’s our only hope. To be seen ashore means arrest; and this part of the coast is too thickly populated for hiding.”
“You are right,” answered Longsword. “We’ll have to get afloat; it’s very little chance we’ll have to do anything but starve; but if we can get across the channel into Ireland, I’ll go bail that we’ll be safe enough. There is many a colleen or gossoon that would hide us away, if it was only because we are enemies of the Saxon.”
A few moments later Ethan remarked, “We are near the wharf where we landed; see that tall signal mast; I remember passing it.”
“Sure enough,” said Longsword; “and here is the wharf.”
It was a stout wooden pier built out into the cove for some distance; almost directly opposite it, about a musket shot away, were the lights of the schooner that had brought them to the town. They stood at the head of the pier for some moments; then Ethan said, suddenly,
“I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Danvers and his men must have landed at this pier; and if so we’ll be sure to find their boat at the end of it.”
“Bravo!” breathed Longsword. “Sure, ye have a clear head on your shoulders, Master Ethan, so ye have.”