“Ready?” asked the boy.
“Ready,” answered the dragoon.
They headed for the schooner and began to pull swiftly, but softly. On shore all was silent, and darkness still hung pall-like over the water, though the heavy clouds were visibly thinning before the wind, and here and there a silver spot glimmered among them.
The lights of the schooner became more and more distinct; and at length they were under her bow, clinging to the chains, and listening. The low murmur of voices came from the after part of the vessel, but forward all was still.
“It’s going to be easy work,” said Ethan.
They made fast the jolly-boat to the chains, then thrust the loaded pistols into their belts. Ethan, with a naked cutlass between his teeth, went up the side like a cat; and in a moment the tall Irishman stood beside him on the schooner’s deck.
“Ahoy,” suddenly called a startled voice from the after deck. “Who’s that for’ard?”
“Don’t answer,” breathed Ethan.
They maintained silence; then came the voice once more.
“Is that you, Mr. Blake?”