“Scorpion,” the man replied in as sounding a voice, and the canoe boarded the vessel.
The ladders were thrown out over the sides, and the man at the stern jumped nimbly on deck.
A sentinel stationed at the gangway lowered his weapon, and the man at the stern, for so we must still call him, passed.
The sentinel was a tall muscular man of a dark complexion; his face was almost entirely covered with hair, on his head he wore a red cap, he had on a red woollen shirt, his trowsers were black, and were secured round his waste by a thick red sash, in which were stuck a brace of pistols and a long poniard.
These and a cutlass, which he held in his hand, were his only weapons.
As soon as the man at the stern was on deck he was accosted by a tall, thin person with flowing mustachios, and with marks of distinction from the sentinel, both in dress and in his appearance. He was richly and tastefully accoutred. He wore a jet black frock coat, which was richly but simply embroidered with gold; his trowsers were of unspotted white, and displayed neat and highly polished boots; round his waist he wore a richly fringed crimson sash, in which pistols and a poniard were also stuck; and a slender belt supported a handsome sword by his side. His head was covered by a red cap, and rich gold epaulets rested on his shoulders.
“Lorenzo,” said this individual, addressing the new comer in a low and pleasant tone, “I am happy to see you back. Success, I hope.”
“Success,” answered Lorenzo briefly but courteously, “I have three strangers there in the boat, of whom, pray, order your watch to take care; the captain, I suppose is in his cabin, so I shall see him by the dawn of day. Good night, Sebastian, good watch.”
“Farewell,” answered the party addressed, and Lorenzo, our former man at the stern, disappeared.
This short dialogue carried on, as it was, in an under tone, scarcely broke the extraordinary silence which reigned on board the mysterious schooner.