As the sentinel approached, his anxiety increased. The sentinel drew nearer and nearer: the officer drew himself up closely—and more closely; the sentinel was now but a few steps from him, he pressed still more closely on the side. Gently it yielded, and Lorenzo caught himself as he was just falling in the inside of a cabin.
With wonderful presence of mind, he closed the little door that had admitted him, and heard the heavy footsteps of the sentinel as he passed it on the outside.
With breathless anxiety he listened to the steps; he heard them diminish until the sentinel had arrived at the extreme end of the passage, and heard them grow more and more distinct as he returned at the same leisurely pace.
Again and again the man on duty passed his door; it was, therefore, clear that he had not been discovered; but, as his anxiety about the man outside diminished, new fears arose with regard to the place in which he found himself. How was it that the door of that cabin had been left open, when such regularity usually existed on board the schooner? Was there any one at the time in the cabin? if so, the same danger that threatened him outside would meet him within: for self-preservation had taught every officer, and every sailor of the Black Schooner, that their safety could consist only in the strict observance of its laws in their own persons, and the rigorous enforcement of them in others. Every one seemed to know, instinctively, that the chain which was so variously formed, could be preserved only by a careful protection of each particular link. Lorenzo knew if any one was in the cabin, and if he were there seen under such circumstances, the person would make it a point of duty to report it to the chief. His alarm, therefore, which had partly subsided, grew again upon him. He remained in the deepest silence and attention, listening to the steps of the sentinel outside, who was still patroling the passage from his niche to its extreme end.
He endeavoured, also, to listen for the breathing of any one that might be in the cabin, for he wisely concluded, that if any person was there, he must assuredly be asleep, or else he should have heard him when he accidentally tumbled in. But he heard nothing.
His anxiety, however, was not satisfied. He crept softly by the bed, and listened again, but still he could hear nothing; he passed his hand over the narrow berth, but there was no one there.
“Ah! I see,” the officer said to himself, “it is the cabin of José.”
It was the cabin of the officer who was then on duty, and Lorenzo breathed more freely; but his anxiety was soothed down for a moment only, for he immediately recollected that the night was already much spent, and that the watch on deck would shortly be relieved; his difficulty was thus in no manner removed. He reflected for some time, and concluded, in a sort of despair, that fate was determined to ruin him, and he calmly yielded himself up to the unfortunate destiny which seemed to pursue him that luckless night.
He calculated that within half an hour’s time the watch of José would have expired, and that he should surely be discovered when that officer came down to his cabin. There might be a chance—though a desperate one—of escaping the certain detection of the sentinel outside, although suspicion would inevitably be raised: but that was the less of the two evils that beset him. He resolved, accordingly, to wait until the watch on deck should be near expiration, and then to make a desperate effort to escape from his dangerous position.