This was about ten o’clock. The tide was just setting out, and the night, by good fortune, was as dark as pitch.
As the swell rolled in we were buried to the neck, and when it rolled back again we bent forward; so that at no time could much of our bodies be seen above the surface.
In this manner, half wading, half swimming, we kept up to the town.
It was a toilsome journey, but the water was warm, and the sand on the bottom firm and level. We were strengthened—I at least—by hope and the knowledge of danger. Doubtless my companion felt the latter stimulant as much as I.
We soon reached the battlements of Santiago, where we proceeded with increased caution. We could see the sentry up against the sky, pacing along the parapet. His shrill cry startled us. We thought we had been discovered. The darkness alone prevented this.
At length we passed him, and came opposite the city, whose battlements rested upon the water’s edge.
The tide was at ebb, and a bed of black, weed-covered rocks lay between the sea and the bastion.
We approached these with caution, and, crawling over the slippery boulders, after a hundred yards or so found ourselves in the entrance of one of the conductors.
Here we halted to rest ourselves, sitting down upon a ledge of rock. We were in no more danger here than in our own tents, yet within twenty feet were men who, had they known our proximity, would have strung us up like a pair of dogs.
But our danger was far from lying at this end of the adventure.