With oars carefully muffled, they rowed out from the beach; and, thanks to the darkness of the night, they succeeded in passing the castle without causing any alarm.
They were soon out of sight of the shore; and after rowing a mile or so further, the dark silhouette of the cliffs ceased to be visible through the obscurity.
The canoe commanded by Captain Lantejas carried, besides himself, Costal and two rowers. As it was the lightest vessel in the flotilla, it was directed to keep the lead, as a sort of avant-courier, to announce whatever might be seen ahead.
Costal sat in the stern guiding the craft; and while engaged in this duty, he could not resist the temptation of pointing out to his captain what the latter had already tremblingly observed:—three or four great sharks keeping company with the canoe.
“Look at them!” said the Indian; “one might almost imagine that the instinct of these fierce sea-wolves told them—”
“What?” inquired Lantejas, with an anxious air.
“Why, that this vessel we are in is not sea-worthy. She is as rotten and ricketty as an old tub; and very little—Bah! I only wish that my friend Pepe Gago was one of those fellows in the water, and I had nothing more to do than leap in and poniard him in presence of the others!”
“What! are you thinking still of that fellow?”
“More than ever!” replied Costal, grinding his teeth; “and I shall never leave the army of Morelos—even when my time of service is out—so long as there’s a hope of capturing the castle of Acapulco, and getting my hands on the miserable traitor.”
Lantejas was paying only slight attention to what the Indian said. The doubt which the latter had expressed about the sea-worthiness of the canoe, was at that moment occupying his thoughts more than Costal’s project of vengeance; and he was desirous that they should reach the island as soon as possible. Even an engagement with a human enemy—so long as it should take place on terra firma—would be less perilous than a struggle in the water with those terrible monsters—the sharks.