“No, sir,” chirped Pickle gayly. “Not one of them knew I was aboard until just now.”
“Please, sorr,” said Moriarity, who was sitting next Pickle’s hiding-place, “I thought as how the lantherns and things was moighty ristless under there, and wanst I thought I heard ’em snaze, but I sez, sez I, ‘Moriarity, me man, yez never heard of a snazin’ lanthern;’ and the next minute, here comes Misther Israel, and it warn’t the lantherns, afther all!”
Somers could not help smiling at Moriarity and Pickle too; but he said gravely to the little midshipman:
“Do you understand the terrible risk we run in this attempt, and that it will be our duty, if in danger of capture, to blow up the ketch?”
“Perfectly, sir,” answered Pickle. He now sat up straight in the boat, and his eyes were shining so that Somers could see them even in the gloom. “I know that we have only a few chances for our lives; but—but—we have a great many chances for immortality; and, Captain Somers, although I am only a midshipman, and you are a captain, I am as willing, even as eager, to risk my life for our country and for our shipmates in prison as you are.”
“I believe you,” answered Somers, in a sweet and thrilling voice; “you are a brave boy, and, be it life or death, we will be together.”
They soon entered the offing, and drawing rapidly ahead, helped by wind and tide, they reached the western passage of the harbor. There they rested for a few minutes. Before them, in the misty night, lay the black masses of the town, and the encircling forts, over which the Bashaw’s castle reared its pile of towers and bastions. They saw the twinkling lights of the town, and those on the mastheads of the shipping in the harbor. Near the entrance lay three low gunboats that looked unnaturally large through the dim and ghostly fog that lay upon the water, but left the heavens clear and darkly blue. Behind them they could see the outline of the two American brigs, on which, as a precaution, not a light was shining. The fire-ship, as black as midnight, was stationary on the water for a moment. Somers, rising in his boat, uncovered his head, and every man in both boats, understanding that he was making a solemn prayer, removed his hat and prayed likewise. Little Israel, with his midshipman’s cap in his hand, stood up, with his eyes fixed on the stars overhead. He made his prayer briefly but reverently, and then, pointing to a brilliant group of stars, that blazed with splendor far down on the horizon, he said to Somers with a smile:
“The stars, I believe, mean glory. That is why we steer by them.”
The breeze had then died out, and the men took to their oars, which were muffled. Like a black shadow moving over the water the ketch advanced. The darkness of the night favored their escaping the gunboats. They crept past the rocks and reefs, entered the western passage, and were within the harbor of Tripoli. The lights of the town grew plain, and they could still see the stars, although they seemed to be alone in a world of fog.
Suddenly and silently three shadows loomed close upon them—one on each side and one on their bows. The men, without a word, seized the towline and drew themselves noiselessly back toward the ketch.