The distance was covered far more quickly than I had anticipated. The road we followed was by now fairly visible beneath the faint star-gleam, and once we were below the bluff the broad expanse of river appeared at our left, a dim, flowing mystery, the opposite shore invisible. To our strained eyes it seemed an endless flood of surging water. Immediately about us, all remained dark and silent, the few trees lining the summit of the overhanging bluff assuming grotesque shapes, and occasionally startling us by their strange resemblance to human beings. Not even the moaning of wind through the branches broke the intense midnight stillness. I could feel her hand, grasping my sleeve, tremble from nervous tension.
"Saunder's Creek is just beyond that ridge—see," she whispered, causing me to pause. "I mean the darker line in front. This road we are on goes straight ahead, but we must turn off here in order to reach the mouth where the boat lies."
I stooped low, close to the earth, so as to better perceive any outline against the sky, and, with one hand shadowing my eyes, stared earnestly in the direction indicated.
"It will be over there, then. Kneel down here beside me a moment. There is a whisp of smoke yonder, curling up over the bank. I suppose it will be safe enough for us to venture that far?"
"Yes, unless the engineer has come ashore."
"Is there any path?"
"Not that I remember, but there are plenty of dead rushes along the side of the bank. It will be safe enough to go where we can look over."
We moved forward slowly, but this time I took the lead myself, bending low, and feeling carefully for footing in the wiry grass. The bank was not high, and once safely at its edge, we could peer out through the thick growth of rushes with little fear of being observed from below. The darkness, however, so shrouded everything, blending objects into shapeless shadows, that it required several moments before I could clearly determine the exact details. The mouth of the creek, a good-sized stream, was only a few yards away, and the boat, rather a larger craft than I had anticipated seeing, lay just off shore, with stern to the bank, as though prepared for instant departure. It was securely held in position by a rope, probably looped about a convenient stump, and my eyes were finally able to trace the outlines of the wheel by which it was propelled. Except for straggling rushes extending to the edge of the water, the space between was vacant, yet sufficiently mantled in darkness to enable one to creep forward unseen.
At first glance I could distinguish no sign of the boatman left in charge, but, even as I lay there, breathless and uncertain, he suddenly revealed his presence by lighting a lantern in the stern. The illumination was feeble enough, yet sufficient to expose to view the small, unprotected engine aft, and also the fact that all forward of the little cockpit in which it stood, the entire craft was decked over. The fellow was busily engaged in overhauling the machinery, leaning far forward, his body indistinct, the lantern swinging in one hand, with entire attention devoted to his task. Occasionally, as he lifted his head for some purpose, the dim radiance fell upon his face, revealing the unmistakable countenance of a mulatto, a fellow of medium size, broad of cheek with unusually full lips, and a fringe of whisker turning gray. Somehow this revelation that he was a negro, and not a white man, brought with it to me an additional confidence in success. I inclined my head and whispered in the girl's ear:
"You are not to move from here until I call. This is to be my part of the work, handling that lad. I am going now."