As the foot of Willis once more pressed his own quarter-deck he seemed a new being, and felt as if he were already safe, but a glance at the dark pile of the Moro, and the black hull of the Scorpion, just visible in the haze behind him, reminded him of the dangers still to be overcome.
“Silently! silently, men! on your lives!” he whispered; “put the helm hard a-port, one of you! and, Mateo, forward and slip the cable.”
With the silence of men who knew their lives depended on their quietness, but with the dispatch engendered by long habit, his orders were obeyed, and the schooner forced from her anchor, swung round with the tide and began to drift toward the sea.
Not a word was spoken, or a foot moved; had the vessel been unmanned, until the castle had been passed, she could not have been more silent; unchallenged she floated on.
So excited and alert were the organs of her men, however, that when Willis ordered them to hoist away the jib, though speaking in a low tone, it caused them all to start. The jib greatly increased the Maraposa’s way through the water; and as soon as he thought it would not excite the attention of the sentinels at the castle, he hoisted his main-sail and fore-sail, loosing his square-sails quietly, the yards rose to their places, and in half an hour more the gallant schooner, under all sail, was standing out to sea. With a wild huzza, the crew gave vent to their feelings, and Willis, rejoiced to be again at liberty, and in safety, could not help joining them.
Upon examining the state of his vessel, which he did at once, he was gratified to find every thing undisturbed in the hold—all the provisions and water were still in her—the powder had not even been removed from the magazine, and the only things missing were the schooner’s papers.
His crew, indeed, instead of numbering fifty men, as it had, now only mustered ten beside himself—Mateo, and his six companions, with the two men who had been in charge of the Maraposa, and the turnkey. Though too few to fight with, they were amply sufficient to manage the vessel.
The course he intended ultimately to pursue Willis had not yet decided. The first and most imperative object was to get beyond the reach of pursuit; and leaving Mateo in charge of the deck, with directions to steer to the eastward, and to call him if he saw a sail, he descended to the cabin, to reflect on the eventful changes of the last few hours, and think about his future line of conduct.
The first thing that attracted his attention, when he entered the cabin, was a small, strong wooden box, well secured with cords, setting on the table. Never having seen it before, and curious to know why it was so carefully fastened, he approached the table, and with surprise discovered the box was directed to “Captain Willis, of the Maraposa.” Hastily undoing the rope that bound it, and lifting the lid, he found the box full of Spanish doubloons, and a note, likewise endorsed with his name, lying on the top of them. Opening it, he read —
“Sir,—Having in vain endeavored to find some other method by which I could testify the gratitude I feel to the preserver of my beloved Francisca, I hope you will accept of the enclosed contents, as a slight evidence of the obligation I feel; and sincerely desiring it may prove useful, I have the honor to be,