“Agreed!—fly!”—gasped my grandsire: “what an extraordinary young fellow!”
“She’s waiting for us now,” resumed Garry, gathering courage after the first plunge into the subject; “we ought to be off before daylight. Oblige me, my dear sir” (smiling irresistibly), “by getting up immediately.”
“And how are we to get away,” asked my grandfather, “supposing this insane scheme of yours to be attempted?”
“I’ve bribed the sentry at Francisco’s place of durance,” returned the Ensign. “We shall get out of the town the instant the gates are opened; and the boat is tied to the steps, as before, only under the charge of a sentry whom we can easily evade. Every guarda costa in the place was sent out last night to blockade a noted smuggler who has taken refuge in Tangier; so, once out, we are safe from pursuit: I found it all out after you had gone to bed.”
The disposition of Major Flinders, as the reader knows, was the reverse of enterprising—he wouldn’t have given a straw to be concerned in the finest adventure that ever happened in romance. He paused with one stocking on, inclined, like the little woman whose garments had been curtailed by the licentious shears of the pedlar, to doubt his own identity, and wondering if it could be really he, John Flinders, to whom such a proposition was broached, requiring him to assist in invading the peace of a family. As soon as he recovered his powers of speech, of which astonishment had for a moment deprived him, he began earnestly to dissuade the Ensign from the enterprise; but Owen knew his man too well, and had too much youthful vivacity of will to allow much time for remonstrance.
“Look you, Major,” said he, “I’m positive I can’t live without Juana. I’ll make a bold stroke for a wife. The thing’s settled—no going back now for me; and I shall go through with it with or without you. But you’re not the man, I’m sure, to desert a fellow in extremity, at a time, too, when the advantages of your experience and coolness are so peculiarly needed. ‘Call you that backing of your friends?’”
The compliment, or the quotation, or both, softened the Major. “‘Would it were night, Hal, and all well,’” said he, half mechanically following the Falstaffian train of ideas Owen had artfully conjured up, and at the same time drawing on the breeches which that astute youth obsequiously handed to him.
It was still dark when they issued forth into the narrow and dingy streets of Tarifa. My grandfather, totally unaccustomed to visit the glimpses of the moon in this adventurous fashion, was full of strange fears—heard as many imaginary suspicious noises and voices as Bunyan’s Pilgrim in the dark valley—and once or twice stopt abruptly and grasped Owen’s arm, while he pointed to a spy dogging them in the distant gloom, who turned out to be a door-post. But Owen was now in his element; no tom-cat in Tarifa was more familiar with housetops and balconies at the witching hour than he, and he stepped gaily on. Presently they were challenged by a sentry, to whom Owen promptly advanced and slipped into his itching palm a doubloon, when the trustworthy warrior immediately turned upon his heel, and, walking to the extremity of his post, looked with great vigilance in the opposite direction.
Owen advanced to a grated window and tapped. Immediately the burly face of Francisco showed itself thereat, his white teeth glancing merrily in a glimmer of moonshine. A bar, previously filed through, was removed from the window, and Owen, taking him by the collar to assist his egress, drew him through as far as the third button of his waistcoat, where he stuck for a moment; but the substance was elastic, and a lusty tug landed him in the middle of the narrow street. Receiving Frank’s instructions given in a hurried whisper, to go at once to where the boat lay, and cast her off, ready to shove off on the instant, he nodded and disappeared in the darkness, while Owen and the Major made for the Governor’s house.
Arrived near it, Owen gave a low whistle—a peculiar one, that my grandfather remembered to have heard him practising to Juana on the previous day—when, to the unutterable surprise of the Major, two veiled figures appeared on the balcony.