Either he could not invent any instructions, or he considered a visit from a shore boat as a thing too improbable to merit consideration.
The two Spaniards came on deck. I had never supposed that Don Lazarillo would have had courage to enter the boat until I observed that he had armed himself with a long saber, the extremity of whose steel scabbard was visible at the skirts of the Spanish cloak he had drawn over his shoulders. Don Christoval was similarly swathed, but how armed I am unable to say, as no weapon was to be seen upon him.
"All's ready for the start, gentlemen," exclaimed Captain Dopping.
"Right!" exclaimed Don Christoval in a firm, deep voice, "let the men enter the boat."
The sailors dropped into her one by one, and sat silent and grim and dark in the gloom of the schooner's side, waiting.
"Where is Mariana?" cried Don Christoval.
The ugly cook's voice answered from somewhere forward, and he approached. Don Christoval addressed him in Spanish impressively, and as it seemed to my ear menacingly, emphasizing his words with frequent gestures. Mariana responded humbly with many shakes of the head, as though in deprecation of what had been said to him. Don Christoval then turned to me and extended his hand.
"Mr. Portlack, I rely upon your vigilance and seamanship. We hope not to be long absent."
He relinquished my hand, I raised my cap, and without another word, he, Don Lazarillo and Captain Dopping stepped over the side.