glare of the torch, circling widely so as to more safely approach the
bark's quarter. LeVere called for men to stand by, the fellows rushing
past me to their stations, but, in the fascination of the moment, I
failed to move. I could do nothing but stare out across the
intervening water, with eyes fastened on that swiftly approaching
boat. I must see. I must know the message it brought; what story it
held of the tragedy. At first I could only barely distinguish the
figures of those aboard, yet these gradually assumed recognizable
form, and finally the faces also became dimly visible. Manuel held the
tiller, with Estada seated beside him, leaning forward, and
gesticulating with one hand, as he directed the course. I had never
seen these two, yet I knew them beyond a doubt. Mendez and Anderson
(at least I supposed these to be the two) were poised at the sail
halliards, ready to let the straining sheet down at a run, while
Cochose crouched low in the bow, his black hand uplifted, gripping a
coil of rope. Their faces were all turned forward, lighted by the
flare from our deck, and I felt a shudder of fear run over me--no
expression on any countenance spoke of defeat; even the ugly features
of the negro beamed with delight.

But was that all? Was that all? Surely not, yet the boat had to leap
forward, and then turn broadside too, as it swept aft toward the main
chains, before I succeeded in seeing what remained partially concealed
between the thwarts in its bottom. Forward of the single mast was
stowed the chest, which Travers' slaves had borne with such care up
the bluff; while in the open space between the helmsman and the two
sailors were stretched two motionless bodies. LeVere, gripping a
stay-rope, and leaning well out, hailed in Spanish.

"Ahoy, the boat--there is not too much sea? You can make it?"